I'm much more comfortable with endings than with beginnings. With endings, there's a context, a history, a learned set of behavior, a standard for communication (vocabulary, shorthand, inside jokes). I'm comfortable with research, with gathering; in other words, I'm comfortable in the middle. I'm not a thrill-seeker, I'm not an adventurer.
This isn't to say that some endings aren't painful--they are. Almost unbearably so. But that doesn't mean there isn't beauty there, grace there. That doesn't mean that there isn't something to learn from that ending. Also consider those endings we can't wait to toss onto the fire, to burn, to run from. Those, too, should be held compassionately, gently mined for their value, be it a human relationship or one of circumstance.
The painting, after all, isn't art until the work is finished, until the artist has put down her brush and walked away. Anything else is, at best, an endless work-in-progress and, at worst, obsession and madness.
Part of the price we pay for beauty is stepping away, permanently, in order to take in the composition as a whole.