Closure....

I bumped into my age the other day. It used to be called 'the generation gap', those differences that exist between parents and children because they are growing up in a different time. I told my son that I had watched the digital version of my brother's funeral service*, and he looked alarmed and asked 'why?'. I looked puzzled and thought 'why would I not?'. 'Oh', he said. 'Did you need closure?' (*refer to blog of 3 Nov 2018)

Sons, especially grown ones, do not like their mother to be upset, which is endearing and thoughtful protection but not always realistic. Painful things happen, and often, without notice and invitation. He did however understand that there might be a purpose for my action, this being 'closure'.

I have thought about this a lot since that conversation. I do not remember that word being used in this context for most of my lifetime. According to the dictionary the original word 'closure' apparently came from 'enclosure', the means of keeping something enclosed. Computer and mathematical fields use the word with this same implication, like a number set or an operation that is closed. For most of my life 'closure' was when something closed, like a business closure, or 'something that closes', like a skirt with a zipper closure. 

Now, as with many other words, the meaning has morphed into something different. The Urban Dictionary defines 'closure' solely in terms of relationships, as in being able to 'move on' after the termination of an unsuccessful relationship. It is more broadly used as the sense of bringing something to an ending, or something that facilitates that process, as in a victim finding closure to a painful experience and perhaps a trial, aiding that process. 

The generation that raised me was not one to display, or encourage a display or discussion of feelings; there was more a 'Keep Calm and Carry On' attitude to emotion. While I do not think this is necessarily a healthy view, it seems as though the generations coming along feel that happiness is somehow a right, therefore one must find 'closure' on unpleasant things in order to return to the desired happy place. 

So what does this word even mean? Are we to forget the painful things? What place are to put them? Do we not continue to mourn the loved ones who are no longer here with us? 

Well, two months have now passed since I began this blog. It is like a tap turned off in me and I went into an internal hibernation, a kind of silence. During this time I read that when the Druids celebrated the autumn equinox, they acknowledged that it was not just a time of harvest, but, recognizing the ebb and flow of the seasons, saw it as a time for regaining internal balance and so spent time in preparing themselves for the coming dark time. 

Because they followed the sun and the seasonal changes, they knew that they would be entering a time when the hours of light would grow increasingly shorter and so the time of sunshine and activity would now change to a time of increasing darkness and rest. This was a normal, natural, and accepted cycle of the seasons. 

The work of the garden was finishing, the harvest was secured and the garden prepared to withstand the coming winter. The work of the plants and trees moved from producing above ground to sustaining deep in the ground in their root systems. The leaves dropped and became nourishing compost for the soil. Just so, the Druids recognized that similar work for physical and spiritual balance must be done. The 'composting' took the form of discarding those things which are not used or no longer serve a useful purpose. 

Time for reflection and rest is no longer built into our society; we are to work and strive all the time, ignoring the fact that the body and mind, like the earth, need to rest and replenish, and in an equal amount of time in order to be most productive.

By the winter solstice, the garden was composted and replenishing, and the time of rest with its longest periods of darkness was ending. Sleep was repairing the body and quieter, more creative pursuits were restoring balance to the mind and spirit. 

So where does this leave us, in our world, at this time? I watch my children working all hours of the day and night, shifts that upset our bodies natural rhythms and allow insufficient time for rest, never mind creativity or time to feed important relationships. And the weather has been so variable and unpredictable; it has also been unrelentingly grey and gloomy for the past months. Ironically, I read the other day of a word, coined by an Australian philosopher, to describe the distress people feel about the very real changes in our environment made by global warming; it is 'Solastalgia'.  

Obviously there are many things that we have no control over, which may be why they cause us such anxiety. I realized though, that not only did I not prepare myself for the 'dark time' of winter, or 'dark times' of life, I did not accept them as part of the calendar year, or the calendar of my life. The Druids accepted, prepared and celebrated each part of the year, including the dark time, which they considered to be a full half of it. 

I realized that 'composting' as a process is needful and helpful for emotional balance and well-being. If you do not identify those things, emotional or physical, which are not helpful to you, those things that clutter and cause upset,  and attempt to discard them, your body and mind cannot find rest.

Rest is vital for the body and the spirit and must be given priority even against the societal norm of busyness and productivity and I realized that if I did not have sufficient rest I soon lost perspective on every aspect of my life.

So...I finally realized that over these months I had unwittingly been following some these ancient practices. I moved my inner life to a place of quiet where I could think. I read a lot and tried to be creative in those quiet spaces. I tried to identify those thoughts, feelings and even physical things that caused me disquiet in an effort to 'compost' them and find more positive thoughts and pursuits. I walked often, immersing in the beauty of the forest and the joy of the birds. I allowed myself to nap when weary. I am of an age when I have that luxury and am grateful for it for I remember the freneticism of younger years.

And I came to decide after months of mulling, that 'closure' was more preferably defined as 'acceptance'. I deplore its common usage which implies that the person finding closure has been clearly wronged or misused and the closure involves an action of revenge or justified abuse. I do not think it necessarily means that a resolution has been reached either. There is no resolution to death, loss and dark times. I also do not think that 'enclosure' describes it completely, as that to me implies drawing a circle around an event and putting it away. 

In order to find a 'closure' to my brother's death, I needed to accept all the circumstances of his passing. I needed to take part in the funeral that commemorated his life. I needed to examine all the feelings of pain as well as guilt that I had over things not said or done. Then I just needed to 'be' for a while. Then, after a while, I found a feeling of closure. I found it more slowly than my sister-in-law, as her experience had the intensity of daily inexorable loss and grief.  But, what I found  miraculously, was that the process had given me back my brother. I was free in a way to have Al back in a whole form; my big brother, his grin and his voice. It is wonderful and unexpected and welcome. I will always feel his loss, yet I feel a renewed presence with me.

Have I now become more accepting of the dark times? Am I more prepared? Probably not. Sometimes the pall of winter grey is overwhelming. But as the seasons inexorably change, the dark time is growing shorter and the blessing of spring does thankfully approach.

Thankfulness in the maelstrom

I had named this blog 'In the Maelstrom' because that is where I felt that I was; in the midst of a whirlpool of emotion and events over which I had no control. The past several weeks have been turbulent. My brother died; our son got married; we drove to Quebec; a family member had to be hospitalized; my brothers flew to Winnipeg for the funeral; we celebrated birthdays; we visited with family we only see once a year..all of which is, I know, the stuff of life. However, it was the compression of all the events into a small space of time. It was the extremes of emotion on a roller coaster from day to day. It was the 'timey wimey' feel, as Matt Smith would say, of time stopping in one moment and moving warp speed in the next. 

I couldn't seem to write that blog though. It mulled around in my mind all week, until today. It suddenly seemed more important to move from mindfulness and coping, to thankfulness and perhaps a moving towards acceptance. I realized that my thoughts were based more in fear and probably anger, which would very probably keep me in that vortex, in that swirling water, for a longer time than would be healthy for me. This is not to say that I have stepped out of that water yet, but only that I may no longer stay in it thrashing about and in danger of sinking.

Therefore I decided that this blog will take those things from these difficult weeks and deliberately choose to find and list that which I can be thankful for.

Am I over the death of my brother Alan? No, probably not ever, but I am thankful that he is firmly fixed in my heart and my memory. I can still hear his voice and see his grin and will forever know that he loved me. I am thankful for the sister that he brought into my life. She is strong and amazing, although I know that she feels less so right now. I am also thankful that I can love her and remind her while she struggles with a life forever altered.

Our son was married just a couple of days after the news of my brother's death had reached us. Our hearts have an amazing capacity and I am so thankful for joy can exist in the midst of sorrow. The sun was unexpected that day, but burst through the clouds like a benediction and a blessing. Karen had written the service and the officiant infused joy and meaning into the words of promise and commitment in a Handfasting ceremony that was unique in the way that Karen and Matt are. 

The day after the wedding we drove the nine hours that it takes to go from our home in Ontario, to Sherbrooke in the Eastern Townships of Quebec.I have been making this trip with my husband for over forty years now. My mom-in-law is now 95 years old and I usually only get to see her once a year, so my choice to visit her rather than fly to Winnipeg with my brothers, though difficult, was necessary. 

Mom seems to get a bit more petite each year, but she is feisty. She has welcomed me with warmth and love since my first visit to her home. I have done some work on her family tree so we have spent many hours rehearsing family history and her personal stories. One of the visits we always make with her is to the cemetery. It is an important visit for her. As the years have passed the cemetery in Reedsville has become the final resting place of much of Mom's personal history. Parents, extended family, neighbours and schoolmates, and now a son, rest there, and each visit is a time to remember all of these loved ones. It is indeed the history of not just Mom's family, but the community in which she lived a great deal of her life. 

Mom lives close to the Domaine Howard, a lovely park and garden that my husband knew as Howard's Pond. We have always made a yearly visit, but now that Mom is only a block away, it is a daily place of refuge for me. Domaine Howard was the estate of Charles Benjamin Howard, a wealthy industrialist, senator and former mayor of Sherbrooke. The beauty and creativity of the gardens feed the soul and in late September the trees are putting on their stunning red and orange fall robes. There are benches around the pond and it is common to see someone resting with their eyes closed and face turned to the sun. Perfect. I am thankful for this lovely place of quiet and reflection.

I feel like the Eastern Townships is part of the fabric of who I now am. We visit the places that have formed the story of Mom's family. I think this is how it has always been; the repetition of family stories and those places connected to them that keep the commentary of a family alive in the next generation, so those memories are not lost. An important practice for which I am thankful, although I think that one likely needs to reach a certain age before one appreciates it. 

I am deeply thankful for family visits where you simply pick up where you left off the year before. Families are often separated by many miles and whom we are only able to visit yearly or even less frequently, and when we do visit, the time is always too short. Maybe, hopefully, that makes the visit sweeter; there is just a short time to touch their face, hug them, and say important words.

I am thankful that time, absence and language are not permanent barriers to feeling like a family. My husband's father left the family (long story) and this caused a separation from all his French heritage. Starting with names that Mom remembered, I built a family tree of those French roots and eventually came into contact with some family members (also long story). The important thing is that the some 50 years of separation, the difference in language spoken, and the absence of common experience together, made no difference to the love, acceptance and joy of being related, when we did finally meet. It was an extraordinary experience. My husband looked just like his cousin Roger, and  tante Gisele had remembered and missed him, and tante Julie still loved Mom as a sister even after all this time. Special connections and joyous reunions.

I was thankful to be able to celebrate the birthdays of my brother-in-law Marc, and his son James, our nephew. On the same day. Awesome. We went to the apple orchard, rode the trailer into the rows of apples and picked bagfuls. So much fun, and a chance to celebrate at least one of the year's occasions together. A precious memory.

And when my brother called me after the funeral, I am thankful that I could be with my remaining Mom for comfort and later rest my head on my sister-in-law's shoulder for a moment, knowing she understood. Then have birthday cake and admire a grandbaby in the family. Blessings.

Sometimes, well often, I lose perspective. Fear does that. The focus of your thoughts is negative, because so many things in life are hurtful, or frightening, or horrifying. And anyone who says that things can't get any worse, is seriously deluded. However the fact that there is a harvest and time of being grateful before the dark time of winter, gives us a chance to re-orient our outlook and prepare. 

So I will try to follow the pattern of Druid spirituality's three branches to accomplish this.

I will pursue the bardic response of taking photographs and writing, because creativity is positive and healing.

I will pursue the ovate response of spending time in the forest to recharge and refocus and find peace in its quiet.

I will pursue the druid response of deliberate gratefulness to remind me that there are always reasons to be thankful.