Closure, cynosure

29th VII 2015

Climbed the dead end road Beth lives on barefoot with a glass of wine to admire the moon. Hoped I’d see the bear that’s been shitting in her yard. Speculated all month what made the scat and convinced now, it’s bear. Always goes in the same spot. Put on some Billie Holiday CD that spills out through the windows into the night like it belongs there. Sat for a while on the deck by the plastic hummingbird mobile that lights up, our last night in the States. No room I sit in feels right.

Thought about this word Closure and what it means. My friend Steve asked why I wanted to see my old boss, for closure? and he was right, I didn’t get it. Closure is this psychological healing, like if you lose a kid or your husband goes missing in the war, you want the body back.

When I was doing Yoga I learned the body retains emotions and the memory of pain as a physical thing. I had a friend who cried once at the end of a session because she was letting go some pain of her first husband, and their divorce.

When I think of closure, it’s the two cats I had to bury that come to mind, why it was important I bury them and the manner in which I did, the ritual, the sort of loving gestures you need to do for yourself, for them. I haven’t seen a lot of death but I’ve seen enough of it to bolster me to live more. I think about the last cat I had to put down, and looking at my watch as the time was drawing closer I had to take her in.

I went back and read some posts from late 2012, when the idea of leaving like we are now was starting to incubate. You may relate to this, but it’s a kind of out-of-body sensation where I’m watching myself operate as though I’m in a film. It’s freeing and terrifying. My cell phone number goes fallow tomorrow and we lose eight or nine hours and then emerge in Frankfurt Friday morning, with nine months out of the States and a wad of Euros in my pack, a postcard of a church in Wales where my step-dad got baptized in 1939 — a moon that’s full and fat and looks about the same as it does every month, when you’re able to see it. That funny face that looks sorrowful and foolish, but lights the night sky like a candle, and how just a small flame can go a long way in the dark. It’s the best of lives we have, right now.

Categories: travel

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

22 replies

  1. “Climbed the dead end road Beth lives on barefoot with a glass of wine to admire the moon.” … Haven’t even read the thing and already it’s magnificent. Be back later.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Done. “It’s the best of lives we have, right now.” Absolutely. Bon voyage, mon ami.


  3. Oh, brilliant. Closure is a funny thing because it isn’t permanent but the idea of it thrills. I might drive past my old childhood house tomorrow (or not), and already I feel this stir of hope, excitement, dread…a bunch of feelings I want to put to rest now, though I hadn’t thought of the house in awhile.

    Happy, safe travels to you and your family. What a wonderful thing you’re all doing. How beautiful and brave to live in the moment like this.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you Kristen – of course I think you should go by your old house, I love the feelings you get from that. And I want to hear about it! I think your last post inspired one I did last week about visiting a house we used to live in. Anyhow, I should shower and get our act together here, it’s time to check in and all that. Best, and see you on the flipside.

      Liked by 1 person

      • I decided I’ll drive by. Thanks. I loved that post of yours, and the old house is the one I mentioned in my post, so both obviously sparked the urge. Don’t know how I missed that. Hope all is well, catch you on the flip side.


      • Nice, glad to hear it Kristen. Trying to figure out my mom’s coffeemaker here in Germany and it ain’t pretty. Cheers to you and yours.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Exuding peace, Bill. That’s good, good. Safe travels to all.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Reblogged this on abscratches and commented:
    Beautifully stated.


    • Thank you kindly! Apologies for the delay in my response, we just moved our family to Germany yesterday. But the Internet doesn’t allow for long delays, does it? I’m glad you liked the post. Best, Bill

      Liked by 1 person

      • Oh no problem at all! I know how demanding shifting can be. Your thoughts on closure and psychological healing really resonated with me, and I believe in appreciating what truly touches the heart. I’m new on WordPress and your blog really appealed to me. Regards


  6. I don’t know if I believe in Closure. The Greatest Generation didn’t have Closure. We made that up along with gluten-free diets and spin cycle classes.

    You’re embarking on a great adventure. I find myself sitting her wallowing in envy. Because wallow is what I do.

    I saw that moon this morning when I was waiting in line for my bus at 5:00. It was low on the horizon and gigantic. A sharp, bright yellow disk. I almost ran back home for my binoculars.

    Sammamish is fun to say out loud.

    Liked by 1 person

    • We made a point to stay up last night so we could see that same moon, the second full one in July, kind of yellowish and smog-fuzzy here in Germany with all the heat they’ve had. I hadn’t thought that Closure might be generational. Seems a tidy and convenient thing like taking a pill, and suspect. Yes, don’t wallow — but I think it’s an enviable thing we’re doing, so I’m just trying to live it you know, and make pretend I can preserve it. Have a good Friday. We lost nine hours yesterday and I don’t miss them a bit. – Bill


  7. Closure is very weird. I never thought about it until the end of my first relationship when I was 19. With death I imagine it is stranger, worse



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