Some endings deserve a table 

We are good at beginnings. 

We cut ribbons, 

Raise glasses, 

Take photographs,

Before anyone knows 

What they are commemorating. 

Endings get less.

A final text message, 

A returned key, 

An account disabled, 

Someone asking 

Where to send the remaining things. 

Some endings deserve a table. 

Not a fight. 

A long one.

Bread in the middle, 

Too much wine,

Someone late,

Someone sitting

Where they always sit. 

Old stories, 

Badly and hilariously remembered and recited. 

No minutes.  

No record. 

No final agreement 

On what happened. 

Or why. 

Simply recognition, 

That it did. 

For a while these people occupied the same coordinates. 

Built things. 

Broke things. 

Loved each other, 

Misunderstood most of it.

There should be gratitude. 

Not the dishonest kind, 

That plasters over the crackers. 

The other kind.

The kind that can say: 

This hurt, 

And 

This mattered.

Without asking either to cancel the other. 

At they sit, 

At the same table. 

There is something beautiful 

about a last supper. 

No prophecy. 

No betrayal.

At least not yet. 

Simply everyone still being there. 

So gather what matters, 

Look at who is beside you.

Give thanks
for what the old life gave you.

Finish the wine.

Break the bread.

Do not ask the ending

To disguise itself as another beginning. 

Some things are finished. 

That is not the same as saying they failed. 

And when you take that final mouthful, 

Push back your chair. 

Leave the table a little messier than you found it. 

Smile. 

And allow the next life to begin.

J.T.