Closure

There are some things that need to close. Doors on a cold day. Windows on a rainy day. A relationship turned volatile. A box of cereal. A refrigerator door. A can of paint. A toothpaste tube. A bottle of wine. A car door.

And there are things that might be closed. A career. A conversation. A formal education. A letter. A box of chocolates. A garden gate. A party invitation.

And then there are the closures that might not really ever be closed.

My dad passed in March of 2019 at the age of 93. Being that I was still working, my sister was traveling the country, and then COVID happened…our family never held a celebration of his life.

My aunt, my mom’s younger sister, passed away last summer. My cousins held a lovely family celebration for their mom in December. Photos were shared, stories were told, letters were read, hugs were given and received, ashes were scattered. I had a real sense of her life – a life well-lived, well-loved and valued by those who knew her. It felt good to be there and remember her together.

Then my mom passed in January at the age of 98. I was able to be with her in her last days, as she gently took her last breaths. There had been family chatter about a celebration for both Mom and Dad, but everyone is busy. School. Work. Health issues. Could we even gather everyone together to share stories and to celebrate their lives? When? How? Where?

And then I realized…the entire generation before me was gone and I felt a more urgent need to gather our family and create our own celebration, our own closure for the generation that came before us. But still the questions of how, when and where befuddled me.

Until my niece told me she and her family would be in town from Virginia for a weekend in June. June. School was out. The weather would likely be nice. I’d be available…so I put out the date and lo and behold (a phrase I first learned from my aunt)…everyone and I mean EVERYONE could make it. So we had a date.

We would celebrate.

We would have closure. Right?

The celebration was coming together – we’d gather at my niece’s house and we’d have a potluck – each family bringing a favorite “memory” dish to share – “heart attack potatoes”, Hello Dollies, Boston baked beans…. I gathered photos, letters, scrap books and trinkets that have been stored in the nether regions of my garage to decorate the room and offer a chance for people to explore Mom and Dad’s history. I created a “Tom and Betty” photo book for each grandchild. I made a Bingo/Jeopardy game of facts about their lives. We were ready.

And on June 14th, in true “Densmore” informal fashion – we gathered, we told stories, we laughed, we were LOUD, we ate, we played “Bingo”, we celebrated summer birthdays with cake, we took a photo on the front steps and then suddenly… POOF…it was over (before the root beer floats even were offered!)…everyone was off for their next family weekend event – another party, a sports event, a visit to a hospital bed (that’s another story)…Hugs were quickly shared. Good byes were said. “Tom and Betty” books and to-go dishes were gathered. Car doors were closed. And the house emptied…

We did it. It was done. The story was told. The celebration happened. I had the…closure I’d been looking for…Didn’t I?

Is that what it’s called? I admit to feeling relief that the event happened. That we all gathered and celebrated, but I’m not sure I feel a sense of closure.

I’m not sure there is such a thing when talking about people who played such an enormous and important role in my life. Am I really able to actually close that book? Or is it just a chapter of my book?

Or maybe it is just a part of a never-ending life story…

The Book of Life…