Closure

Traditional stories start with the beginning, and finish at the end. Life’s stories, however, are seldom as clean-cut, and it’s up to us to piece it all together. Who’s to say where one’s story begins, and where it ends? Does a love story simply begin when boy meets girl, or does it begin much, much farther? Perhaps it starts when he meets his first crush, or when he experiences his first heartbreak. And again, when do we end the story? When they break up? Or when they get married? Perhaps when they’re rearing their first child, or when one of them dies. Life is full of stories, but they seldom make any sense at all, at least not at first.

It’s peculiar how humans cling to the idea of a story. They want an end just as much as they want a beginning. They want closure. Yet not everything in life can be easily resolved, nor is closure the same sentiment for everyone. For a heart-broken lover, it might mean hearing from the other side that the relationship has ended and nothing as blunt or direct would do. For others, it might be the departure, the ambiguous metaphor, the implied but never confronted reality. While humans have the same needs, we express it in different ways. I’m sure you’ve heard of stories where families only get to move on when they finally see the body of a deceased relative. But there are also stories of people who adapt over time without hearing news about someone they care about. Life doesn’t tell us where a story ends and a new one begins. We determine that, although we will make up all sorts of reasons to prevent ending a finished story or worse, closing the book on an unfinished narrative.

Life isn’t linear, nor do we follow only one trail. The present is entwined with many different stories, all simultaneous, although we only pay attention to the one that is currently apparent. What might make life confusing is the fact that the stories don’t end at the same time. My role in a certain story might be finished, but another person might still have something else to contribute. And just because Story A has ended doesn’t mean Story B has, even if the former is tied to the latter. Except the stories we’re linked to is infinite, and our all too finite minds and emotions can only comprehend so much.

We have many words for closure: moving on, letting go, getting over, living for the future. It’s as essential to us as the air we breathe. However, our mistake is that we think it isn’t mutable, that once we determine where a certain story has ended that it can never be opened again. Just because old wounds have healed doesn’t mean they can’t be reopened. Sometimes revisiting the past isn’t as horrible as we make it out to be. In fact, sometimes we need to return to unfinished business so that a new story can be told. At other times, it would be convenient to move along with the present, but other people’s sense of finality deems that we experience previous trials once more, for their sake if not ours. Unlike books, real life stories don’t end with the last page. It only ends where we decide it ends, and we continually rewrite the narrative in our minds. Sometimes, the story doesn’t even end with our death, as the memories of other people contribute to the bigger story.