I never fully understood the need for closure. I never felt any emotional trigger when an event designed for closure happened in my life. Whether it was the end of significant life chapter or resolving a particular conflict, I don’t remember walking away, wiping my non-sweaty brow and saying “phew” I am glad that is over, now I can move on.
What I do remember is the lingering pain of whatever heartache I was experiencing. Yes, it subsided over time, just like physical pain, but occasionally it still returns, and usually with same intensity. So really no closure, pain still returns, same intensity, just not as often, which time is the catalyst, not the closure event.
Would the pain be more powerful if I did not have this closure? Am I being too pragmatic about the emotional vagueness of loss or hurt? Not sure, but even with all this floating around my brain, we buried my dog Alice this past weekend at the cottage.
Hud and I found a spot underneath some cedars, near the lake she loved, where sun and rain will be equally trickled down sparsely, based on the forecast.
It’s a cozy spot; we felt it, even while my eldest son and I were getting soaked by a chilly autumnal shower.
Once the hole was dug, we called up to my family, and we gathered, placing her boxed and signed cremated remains into a shallow grave.
I choked out a few words, explaining how my life still circles around the rituals Alice contributed to, the love she provided without asking for anything. My family wept along with me.
She is gone. I miss her. I will miss her everyday for the rest of my life. Just less so I guess. And that twinge of pain will remind me of how strong the love for a pet can be.
And I don’t want closure for that.