Grief Has No Closure

I was told this past week that I need to find closure to my grief from losing Greg. It upsets this person that I cry as they see crying as a weakness, where I do not. I am strong; I have to be. Tears do not change that, especially tears of grief.

I have come to despise the word “closure.” All of what I consider to be nothing but psychobabble about closure the past several years has caused me to start considering “closure” a curse word. At the very least, a catchword used by people whom I doubt have ever had any extreme trials and tribulations in their lives, and if they have had, they have numbed themselves with some type of medication, legal or otherwise.

There is no closure for grief, even though I have been told that I need to get on with my life and that finding closure will help. I’m not sitting home alone, mourning in darkness, never venturing out. I do most everything by myself that Greg and I did together – come to work, talk to people, shop, drive around, dine out, listen to music. I am just doing all those things without Greg at my side. Yes, I grieve for him and likely always will.

Grief has its own course. Grief does not have a stopping point, like the final payment on a mortgage. Grief does not have an on/off switch like a flashlight. Grief has mood swings, like the weather, from mild days to days of unleashed fury that leave their mark as clear as the path of a tornado.

Other people may not see these marks on my spirit, as I try to keep the worst of them hidden.  A few people, who were close to Greg in many ways, understand the way I feel. I cannot simply get up one morning, let’s say next Friday, and declare that I have “closure” to my grief from losing Greg and that I will never cry nor feel sad or lonesome ever again.

Grief has no closure. I can only learn to deal with it in different ways as time passes.