A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about closure. At the time, I thought that if I posted about closure then it would come more easily — and maybe it did. It’s hard to tell sometimes, when the memories will take your breath away and when they will let you rest.
I made a new friend on twitter last week (oh really, can you just let it go). It’s strange to think how easily friends can be made on social media outlets, maybe I’ll conquer that post on a different day. Back to my new friend, Lisa Bonchek Adams. Turns out, on top of being really funny (which is always my first qualification), she is a writer (am I that predictable), a thinker, a survivor. I read a post of her’s recently about her mother-in-law. It greatly affected me, I won’t tell you about it here — you’ll need to visit her site and read it for yourself. But, the name alone, Barbara’s Closet, sent the closure I wanted retreating to a far away corner.
I’ve gone through most of my mother’s things and sorted them for family and Goodwill and me. There are a few things remaining that I’m not quite sure what to do with.
When my grandmother was 81, she moved in with my parents. My grandfather had passed away just a few short months earlier and given her own weakened health, she couldn’t live alone. She lived with my parents for about seven years before she passed away. I remember going in my grandmother’s closet at my parents house — it never dawned on me that my mother never really cleaned that closet out. I don’t think my mother ever gave away all of my grandmother’s clothes. There was always something of her in that closet.
A few months ago, I was cleaning out my mother’s dresser. I came across a pair of pajama’s that I immediately recognized — but they weren’t my mothers. They were my grandmothers — her favorites. I remember seeing my grandmother in those — light blue, satin, pants and a shirt. My mother kept them in her drawer all these years — 13 to be exact. What am I supposed to do with them?
The things left for me to sort in my mother’s closet don’t really amount to much, but they were hers — her favorite things. It was hard to box her things up and give away — clothes, shoes, purses. I haven’t known what to do with the things she was using when she passed away. You know, her purse with all her stuff in it — driver’s license, lipstick, compact, the tissue she was using. The clothes I had just washed for her are still on the dryer. Her make-up, perfume, a half empty bottle of scope, her hairbrush. What am I supposed to do with these things?
I think my lack of ability to “throw out” these things isn’t necessarily tied to an emotional state or memory. I’ve never been one to tie my memories to objects. I tie my memories to senses — a smell, a feel, a taste. But in the case of my mother’s most recently worn clothes, her hairbrush, her purse — I think that my mother might need them again. I keep thinking she’ll need them.
So, for me to do closure, I suppose I need to actually do something with those clothes on the dryer. I need to toss out that bottle of Scope. I need to give away that last purse.
Closure is funny isn’t it? I guess you can get by, get on, get going without really being completely accepting of the circumstance. Maybe closure isn’t about accepting and moving on, maybe it’s about remembering and staying whole.
You made me cry again. ****Big Big Big Big Hug**** And LOTS of love. Dani
Dani– I didn’t mean to!
Thanks for all your hugs today — it was perfect timing.
I think it’s a mistake to believe that we get closure quite so quickly. People may demand it – society may – but I wouldn’t be surprised if it took as long to let someone go as you had them in your life.
And why should we, really, expect to go fast? As moms, we bandage up hurts and we say, be patient, let it heal, leave it alone, no, you don’t need to check it again, wait till the bandage comes off by itself, then you can give it some air, see how it’s doing, bandage it again if you need to. Why are we so cavalier about the bandages on our hearts?
Put the clothes, including your grandmother’s pajamas, away in your mother’s closet. Hang up the purse. Put the Scope in a bag so it doesn’t leak.
Close the door.
When the time comes that you need to open it again, you’ll know.
Thanks Lydia — you give the best advice!
You brought tears to my eyes for the second time.I don’t think we ever have ‘closure’ on losing people we care about. You are so lucky, though, to have had two wonderful women in your life whose passing brings you such pain.
If that makes sense?
Wishing you joy in memories, and forgetfulness of sadness.
It absolutely makes sense! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this.
Hey. That was nice. I just have one thought. My poor dad lost his wife (diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, but died several years later), son, mom, and best friend for years in just 2 years. He will never reach “closure” and wants people to stop telling him he needs it!! Poor guy. How do you “close” on 2 years like that?
I’m so glad you read this Julie! I don’t think somethings you can recover from — you just have to find something to do, that distracts you for a little while.
This is beautiful, Becky. And LittleFluffyCat is wise, as always. Maybe closure isn’t real at all. Maybe, as you say, it’s just learning how to live with what you know now that you didn’t know before.
J, you know I can’t read anything you write without crying.
I like your final definition of closure – remembering and staying whole. I think that is the key. My Mom has been gone for almost 26 years and there are times that the loss will hit me like a ton of bricks.
I remember the day several years ago when I realized that I could no longer remember my Mom’s voice. Nevermind that I had not heard it in 20+ years. I was devastated. This Christmas, my sister and I were helping my Dad clean somethings out of the attic of our old house. Low and behold, there was a box of cassette tapes. And on one of those tapes was my Mom. We listened and cried and listened some more. I am so glad to once again have her voice in my head:)
Lori, that is such an incredible story. Thank you for sharing it with me here!
Your heartfelt writing caused me to cry again, Becky. Maybe you should take a pair of your mother’s pajamas, put them in the box with your grandmother’s and put them in a safe place…together. It seems that sorting through and discarding things no longer needed by someone you’ve lost is the ultimate betrayal. And yet, what are you supposed to do with the “things”. It’s the smile, the voice, the laughter, the shared memoried you need to keep…in your heart, always. The other stuff is just…stuff; however, don’t get rid of things if you aren’t absolutely sure.
In the past 14 months, I’ve lost three people I loved very much, your mother being one of them. Sometimes it seems the more time goes by, the more I miss them. There are days I still have trouble believing they are gone…and yet, if they are in your heart, they still live on.
I loved seeing the picture, I don’t have any of Barbara and it was wonderful to see her smiling face. Peace to you.
Thank you Laurette — we’ll have to see what we can do to get you a picture of mom.
I would absolutely love to have a picture of your mom.
Becky,
I tried posting a comment earlier tonight but it didn’t go through. I wanted to be the first one! 🙂 I am so touched and honored that my words resonated with you, and that we’ve connected. The Internet is a wonderful and magical tool.
A year ago I wrote these words in an essay called “Is Closure Really Possible?”:
“You never grieve the way you think you should. No one really just sits alone and thinks about the tragedies that befall them. It’s too painful, too powerful to take that in as one big gulp. Instead, what we do is weave it into the tapestry of our consciousness. We make it part of our daily life, quiet, but present…Maybe as my own tapestry of consciousness keeps getting woven, it will be stronger and more resilient to keep me going this year.”
I hope the same for you.
xoxo
Lisa
You are really brilliant Lisa! I’m going to read some more of your blog right now.
Closure comes at ts own pace and in pieces. I know that it still rips my heart out to drive thru Knoxville where so many memories were made before/during my marriage (so, closure is still elusive). But, I’ve achieved closure in other areas. So, let them come at their pace – you’ll know what to do when the time is RIGHT.
(((HUGS)))
Thanks T! Great words! And the fact that you ended in ((hugs)) is perfect!
This was so incredibly moving and brought me to tears. My house is a monument to the lives of my parents and grandparents. We inherited art, furniture, china, silver and in so many ways “the cult of the ancestors” lives on in our home.
Becky, like your mother, I have kept several of my mother’s nightgowns tucked into my drawer. Her scent still lingers and I am so drawn to those articles of clothing.
Closure is personal and can be related to the nature of the relationship you had or the nature of the death. My dad was a victim of a mysterious drowning at 75 and it took me years to put the pieces together and feel whole again. My mother’s death was expected and while painful, easier to grapple with. On, the other hand, we had a very difficult and at times, painful relationship. Difficult to lay feelings to rest.
My only sibling, a younger brother died of a massive heart attack a year and a half ago. A total shock and little closure, here. I work on incorporating his many gifts and putting some into action. It has only been in the past week that I can even put pen to paper and write about him.
I love Lydia’s advice and agree that closure can be demanded by others who are less than empathetic. I have learned that sibling grief is down played, greatly.
I have given myself the gift of time. Thanks for your beautifully written post. I loved it.
xxoo Marsha
Marsha — thank you so much for the kind and always beautiful words. You always make so much sense to me and really cause me to pause and think.
I just noticed (cuz was teary-eyed my first reading) that you got you smile from your mother and all of your children have it, too. So every time you all are smiling, a piece of your mother is there to be seen. I know she and your father are always in your heart.
((hugs)) Dani.
Whew. I shouldn’t have read that at work! Thanks for sharing Becky. I feel blessed that these are not feelings I’ve had to deal with, and I dread the day I do. “Remembering and staying whole,” I like that.
You’re awesome Renae. It’s been a crazy couple of years but there’s always light at the end of the tunnel #NYTwitter2010!!!
Becky, that was beautiful, just like your Mom! I didn’t know her, which is irrelevant, but can tell she was beautiful inside and out. You made me stop and think, since I do not do closure. The realization that, one day, I will be forced to “clean the closet” is not so terrifying any longer. Thank you!!!
Kim! So glad you came over here to read. Thanks for the kind words.