Closure

Closure is a fucking myth. You don’t just get to move on from a divorce and the person you gave your heart to. I HATE when people say, “at least you get to have closure now.” No, I don’t. Because every time I look at his face or into his eyes I see the man I married. What little interaction we do now have - I see the soul that connected to mine.

Months from now, I’ll be sitting in a restaurant with a good friend. We’ll be laughing and catching up because we haven’t seen each other in some time. I’ll be aware of the melting ice in my water cup and the tinkling of forks on plates and hearing snippets of conversations from other tables. It will be warm and cozy and it will smell like pancakes and maple syrup wafting through the air. I’ll be immersed in the moment but the memory of you will come. I’ll be nostalgic. Why aren’t you here in this perfect atmosphere- this place that has the comforts of home? And when the waitress comes to take our order I’ll remember yours. Eggs over easy, sausage and pancakes. And white toast lightly toasted. And yes, you will have the home fries because you’ll add them to my plate. And I’ll want you there like a plush towel after a chilly rain. Or a snuggly sweater on a cold winter day when I’m sitting on the couch and can hear the wind howling outside. Grateful to be in a warm home. A home that was ours. Which is now mine. And home to the wreckage that you left behind to start a new life with someone else. Fuck that. Why do men leave because they’re so bored with their domestic lives... just to have a static routine with someone new. Is it really going to be so different for you? We had 14 years of trials and blood and sweat and laughter and tears and fears and insecurities etched into every single wall. Now I have the walls of memories without you here within them.

Or every time I stop at the gas station I hear you voice telling me in an annoyed tone about how someone didn’t clear the nozzle and how you got gas all over you. Every single time, I hear you. Closure my ass.

My kids will grow older and in their faces and demeanors I will find traces of you. I wonder which pieces of you will take hold. Which pieces I get to hold dear to me because it was part of you.

Yes, we move on. We move forward. We find ways to cope. We forget things that were supposed to be big and meaningful. And yet. Those memories show up at the most unexpected times. Like when you’re a wreck and you have to run into the grocery store and you’re trying to avoid everyone you know- and then you see someone you don’t want to because you look like shit. Those are the memories. Those are the hidden pieces that pop up; the unexpected bump-ins at the grocery store. You can almost sense it happening righhhttt before it comes. And you’re still left winded or uncomfortable. If you just could have said, “fuck the eggs today.”

But life isn’t neat like that. You don’t get to just skip the eggs when you need the eggs and you don’t just get to shut off your brain and it’s hidden memory land mines.

I keep trying to tell myself that I was lucky to ever have experienced that kind of love. Soulmate love. And I am. I am. I am so damn lucky. But it hurts. Each layer that becomes unraveled hurts. Time passes and it hurts. There is a lifetime of hurting that will be there as an undercurrent. That’s a fact. Yes, it will fade. I’ll move on. I may love again. But you, you are the quiet din in a restaurant. Your voice will be there even if I’m not listening. My life will go on and the background noise will fade. I may even have to strain to hear you as I get older. But I know you’ll be there.