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CLOSURE
VS ACCEPTANCE "Closure" from the March 1997 Challenges For what was beginning to feel like forever, I’d been waiting for closure to occur as the crowning achievement of mourning the loss of my beloved husband. I’d come through the first year with flying colors, or so I thought. People told me, “You’re doing so well,” whatever that was supposed to mean--that I wasn’t bawling my head off in public and talking about him every waking moment? That I could function, even smile, laugh, quip and be silly? One bit of knowledge that has supported me ever since that January midnight in 1995 is that feelings are not to be judged as good or bad; they’re either comfortable or uncomfortable. So whatever I felt was okay and further, whatever I acted upon was equally okay. By one person’s Acceptable Rules of Behavior for the Newly Widowed, my manner of observing the first solo wedding anniversary demonstrated I was certifiably out of my tree. Just as we, husband and wife, always did on our anniversary, I did by myself--lighted the marriage candle and read aloud the ceremony we had so carefully and deliberately constructed. Only this time there was no one with whom to alternate the reading. Yes, of course I wept. I couldn’t articulate why I had to put myself through compounded grief but I think I know why now: there had been three of us every day of our married lives together--husband, wife, and the marriage itself. Coming together as we did from previous legalized living arrangements that were abysmal failures culminated by divorce, to have a new opportunity to create a real marital union was a privilege and responsibility we accepted with joy and dedication. Regardless of the fact my husband had passed away, I still felt very much married. Repeating the words of our marriage ceremony felt natural. It was a ritual in which, as both wife and widow (on a cusp, so to speak) I honored my husband and our marriage. A year later, during Year 2, my feelings had not changed but I did not have the need to act them out. That did not mean, ipso facto, I had put closure to my husband’s absence and to the end of our marriage. What did happen during Year 2 was the shock of his sudden collapse was lifted and in its place full reality descended. “Everything” took on a “just happened” harshness. I had vivid dreams of my husband, usually just before 7 in the morning, in which he was very much alive and we were together. Upon awakening I would have to wrench myself from the comforting reverie to re-experience the reality of being alone. With the exception of the wedding anniversary, every major holiday felt like the first one to observe without my husband, as if the previous year’s holidays had not happened at all. When Thanks-giving rolled around, I thought, “Last year, we spent Thanksgiving in Berkeley Springs,” when actually I was remembering 1994, not 1995. Surely, when the 21st of January 1997 came and went, I would step out of mourning into morning. What a romantic notion! That day came and went, and I was no less sad. In fact, I was concerned I might be sliding into the early stages of depression. It wasn’t that I was unhappy. I had the love and interaction with my family and the fulfillment that comes with writing, editing and publishing. I kept in touch with a few close friends, some in person, more through e-mail and phone. Obviously, for me, that was not enough. I recognized that I had damn well better pay attention to that woman who writes a Get A Life column and get myself one. But, how? No one was going to sashay up to my front door with a solution. It wasn’t up to my family and friends to keep me amused during my spare time. Come to think of it, what spare time? I knew I had to take charge. I needed to interact with more people on a face-to-face basis. By process of elimination, I chose what I believe was the best choice for me. I joined a health club. On my first day, I almost lost my composure when a man reminded me of my husband--very tall, long legs, long arms. I couldn’t bear to look at him. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I wanted to run out of there. To hell with doing anything to make myself feel better. My sensible self intervened. I stopped looking at him.I stuck it out. It was enough of a victory to make me believe I can handle the reminders as they occur. Within hours of my first workout, I felt better. A few of those magical endorphins had been released. I also felt better because I was being pro-active. I had empowered myself to act in support of myself. In essence, I was doing the same type of thinking that propelled me out of a disastrous “marriage” and even earlier got me to stop smoking. I had changed my attitude. As for closure to the grieving, I don’t think there is such a thing. I think there are various degrees of acceptance. I’ve had a profound loss. I’ve accepted what I believe are facts: I will always love him, I will always miss him. In the meantime, I’m grateful for having recovery tools I can tap into, for putting my money where my mouth is, for getting a life. © Copyright Donna
Thompson. 1997
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