The ending wasn’t loud. Well, at least not to the rest of the world. In Marietta’s world, it crashed close with the piercing cry of cymbals. All the pristine possibilities that had once laid wide open were now gone, blown away by the finality of that ending.

At first she thought she’d never breathe properly again. She thought there would always be that hole in her chest that signified the rawness of something ripped out of her. She thought there would be no bright tomorrows or contented nights falling asleep. There would always be the sadness lurking somewhere around the next corner waiting to jump out and grab her by the throat.

She would be going happily along with the expectation of joy that she had always had – and then suddenly that ending would rear its head as an ugly reminder. No, you can’t have that joy anymore. It’s not yours to harbor. Sometimes it came as a punch to the stomach … sometimes it slipped in silently as an unwelcome bedfellow. Days would pass with love and delight creeping back in with their rosy tints, and she would breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, the ending was fading from sight. And then one day she’d wake up with unexpected tears in her eyes, reminding her that it was still a fresh wound.

But what she couldn’t believe at first – that “time heals all wounds” – she gradually came to accept as fact. The hurt lessened, the intensity of loss diminished. She could focus on other things in her life without being overcome by the one any longer. And she came to discover that healing doesn’t mean there are no memories or scars. There would always be that scar on her heart for you cannot love someone without giving away a piece of your heart. But though the memories remained in the shiny whiteness of scar tissue, she could choose not to dwell on them. She could choose to look away, to look forward, to not give refuge to the longings that came with those memories.

Eventually the scar tissue didn’t hurt anymore – maybe sometimes when pressure was applied for too long. But it served as a gentle reminder in a place no one else could see. A reminder that love is fragile and broken easily. A reminder that it may end up hurting to love someone, but it is still worth it. A reminder that there are, perhaps, much better things in store for us than we could have ever dreamed of. And a reminder that God sometimes breaks our hearts to show us the depths of His own.

Marietta didn’t consider herself to be a brave person. She also didn’t consider endings to be her favorite. At least, not the unhappy endings. She liked the fairy-tale, dreams-come-true editions herself. But she didn’t consider this tearful ending to be the close of her story. The close of one chapter in her life, yes. But the whole book? That had a far better ending, written in beautiful script with descriptions too heavenly to imagine. And when she got there?

She’d see that it wouldn’t have been possible, nor so beautiful, had that last chapter ended any other way.