Monday, November 12, 2007

The gift of closure (part 1)

A while ago, while I was still aching over the recent ending of a relationship, I blogged about finding closure (part 1 part 2). At the time, I needed desperately to find closure, and I vowed to work at it, but I'm not sure that deep down inside I truly believed it was possible. But it is, and I have.

Closure is a process which, like grief, consists of several stages that don't necessarily happen in any logical order. And perhaps even more frustrating is the fact that any of the stages can recur, time and again, until we truly learn the lesson(s) that stage is meant to teach us.

In an ideal world, we would find closure to the ending of a significant relationship through one or more mature, thoughtful, loving conversations about what went wrong, as well as what went right, things we're thankful for and lessons we've learned. But this isn't close to an ideal world and that type of closure seems to be more of the exception than the rule. In my case specifically, the man I'd been dating just disappeared. Not in the literal sense. He works in the same building so I know he isn't dead or lying in a coma in a hospital somewhere unable to call me to let me know he's alright. He just stopped speaking to me. Period. He went from calling me several times each day and just before going to sleep at night, to not calling at all. No explanation, no apology, no fight, nothing.

Needless to say, I started my search for closure at ground zero. Thankfully I had the love and support of three amazing women, my mom, my aunt and my dear friend Susan. My Mom and my aunt let me question, cry and vent, for what must have seemed to them like countless hours. And for that, I am extremely grateful. When I was determined to give him the benefit of the doubt and love him back to me, they listened quietly and supported me, even if they didn't think it would work. Susan did all that too, but when the time was right, she did something else too (more on this later).

My ex knew that I love to knit and to my surprise, just a few weeks before he vanished, he mentioned the possibility of me knitting an afghan for him. In fact, the box of 15 skeins of black wool arrived during the last week that we were speaking. So, there I was, sitting home alone, newly dumped and crying like there's no tomorrow, looking at a box full of black yarn - a very expensive box of black yarn, I might add. My first instinct was to try to return it, or if that wasn't possible, to sell it on e-bay. But I'm so glad I didn't. Instead that black box of yarn became the tool that helped me find my way back.

(to be continued...)

1 comment:

sbwrites said...

This is a really important post and I think you've handled this in a truly unique way. I've always felt that you do a whole lot better with "forgiveness" than I do. And I'm sure that people can learn from you.

Susan