The Grandstands of Heaven

Every once in awhile, it occurs to me how many people I’ve lost along the way. Can you tell this isn’t going to be one of my more humorous posts?

I suppose it’s no more or less than anyone else. But on those days and nights when I let my thoughts roll around to them, it occurs to me how much I miss my dearly departed friends and family. I was trying to figure out the reason I don’t dwell on it more often than I do, and I think it’s because I still feel surrounded by them. Not in the ooo-eee-ooo kind of way, but in the “they’re never really gone, love never dies, they’re watching over me” kind of way.

I heard a great phrase the other day: the grandstands of heaven. That’s where I believe they’re all sitting, looking down and cheering me on. Of course, since they were my friends and family and probably did some traveling with me while they were here, I'm sure they're sitting in the clubhouse and not the general bleachers.

No flight too short for first class.

Right about now I’m sure some of my atheist friends are having a good laugh at this. It’ll give them something to make fun of and mock, because sometimes being content not believing in God or Heaven just isn't enough. Have at it. I love you anyway, and believe I’ll see you on the other side - even if you don’t.

Anyway, to Jim, George, Babs, Peter, Uncle Jimmy, Pete, Gommie, Jacques, Mark, Paul, Uncle Lou, Mom, Dad and the rest, since I can’t send you a thank you note (postage is outrageous) I want you to know I appreciate your continued support and love, and look forward to seeing you guys again. Not soon, but again. Save me a seat.

By the way, I heard you can eat as much of whatever you want up there and not gain weight. If that’s true, I’d appreciate one of you sending me a sign.

Maybe something like this.

Closure. When will it end?

I'm going to tell you something and you're not going to like it.

But it's the truth.

And sometimes, like flu shots and Ryan Reynolds movies, the truth hurts.

Here it is: there's no such thing as closure. Not in the truest sense of the word.

Pardon my French, but it's a bullshit, new age-y word imposed on you by people who'd be more comfortable if you just "moved past" whatever pain it is you're in.

The tenth anniversary of 9/11 is upon us, and all around are talking heads reminding us about everything that should give us closure about it. The rebuilding at ground zero. The killing of Bin Laden. The resilience of survivors. The bravery of first responders in the way they've carried on since.

I can't tell if they want us to forget the images of that day or just feel better about them. Either way it seems obscene.

Apparently, back in the day, the word closure had value. That's why all the pundits, journalists, shrinks and new age authors bought boxes of it at the height of the closure market. But it's easy to see the word's lost it's value, and now they want to unload it as fast as they can.

Truth is it hasn't been worth anything since the Kennedy assassination (by the way, still waiting for closure on that).

It seems cynical to say, but we don't really get over anything. Anything that matters.

Which is okay in my book (well, more of an outline really), because there are some things we shouldn't get over.

Collective tragedies like 9/11, the shuttle explosion, Katrina and the murder of (pick a name). To apply the word closure to these events, to say we've come to terms with them, is absurd. To even imply it means we've diminished our capacity to be shocked and moved by them.

Here's another example. On a more personal note, both my parents are dead. They've been dead a long time. In fact, I just checked a few minutes ago - still dead. They're going to be dead for the rest of the time I'm alive. If you've ever lost a loved one, and I hope you haven't because it just sucks, you know the idea of closure is fiction in its purest form. It never goes away. It gets better, more bearable over time, but it's never really gone.

Remember that boy or girl who broke your heart? Your pet you had to put down? Losing your grandmother's wedding ring? Failing your final? Crashing the car? Still stings doesn't it. It should. That's the point.

Just because you finish a chapter in your life doesn't mean you can't hold or revisit the book every once in awhile.

This whole concept of closure betrays a society that places an unreasonable amount of importance on "getting past it" and "getting on with it." You hear phrases like "get over it" and "put it behind you" an awful lot, always from people who aren't looking out for your well-being, but who are uncomfortable around your sadness.

No matter how small the incident or how long the time, we don't handle displays of grief well. We're uncomfortable around it. It makes us feel weak.

What it really should make us feel is human.