Closure?

clo·sure   [kloh-zher]
–noun
1. the act of closing; the state of being closed.
2. a bringing to an end; conclusion.

In life when you experience an end that is at all difficult or traumatic, people invariably talk about a need for closure. You have a falling out with a friend, suddenly they aren't your friend any more, you need closure. Someone close to you passes away, you need closure. A love affair ends with one lover doing the leaving, as the leave-ee, you need closure. Or do you? Better said, can you even really get it?

As of this morning, I am formally, officially divorced. Contrary to my rant about divorce a few posts back, the actual hearing wherein the marriage is dissolved in the eyes of law takes no time at all. Mine didn't anyway. It took longer for me to go through courthouse security and up the elevator than it did for a judge behind a desk to ask me four very simple yes/no questions, the clerk to stamp a few documents and for C. and I to walk right back out the door through which we entered to end our union. So now that we've gotten that out of the way, am I supposed to feel as if I am in a "state of being closed"?

My answer to my question is a very clear "N-O". Perhaps I'm unique in this feeling. It certainly wouldn't be the first time the beat of my little drum went to a tune of its own. I've been blessed to feel a state of genuine contentment and fulfillment in my life of late. There has been precious little drama, few to no tears shed, I'm having fun and enjoying myself. Then, faced with my now ex-husband in a cold, impersonal, rushed cattle-call of a divorce hearing, I was overcome with emotion and tears were most certainly shed. I loved him more than words could say right then and there. That feeling was in no small part a direct reflection of the sincere love that he feels for me and we were both able to express to one another, thanks to all we've shared. Our marriage is over. "Broken" to quote the nameless, faceless judge who pelted me with questions. But our love and our bond remains. Who's feeling all closed up now?!?! My heart is wide open!

So do I feel closure in the traditional sense? I do not. I recognize that a chapter has come to its formal conclusion which naturally leads to the beginning of another. I appreciate the fact that, legally, C. and I are no longer husband and wife. But since we've been living separate lives for quite a while now, that isn't really anything new. This is not a conclusion. Our shared story and our respective, individual stories, will undoubtedly include each other as characters as we continue to write them. Our past did not cease to exist with the stamp on the page any more than did our love and concern for one another stop when the papers were handed over. C. is my friend now. He may not be a friend I see often and there is a chance that will always be the case. But he will always be someone I love and trust and know I can rely on. If getting closure meant not being able to say those things because I'd have to simply say he is out of my life, I'd rather not have closure. As the saying goes, "better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." I choose love, anytime, any place.

Divide and conquer

Often when a marriage ends, there are assets and liabilities to be divided. Who will take the house? What about that expensive piece of art you bought together or the mutual fund you invested in jointly? Will the kids spend evenly divided time between both parents? These are the sorts of things that come to mind when you tick down the list of what needs to be split between two people who entered into a contract to share just about every aspect of their lives with one another, only to find that it wasn't meant to be a forever thing.

My situation was a lot simpler in most regards. C. and I were able to very clearly and, for the most part, very amicably, decide where to draw the dividing line and what would end up on each of our respective sides. The hardest asset, or perhaps in some instances, liability, to divide, has been people. When you spend so many years with someone, your friends and family become the other person's friends and family too. This isn't true of every single relationship that you both hold, but it definitely happens to some extent in most.

C. and I both have maintained a degree of contact with each other's blood relatives and some very dear friends. There is a lot more distance than when we were together and there is an unspoken deference to the fact that everybody knows where everybody else's loyalty lies. One exception to this rule are the couples that C. and I met and befriended as a couple. Neither of us had pre-existing ties to these people, neither of us had more skin in the game. Some of these people I considered to be very dear friends indeed, almost like family, and it has been a challenge to determine what my relationship to them will be now that I am not part of the couple that they have known. It is hard to know that these friends still maintain their own relationships with my former love, my former other half, while I analyze and stress over how to behave in the same room as him when our paths do cross. Most of all, it is really hard not to get your feelings hurt when your mutual friends can't quite figure out what to do with the two of you now that you're not together.

It has been a year and a half since C. and I separated. In that time, there have been a handful of events at least where we were both in attendance. . . birthday parties, baptisms, going- away celebrations. It seemed that the couples that were our common friends mostly took the position of "we'll invite them both and trust them to make their own decision as to whether or not to come". That worked well for the most part. Not to say that I didn't feel alternating tension, heartache and confusion in some of these instances, but I think outwardly C. and I did a good job of not letting our situation distract from the reason why we were in the same room in the first place- someone else that we both happen to know and love.

Imagine my surprise when, at this late stage, I found out that the core group of our mutual friends got together recently for a weekend of festivities that I was neither informed of nor invited to simply because C. was. What happened to inviting us both and letting us decide? It was a giant slap in the face, after having tried so hard to not have our separation interfere with these friendships. It stung, it made tears prick my eyes, it made the breath catch in my chest and it made me wonder just how you deal with dividing up this particular asset that presently feels like a liability. Is it really possible? Can these friendships preserve the level of closeness that they had when we were all couples, evenly balanced, no dividing lines drawn? I had hoped so but now I'm not so sure.

These are the opportunities I am given to evaluate the relationships in my life, nurture those that serve me and release those that do not. I am thankful for such moments just as I am thankful for my friends who's loyalty I do not have to question. Both represent a different sort of gift and I am grateful.