In real life, however, closure rarely happens. I wonder if it’s because most people hate confrontation or if it’s the necessity of honesty that is required for adequate closure to occur. All relationships end eventually, but unless I have a conversation with that friend, lover, relative, etc., I beat myself up over the Wouldas, Couldas, Shouldas, and What Ifs that I never expressed. Sometimes closure isn’t possible because the other person isn’t capable of carrying on a rational conversation (i.e. my mother); sometimes the person moves away and rehashing everything from a distance seems pointless; and sometimes the person refuses to seek closure with you—having already moved on with her life, not sharing the same craving.

The irony of the third example is not lost on me, and after another sleepless night of pondering the Wouldas, Couldas, Shouldas, and What Ifs, I realized I was playing defense, which is no way to live. So I switched sides, joined the offense, and found ways to close the door all by myself. I gathered old photos, written notes, misc chotchkes, and the cards for no reason; I decided what remnants of the relationship I wanted to remember. In the wee hours of the morning, I had three piles: Keep, Toss, and Return.

I kept almost everything, tossed very little, and plan to return a few items I don’t feel comfortable owning anymore. For the first time in six months, I can move forward—the pain less acute. By looking through everything, I relived the joy of the relationship, but also acknowledged that the laughter ceased long ago.

And that, my friends, is closure.

AWW — XoXo

When I was nine years old, I would “go to bed” around 8:30/9:00. My mother worked graveyard shift at the hospital, and my father (before the divorce) never bothered to check on me so I stayed up and read. Two hours later, I would walk into the living room and give my father a complete review of the book. He usually grumbled about me staying up too late, but I don’t think he cared too much since I spent the entire time reading. Plus, those late hours were our only time together. No mother, no brother (this was many years before my sister Adrienne). After listening to me discuss my book and then quizzing me on random world history facts that I couldn’t possibly know, my father and I would watch TV shows like Soap and Barney Miller. I may have gone to school with dark circles under my eyes, but nothing can replace what would become some of my happiest childhood memories.

Now I’m adult who has spent years struggling to wake up early with the rest of the world. I remember staying up all night once in college just to see the sun rise (definitely not my idea), and all I could think was This is it? A couple of streaks of yellow in the sky? Give me a smog-infused LA sunset any day over this morning crap. I promptly went to sleep afterward and have done my best to avoid sunrises ever since. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve woken up before dawn to go skiing, to catch a plane, and even to drive to work, but I HATE IT. No amount of coffee will ever make me love or even appreciate what the morning has to offer. The only time I’ve woken up at 6am without an alarm clock was on my honeymoon in Australia (my husband, a morning person, was thrilled), but the jet lag quickly wore off in three days.

However, I found myself in the most unusual situation last month. After many months of unemployment, I managed to get two jobs that allow me to work from home. I make my own schedule. Suddenly, it occurred to me. What if I just allowed my body to do what it wants? What if I just see what happens? I don’t sleep well anyway—especially when I force myself to go to bed early. Guess what happened? I’m sleeping approximately seven hours a night from 2am – 9am, and I LOVE IT. Sometimes I have restless nights that cause me to wake up every 2.5 hours, but that’s typical for me. But usually, I’m sleeping almost seven hours without the use of sleep aids, and that’s a miracle for an insomniac like me. I believe it’s because I’m going with my body’s natural rhythm instead of against it.

So while I admire those of you who are able to get up early in the morning, I also challenge you. How is my seven hours of sleep different from yours? (If you go to bed at 10pm and wake up at 5am for instance.) I accomplish many things late at night (grading, blogging, critiquing resumes (i.e. job stuff), etc.). I’m also able to spend time with our weird cat Marinol who is extremely nocturnal; he wakes up around midnight and plays all night long. I love not feeling guilty about the time I go to bed. I love curling up with a good book the way I used to when I was a kid. I love not forcing sleep. The best part about my new regimen is that I don’t take naps anymore. I used to take them all the time because I was so tired, but now that I sleep when my body wants to I don’t seem to need them.

So … if the early bird catches the worm … then the night owl eats it while sipping a glass of red wine and reading a good book.

AWW — XoXo

Maybe what hurts the most is that in many cases, I don’t even know why these friendships ended or lessened. I don’t know what happened. I had the opportunity once to find out when one of these people wanted to talk to me again after more than five years of silence. I decided not to speak with him because I knew anything I said would sound angry and defensive. I also know him well enough to know that he probably thought he could apologize, and I would forget—or least forgive him—for his absence. I can fake happiness, but I can’t fake forgiveness.

For years, I lived in this idealistic fantasy land where I believed people were inherently good, that friendships lasted forever, and that karma truly existed. Though some of these childish notions were challenged as I became an adult, they were absolutely shattered when cancer killed my sister Adrienne, who was also like my child since I raised her from the time she was eight years old until her death at the age of fifteen.

I’ve always known life isn’t fair, and I realize my life could be so much worse. I’m lucky to have found some happiness after such a tremendous loss. However, when I have bad nights, like tonight, when I can’t sleep because I can’t stop crying (even after taking anti-anxiety medication) and there’s not one person in my cell phone I feel comfortable calling in the middle of the night, I feel even shittier. What no one tells you is that when you lose a loved one— especially a child—you lose so much more. You lose your child, your relationship, your stepson, your godson, your friends, and … a piece of yourself.

I tell my husband all the time that I have to die before him because another loss will kill me.

AWW — XoXo

Tonight in less than five minutes, these thoughts flooded my head: Will J.K. Rowling actually kill Harry Potter (Don’t tell me!)?; Maybe I should sum up the Howard letter (at work) by emphasizing his philanthropic interests instead of specific charities; God, my neck hurts from reading without moving for two hours; Will I finish Chapter 17 (in my memoir) this Saturday so I can email it to my mentor?; Are Winston’s hips (my beloved English Mastiff) still hurting tonight?; Corey sounds so peaceful when he sleeps; and I wish Little Bit (cat) would stop kneading my stomach because it already hurts.

I can’t turn it off without medication, which I hate to take. Sometimes I will swallow the dreaded pill—usually when I haven’t slept well for days. I just lie there and think. About everything. Then I pray to Adrienne like I do every night. Then I think some more. I hate these thoughts that won’t stop as they zip around, neverending since they seem to prefer a circular path. Help.

AWW — XoXo