In February, we finished off our last high school soccer season. We knew each game might be our last, so we tried to take it all in. We took lots of pictures. My parents came. The girls got sweatshirts made to commemorate it. While it was sad to end, we had closure.
Closure is important. We teach our ministry staff, when they come back from overseas assignments, to build a RAFT (Reconciliation, Affirmation, Farewell, and Think Destination). In other words, we take a good look around and see what needs healing, celebration, and grief. Then we look ahead with hope to what is coming next.
That aspect of Farewells-saying goodbye well to a season, both to people and places, and allowing ourselves to grieve well, is essential. When we know something is going to end, we pay attention. We notice what we’ve taken for granted. The ordinary suddenly becomes precious and noteworthy. When we are cut off from saying goodbye well, it is difficult to fully engage with hope in the next one.
It’s so devastating and unnatural when we are denied the opportunity for good closure. This season we’re in is full of cut off endings.
When We Don’t Get Closure
When our daughter went to school the Thursday before spring break, we didn’t know it was her last day. We had no idea she wouldn’t wear her school uniform or drive carpool again. If we had, we would have done it (and the days leading up to it) differently.
This spring we all missed so many events, but maybe the most difficult are the lasts that we won’t be able to get back. The things we can’t reschedule. Watching the last club soccer season. Celebrating the end of a year-long program. Enjoying the last days of work before retirement. A friend moved away and you didn’t get to say goodbye. You had to leave your host country and you don’t know when (or if) you’ll go back.
I’ve wondered why this feels so wrong, this cut-off grief. I wonder if it’s because we ache for shalom-the way that things are meant to be. The peace God intended. We bend toward justice and righteousness. It is good to desire what is right, and this just feels wrong. When we work toward healthy closure, it’s like a satisfying ending to a book. We are shalom people. We celebrate goodness. Ending in a place of restoration and peace is in our wiring. It’s so jarring when we are kept from that.
So What Do We Do?
I’ve contemplated what to do about this abrupt grief we feel. We begin by acknowledging the weight of it. It’s another part of living in the reality I talked about in my last post. It doesn’t feel right because it isn’t. Like stopping a race before the finish line, or quitting a book halfway through a chapter, it’s unnatural not to finish well.
It’s been helpful for me to recognize this. It’s a particular kind of grief to not only miss something but to know that you’ve missed it entirely. We carry emotion in our bodies-it’s one more thing we need to name.
I hope that experiencing this cut off grief makes us appreciate what we do have. When we are able to finish well again, I hope we do. Realizing how important closure is, I hope we savor what we have even more. This is a reminder to love what we have well when we have it, because we don’t know when we might lose it.
These undone places can be a reminder that we were made for something more than this. We were made for another world, one where shalom is never shattered. If we put too much hope in things of this world, we will be disappointed. While we grieve the unfinished chapters, let them remind us that the greater story ends well.
And rather than shrugging it off as lost, it’s worth the energy to find ways to have some kind of closure. This Friday would have been our daughter’s graduation. Instead of that, her class (thankfully small) is gathering to do a socially distanced tailgate party. It’s not what we planned, but it’s still good.
