I despise the term, “closure.” Though it flows freely from the lips of TV psychologists, I consider it an ill-conceived and potentially damaging notion. My grief over the death of my daughter is unending, and I am glad for that: it is the closest connection I have with her, it appears to me anew each morning when I wake, and it keeps me on my toes so that I do not become a zombie who is suddenly “over” his grief and instantly focused back upon the trivial things of this world, such as being a good consumer. Grief allows me to think about essential things, to consider life and death carefully, and follow the cues that I am gifted with each moment by the cosmos so that I may live deliberately, with purpose an meaning. “Closure” for me conveys a sense of turning off a faucet. One cannot simply “turn off” grief. We may acquire facts and knowledge of the circumstances regarding the deaths of our loved ones, which may enrich our experiences of grief, but is that “closure”? I do not think so – or think it should be so. Being is infinitely multifaceted and ever changing. For me, I prefer the spigot full-open.