Not every ending has to be devastating to have been meaningful. Some chapters close quietly, making space for what’s ahead.
Like that favorite sweater of mine. I would wear it religiously, the last item to reluctantly enter the laundry bag and the first one eagerly retrieved. Every new addition in my life would first be vetted by the sweater: Would it complement the sweater’s subtle hue? Did the textures harmonize? Could the styles coexist? If not, there would be no space for it.
But then that sweater slowly but surely started to outgrow me. Imperceptibly at first, like a threat or two loosening. The shoulders that once fit so snugly started hanging awkwardly. The fabric that once warmed me began to feel inadequate. I was still cold. I didn’t suddenly dislike it, but gradually recognized it hadn’t quite fit right for a while.
Can I repurpose the sweater? It can’t warm my heart, but it can still warm my fingers or serve as a beautiful headband! Putting the sweater away feels more natural than devastating, because I’m not throwing it away, just letting it fulfil me in different ways.
The sweater, like our relationship, brought us great joy in its season. And that’s perhaps the most graceful truth about endings… not that they failed but that they completed what they were meant to do. The warmth we needed then isn’t the warmth we need now. In this quiet aftermath, there is no emptiness but only clarity. And like the ending of that movie, I will always love you, and you will always love me.