Last Friday I spent the evening with George Clooney. Yup, that George Clooney. But before you grab your phone to ask me how I've witheld this information from you for a full week, don't get too excited, Jessie Spano. I was at the movies to find out whether "The Descendants" was worth the hype. It was. And though I'll do my best not to give away any plotlines that aren't already disclosed in the previews, I make no promises that a few minor surprises may not be revealed...but I'll try.
I feel like Stefon from Weekend Update right now, but "This movie has it all: big beach hats, Beau Bridges, an emotional arc, a couple of weed references and midgets in hula skirts." Okay, maybe I made up that last one, but it's really freaking good. The only problem is that I didn't quite know what I was in for when I settled in next to my hubby for a date-night movie. And by the end I was doing that really ugly I'm-crying-so-f'ing-hard---much-harder-than-anyone-else-in-the-theater---but-I'm-trying-not-to-show-it-so-my-face-is-all-contorted-and-I'm-trying-to-subtly-wipe-away-tears thing. I looked like Farrah from "Teen Mom." (Seriously. Google "Farrah Abraham ugly cry." You'll also get some Heidi Montag image gems in there. Bonus!) It wasn't pretty. Anyway, I think it was 74% that it was just seriously that good, 8% because I'm married now and watching stories about infidelity (revealed in previews!) affects me so very much more than it ever did before, and 18% because it occurred to me (for only the second time that day -- we're making progress!) that that day, December 9th, was the anniversary of the death of a beautiful soul and lovely friend of mine...no, not the one I previously wrote about. Unfortunately, this friend was taken by a drunk driver...
And it had been 10 years.
10 whole years. Damn. It still feels like yesterday -- I mean, I can remember exactly what I was wearing, who was in the car I shared to her parents' house the next morning, crying until my entire face literally ached for days, calling my mom and barely being able to get words out...living by myself that year and being so unable to handle any human interaction for so long after that. Man. I tear up now, just thinking about it.
So, yeah. The movie made me cry, even though it had nothing to do with drunk driving, nor were there any characters named Andrea. I did my best to hold it together until the last frames, when we navigated the exit, the parking garage and were safely sealed in my little Civic. Then the radio transitioned songs and David Gray's "Please Forgive Me if I Act a Little Strange" came on. And I lost it. Since I have yet to share the ghost stories I once promised to divulge, that means nothing to you. But it was significant. It was perfect and tragic and eery all at the same time. At once I was crying and laughing simultaneously. Sean looked at me and said, with a half-worried smile, "You okay?" And I somehow got out, "Yeah. Yeah I am. I know you don't believe in any of this and that you think I'm crazy, but I swear she's here right now. I swear it...and she's telling me that I've got to let this go. I have to let this go. I need to be celebrating her life, not marking how she died...it's time to move on." And I realized I remember December 9th every year, but I don't even know when her birthday is. Andrea was that birthday, not the sad fate that befell her in December. Shame on me for getting it wrong for all these years.
And that night when I peeled back the covers to get in bed, something caught the light and my eye.
"What's this?" I asked Sean, holding up a small gold foil heart that people often enclose in birthday cards.
He shook his head. "I don't know. That looks like it's more your department than mine."
I just smiled, shook my head a bit and tucked it safely in the eyeglass case perched on the windowsill above my bed.
Who knows?
And every time I feel like she's a million miles away, I have a beautiful tribute CD that another extraordinary soul made for me right after our loss. And, even though I have no idea if she ever even liked any of these songs, it reminds me that she's not so far away that she can't reach down every now and again and remind me that I'm living for two of us some days. So don't forget that.
And then I remember that all of this comfort is something I'm giving myself. But, hey...what's the harm in that?
Showing posts with label The Infinite Sadness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Infinite Sadness. Show all posts
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Breaking so Bad it brings tears to your eyes
Warning: this entry is a little more introspective than "I need a Louis Vuitton purse." (But I do.)
For years, Sean and I have heard that Breaking Bad is, like, the best show to happen to TV since the Brady sisters got married. I looked at the premise and said, "Soooo, it's just Weeds, but with meth? Hmmm. Sounds like a hoot. No, thanks. I already have a drug show." But I love dark (Six Feet Under is one of my all-time favorite shows and American Beauty is brilliance in film embodied.). And people continue to rave. So yesterday, one of Sean's co-workers very kindly brought him season 1 on blu-ray and insisted he give it a go.
Last night, he gingerly approached me with, "I know you've been kind of reluctant, but would you want to check it out?" To say I was hesitant is pretty much the biggest understatement of the year. See, I didn't want to watch it for reasons much more deeply rooted than I think I'm a TV critic. I lost a friend in a very convoluted series of circumstances, one of which was meth. And even though it was 7+ years ago, last night made it abundantly clear that I've never really dealt with it. In fact, I'd definitely say I'm still in the grieving stage and I'm pretty convinced I'll never get out of it. Even just typing this, I picture her and what a kindred spirit she really was. So it feels pretty fucked up when you're barely out of college and you lose someone who could finish your thoughts and make you laugh until you're very nearly in need of a pair of Depends. And you know what? It still feels pretty fucked up. Maybe it's because I moved away (four times) and I wasn't there to know what truly happened. I don't think I'll ever really know. And I choose to remember her as the person she actually was, not the person Cosmopolitan magazine portrayed in their feature a few years ago.
All of that withstanding, just one episode of that show last night brought it all back to the damned surface and, man, I cried within about 5 minutes of the first frame. I can't help but watch it and think, "This isn't entertaining. These are peoples' lives." And I'm willing to bet that someone dies from this shit every single day. Most of them aren't bad people, either. They're people who've been preyed upon by uneducated pricks who cook up a bunch of chemicals so they don't have to actually work for their money. It makes me so angry that these people think they have the right to behave this way that I felt consumed with overwhelming sadness just by watching a 45-minute show. It's like I want to shake people and remind them that this ruins peoples' lives and it's not funny. It's not good.
Yes, I did say I watch Weeds, but smoking too much pot never killed anyone as far as I know. (But don't get me wrong--that's not my scene, either. Anyone who knows me will tell you I get all fired up if anyone tries to bring that shit into my house.)
The episode ended and Sean asked me what I thought. I had to pause because I just had tears streaming down my face. I was finally able to blurt out, "It just makes me sad...but you can watch another one if you want." I stood up and headed to the stairs, just shrugging when he asked me if I were okay.
I went to the bathroom, sat down on the bathmat and wept. And I knew that I finally have to deal with this shit because it's not going anywhere until I quit allowing it a space at the table in my life. But how do you ever let go of someone you loved so dearly and who died so suddenly? How do you explain to people who just don't get it that I can blame whomever I want; I can still be angry and sad and not want to talk about it; I can make her into a saint in my mind if that's how I need to deal with things? ...well, maybe I should start with just not watching a show that glorifies the devils she danced with in the end?
And if that isn't enough, I'll shop. Today, I went with both.
*In the interest of respecting not only her privacy, but also the privacy of her incredibly wonderful and strong family, I won't give any details about her other than that she was the bees' knees. She was "smart as a whip," as they say (and, in this case, "they" is probably your grandpa), and funny and as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside--and not in that, "Oh, you should meet my friend. She has a really great personality," kind of way. In that, "Is she a model?" kind of way.
For years, Sean and I have heard that Breaking Bad is, like, the best show to happen to TV since the Brady sisters got married. I looked at the premise and said, "Soooo, it's just Weeds, but with meth? Hmmm. Sounds like a hoot. No, thanks. I already have a drug show." But I love dark (Six Feet Under is one of my all-time favorite shows and American Beauty is brilliance in film embodied.). And people continue to rave. So yesterday, one of Sean's co-workers very kindly brought him season 1 on blu-ray and insisted he give it a go.
Last night, he gingerly approached me with, "I know you've been kind of reluctant, but would you want to check it out?" To say I was hesitant is pretty much the biggest understatement of the year. See, I didn't want to watch it for reasons much more deeply rooted than I think I'm a TV critic. I lost a friend in a very convoluted series of circumstances, one of which was meth. And even though it was 7+ years ago, last night made it abundantly clear that I've never really dealt with it. In fact, I'd definitely say I'm still in the grieving stage and I'm pretty convinced I'll never get out of it. Even just typing this, I picture her and what a kindred spirit she really was. So it feels pretty fucked up when you're barely out of college and you lose someone who could finish your thoughts and make you laugh until you're very nearly in need of a pair of Depends. And you know what? It still feels pretty fucked up. Maybe it's because I moved away (four times) and I wasn't there to know what truly happened. I don't think I'll ever really know. And I choose to remember her as the person she actually was, not the person Cosmopolitan magazine portrayed in their feature a few years ago.
All of that withstanding, just one episode of that show last night brought it all back to the damned surface and, man, I cried within about 5 minutes of the first frame. I can't help but watch it and think, "This isn't entertaining. These are peoples' lives." And I'm willing to bet that someone dies from this shit every single day. Most of them aren't bad people, either. They're people who've been preyed upon by uneducated pricks who cook up a bunch of chemicals so they don't have to actually work for their money. It makes me so angry that these people think they have the right to behave this way that I felt consumed with overwhelming sadness just by watching a 45-minute show. It's like I want to shake people and remind them that this ruins peoples' lives and it's not funny. It's not good.
Yes, I did say I watch Weeds, but smoking too much pot never killed anyone as far as I know. (But don't get me wrong--that's not my scene, either. Anyone who knows me will tell you I get all fired up if anyone tries to bring that shit into my house.)
The episode ended and Sean asked me what I thought. I had to pause because I just had tears streaming down my face. I was finally able to blurt out, "It just makes me sad...but you can watch another one if you want." I stood up and headed to the stairs, just shrugging when he asked me if I were okay.
I went to the bathroom, sat down on the bathmat and wept. And I knew that I finally have to deal with this shit because it's not going anywhere until I quit allowing it a space at the table in my life. But how do you ever let go of someone you loved so dearly and who died so suddenly? How do you explain to people who just don't get it that I can blame whomever I want; I can still be angry and sad and not want to talk about it; I can make her into a saint in my mind if that's how I need to deal with things? ...well, maybe I should start with just not watching a show that glorifies the devils she danced with in the end?
And if that isn't enough, I'll shop. Today, I went with both.
*In the interest of respecting not only her privacy, but also the privacy of her incredibly wonderful and strong family, I won't give any details about her other than that she was the bees' knees. She was "smart as a whip," as they say (and, in this case, "they" is probably your grandpa), and funny and as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside--and not in that, "Oh, you should meet my friend. She has a really great personality," kind of way. In that, "Is she a model?" kind of way.
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