Finding Closure

I should have known it was coming. From the very moment I saw him in the pet store.

But I had to have him.

He was simply irresistible with his large, deep eyes and his chubby cheeks. His head was too large for his tiny fish body and his malformed fins that could barely keep him underwater. He wore a permanent frown. That's how I knew he was the fish for me. I had to rescue him from his run-of-the-mill pet store life and show him all the world had to offer to a goldfish (a private bowl and regular feedings).

Even though he seemed happy, every morning  I would rush to check his bowl, bracing myself for the inevitable. There he would be, happily swimming around or hiding under his friend, the filter hose.

I worried when I caught him eating the filter. I worried when he blankly stared at the side of the bowl. When I caught him sucking on the rocks on the bottom of the bowl, I knew, deep down, it was the beginning of the end.

When I heard the gurgling noises emitting from the bowl, I figured he was just hanging out at the top of the water again.

When I woke up from my nap, he was gone and I cried. He may have only been a goldfish but, as Dr.Suess would say, "A person's a person no matter how small."

Even though I knew it was coming, I wasn't fully prepared and, when the inevitable struck, I found myself lacking appropriate closure. Perhaps it was for the best he went quickly instead of slowly fading.

Life often happens this very way. People, or seasons, come in our lives and we do everything we can to hang on to them because we know, inevitability, they will leave or the season will end. The tell tale signs are everywhere but rather than prepare ourselves for the impending end, we live in denial and convince ourselves that they or it (or a goldfish) are forever.

When the fallout inevitably comes, we aren't ready. We wish for more time to do better, do different, say what wasn't said or somehow unsay what was. As humans, we fail horribly at closure because we fear the end.

Finding closure internally can't come from someone else. I've asked countless clients what they are looking for when they say they want "closure." Sometimes its an apology, an explanation or an aknowledgement. In all those individuals, I've never found one who got what they wanted and were satisfied.

 Closure is often a lonely process where WE forgive, WE accept without explanations and WE acknowledge we don't need someone else to validate our existence.

When losing a goldfish, though ones heart breaks, closure is quickly reached. Other times its not so simple as saying a farewell over the symphony of a flushing toilet.

Gerber's death is not in vain. It is a reminder to accept seasons as they come.

So, if you see your friend sucking on  a rock or seeking daily shelter under a giant, plastic tube, say what you need to say before its too late.

Seeking closure, the ongoing plight of the human existence.