#Because their love for me has long felt detached because it encompasses a version of me that just isn't quite accurate.

[screambirdscreaming]

Not a coherent thesis here yet but I've been thinking lately about the dynamic of.... people who loved you unconditionally as a kid (or on the condition of being family, which is another weird dynamic) - but as you got older that became strained because you grew into someone they didn't expect and they realized that they did have conditions, actually.

I mean. There are people who had conditions all along, but just didn't mention them until you didn't meet them. And there's people who spent the whole time actively trying to mold you into someone who would meet their conditions.

But there's also people who truly didn't realize that you could grow up into someone that surprised them, that pushed their concepts of normal reasonable people. I think often because they themselves were constrained in their childhoods and mentally closed off whole worlds of options of ways people could be, without realizing it. So they thought kids just sort of naturally grew out of those sorts of quirks and eccentricities. Without realizing how much that dynamic was driven by active suppression, and how weird people could get if you just let them.

There's one such person in my life who has truly tried to grow and learn as this has come up, over and over again. And I really love and respect her for it, even if sometimes its a little exhausting to have to keep pushing at it. Keep explaining, and expanding, and not being hurt by her baseline of confusion that I'm still just.... not someone she knows how to expect. Even after all this time. But she does love me unconditionally. And for her that's the baseline, and she's willing to put in the work to expand her understanding of the world to know what it means to love me for who I am, even if it doesn't always come easily to her.

And then there's other people who run into this same tension and don't know what to do with it. They don't realize that loving you for who you are means putting in work to expand their concept of ways people can be. They don't try to overtly push you into not being like that but they keep holding out the expectation that you will, because how are they supposed to love you being like that? And of course as a kid, a teen, a young adult, you don't really have words for it either. You can feel the tension, the dissonance between the way they openly offer love to you that doesn't seem to fit, and the way they react to with confusion or distaste to parts of you that you can't change, or don't want to. Sometimes to things in yourself you can't even identify. So sometimes you make an effort to hide those things and act like they want. And sometimes you buckle down on being yourself. But neither approach really seems to fill the gap. You can't recieve affection and have it fit at the same time.

And eventually it just feels like you've sort of failed each other. By the time you have the words and self awareness to know what went wrong and where, it's too late to draw the chasm closed.

It's not too late to bridge it. But if we make this effort as adults, with the conditionality of adult relationships, you'll have to see me as I am and accept that - or be a stranger.

It's weird, to be like strangers with people who've known you your whole life.

[bbclesmis]

Salon: Watching PBS's "Les Misérables" as Notre Dame burned: A lesson in processing spectacular loss

The new version of Victor Hugo's tale has no familiar tunes to sweeten its tragedy. That feels very fitting now

By way of processing the shock of watching Notre Dame burn in Paris on Monday, I turned away from social media, where livestreams of the spreading flames were sadly plentiful, and turned on the latest adaptation of “Les Misérables,” currently airing on PBS’s “Masterpiece.”

This was mainly out of obligation, to be honest. The six-part series aired its first episode Sunday, the same night as the debut of a certain show starring zombies, dragons and queens. It is currently streaming online and via video on demand. Scheduling new installments of the “Masterpiece” epic as time-slot competition to the most popular show on the planet is pure folly; then again, something has to air at 9 p.m. Sundays. If you can’t serve up the flashiest show on television, might as well come in second.

Except this “Les Misérables” trades in substance, not dazzle. It has no music to it — literally. No renditions of the Broadway musical’s most familiar ditties such as “Master of the House,” no “On My Own.”

Andrew Davies’ adaption of Victor Hugo’s literary hulk (my softcover edition is 1,232 pages long) relies on the beholder to drink in the bitter imagery and soften her heart to the plight of characters who often cannot outrun their past failings regardless of what they do.

And although Hugo’s other great work, the 1831 novel “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” has a direct influence on the history of Notre Dame — Tuesday it soared the top of Amazon France’s n the bestseller list on Amazon France — the spirit of this new “Les Misérables” is better suited the age in which we collectively bore witness to a conflagration consuming one of the world’s great monuments.

On social media the chorus could not quite find true harmony in our collective mourning. People shared photos taken from recent visits and musings as to what Notre Dame means to them; others stonily called out the Catholic Church’s various sins over the centuries, citing everything from its participation in and funding of the brutality of colonialism to its protection of sexual abusers. Still others scoffed at what they saw as another example of manufactured grief showcases by way of Twitter.

The voices became a dueling chorus between the Fantines and Jean Valjeans of the world and the Javerts, to look at it another way. In that respect, the PBS version of “Les Misérables” needs no melodies to sell it, because the sorrow and the harsh lawful judgment demonstrated throughout the story, as well as the grace radiating through its performances — with Dominic West as Valjean, Lily Collins’ Fantine and David Oyelowo’s Javert — are its songs.

Presenting the story as an abridged version of Hugo’s writing forces the viewer to absorb the misery its characters endure without the sugar of melodic performance, without distracting spectacle that allows us, in a way, to emotionally split from the horror of what we're seeing.

And his makes it a diametric contrast to "Game of Thrones," a pure act of spectacle and escapism. HBO’s epic is pure fantasy, even though it too has a historical basis, borrowing aspects of the plot from England’s War of the Roses.

But by incorporating mythical elements and magical forces, the series’ fans can emotionally detach somewhat from the tale’s tragedy. In no way am I suggesting that certain Monday mornings in the upcoming weeks won’t be bluer than usual as the show’s fans come to grips with the death of a beloved character or three in the previous night’s episode. But we can also count on such demises being rendered in ways fitting to how the character lived. Each will be a spectacle among spectacles.

This is what struck me as I watched a place to which I’ve made several pilgrimages over the years be devoured by an element as careless, cruel and unreasonable as flame. I abandoned my Catholicism years ago for the reasons the vocal critics who showed up on Monday listed, as well as much more personal ones. And yet I have laid some of the most significant prayers of my life at the stone feet of Joan of Arc; I have knelt in prayer at her chapel inside the landmark in honor of my deceased loved ones and the troubled living I hold dear. To see the spire fall felt like a conduit to the divine being broken, even though I can’t remember the last time I went to church on Sunday.

But for a portion of witnesses, at least some of those voicing their opinions on the Internet, bearing witness to the public destruction of a world landmark prized in part because it is a work of spectacle on a grand scale became a struggle between the desire to feel and remember, and an insistence on emotional remove, a mode of thought that insists, as we watch this grand wonder crumble in faraway France, that this is not about us, whoever “us” may be,  and it's certainly not about you as an individual.

The second episode in the series, airing Sunday, shows the tale’s tritagonist Fantine at her lowest point: she’s cut off all of her hair and sold it, along with her front teeth, in exchange for a measly sum of money to send to the Thenardiers, a pair of cruel grifters with whom she’s left her daughter. She’s already been fired from the factory where she found work. Left with nothing else to offer, and no other place of employment willing to take her, she’s turned to selling herself off piece by piece: first, her most prominent assets, then her body.

The sight of Collins’ Fantine in this version of “Les Misérables” brings to mind the word most  appropriate to the novel’s title: at her lowest point, she looks wretched.

Unlike Anne Hathaway, who won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her portrayal of Fantine in the 2012 theatrical version, Collins’s Fantine wears the gaps in her dental work like a badge of shame. The darkness in her mouth yawns wide at the viewer as she grimaces through physically and emotionally torturous encounters, particularly at the pivotal moment that a certain gentleman crosses her path.

The man is carousing and laughing with the other ladies of the evening, all in much better shape that Collins’ tragic heroine. And when he encounters her, he treats her like a joke. Asking for her rate, she responds, softly, with the offer of however much he thinks she is worth.

“How about… nothing, then?” he counters, roaring along with his friends. Fantine is too weak to offer much of a defense, only a plea for mercy.

“I have to live, monsieur,” she softly says, adding. “Same as you.”

The “gentleman” laughs in her face. “Same as me? Cheeky cow.”

In the musical version of “Les Misérables” this exchange is preceded by Fantine’s climactic solo “I Dreamed a Dream,” the kind of song that transfixes the audience, making it impossible to look away.

This is the song that made Susan Boyle famous, in case you may have forgotten. Back then Boyle’s looks were as frequently discussed as her angelic voice, after she found fame by way of a 2009 episode of “Britain’s Got Talent.” Would she have achieved international stardom if she hadn’t chosen that particular song? It is an anthem of human tragedy, one of the most beautiful created in modern times. And it romanced Boyle, a woman in her late 40s who had never been kissed, never gotten a chance to take center stage, into an international symbol of triumph.

Point being, we’re all made to be the same creatures under the sky, but not on the same playing field unless someone wills it to be so.

Central to “Les Misérables,” which was first published in 1862, are the various trials of Valjean, actual and spiritual, some imposed on him by Javert, the law enforcement officer obsessed with bringing him to justice for a petty crime for which he was never caught and tried. West and Oyelowo are outstanding individually and in the few tense scenes they share, because they each grapple uniquely with the concept of righteousness. Oyelowo’s assured severity evokes the weight of the law and righteousness as defined by man, which serves as Javert’s north star.

West on the other hand digs into the agony of Valjean’s ongoing spiritual conflict, as he’s constantly torn between doing the right thing by man’s law and following the way of divine justice. His life is a perilous tightrope walk between these poles, particularly when it comes to making amends for his failings by raising and caring for Fantine’s orphan Cosette (Ellie Bamber).

And there’s a comfort in engaging with “Les Misérables” denuded of the songbook that made Hugo’s 19th century story popular again among the late 20th century’s masses, particularly as we come to terms with what’s been lost in the fires that nearly destroyed a place many thought would stand forever.

The spire of Notre Dame has been replaced before; it fell in 1786. It has survived eons of natural deterioration and assaults at the hands of men, notably during the ages of Napoleon and French Revolution, two eras surrounding the main action in “Les Misérables.”

“The Hunchback of Notre Dame” and Hugo’s tragic story of the cathedral’s bell-ringer Quasimodo and his unrequited love for a gypsy named Esmeralda so thoroughly seduced 19th century Parisians that they were moved to campaign for the crumbling church’s restoration, an effort that spanned decades,  continuing even up to the day of the fire. If American Francophiles revisit the tale via the page or the various films it inspired in the coming days, no one should be surprised.

But I also hope that as part of that reconnection to history, more people balance the all-encompassing passion for “Game of Thrones” by also taking time to appreciate Davies’ latest take on Hugo’s other tale. “Hunchback” is a story set in Notre Dame, but “Les Misérables” captures the soft clash of emotions resulting from our insistent lamentation over its loss. It is a story that captures the essence of humanity and redemption, appropriate accompaniment for a great work of humankind revived time and again over the centuries, out of an urgent need to redeem what is best in us. That has been the case throughout many centuries, and it holds true even today.

https://www.salon.com/2019/04/17/watching-pbss-stoic-les-miserables-as-notre-dame-burned-a-lesson-in-processing-spectacular-loss/

[bunny-wan-kenobi]

Bunny Reviews: Star Wars The Last Jedi *SPOILERS*

**spoilers abound!** You’ve been warned…

So I finally saw The Last Jedi today after DAYS of scrolling through my dash and seeing every possible reaction along the spectrum of outright loathing and disgust to adoration and glee. So basically, I went into the film nervous, skeptical, but hopeful. 

To give some background, like many of you reading this, I’ve been watching Star Wars since I was a toddler laughing as my dad acted out scenes as Jabba and the Emperor. My sister and I staged lightsaber battles when we were 8 and my library bag was filled with books from the now “Legends” era. I love Star Wars, I love its characters, and I’ve enjoyed it through its many iterations, including the prequels (I will defend them to death so don’t start), the animated shows (I still remember how awesome those first shorts were), the comics, the EU books, and The Force Awakens. 

Now that we’ve established that, here is my opinion of The Last Jedi in a nutshell: It’s a beautifully shot film with some poignant character moments draped over an uneven plot and some disheartening characterization choices. 

Okay, that’s out of the way *exhales* 

Now let me say this: I get it. There’s a lot of good in this movie, a lot of genuinely evocative material and solid performances to praise here…but I also understand the complaints because this movie does have A LOT of problems. So here’s my (fair as I can be) take:

The Great (like I teared up and it was so GOOD)

- Mark Hamill’s performance. Whatever script he was given, he still shone and gave this role his all–as always. He was wry, anguished, conflicted, and strong, and you believed every single nuance of emotion he imbued this film’s Luke. The gravitas and dedication he brought to this character intensified my already deep love for Luke Skywalker, and nothing can change that. I felt his despair, his bitterness, but there was also fierce pride I felt when he chose to take a stand and defend what he believed to be right, leading to…

- Luke vs. Kylo. Any fight that starts with Luke Skywalker giving you sass is a win in my book, no matter how it ended. I just enjoyed seeing Luke as I know him best: self-assured, unflappable, and utterly human. The fight was well-shot and I have to say I got chills when Luke declared “And I will not be the last Jedi” and then cutting to the shot of Rey being a Force boss. Everything right with this movie can be encompassed in that one sequence about courage, persistence, and hope, which is at the heart of Star Wars. 

- Carrie Fisher. Every scene with her carried more weight knowing she is no longer with us, and her last conversation with Rey especially made me tear up. We do indeed have all we need. Her Leia remains in this film as beloved, strong, and defiant as always, maybe a bit worn and weary, but still every bit a Princess–our Princess, and this film allowed her to captivate us once more. 

- Luke and Leia’s reunion. I wanted MORE of this, so much more, but this quiet scene of a brother grieving with and loving his sister was beautiful. 

- Yoda shows up. Guys I NERDED OUT here, like to have Frank Oz come back and play ROTJ!Yoda was the perfect surprise I needed. And to have him show such understanding and affection for Luke during one of his lowest points felt fitting and was another lovely character moment. 

- Luke’s final scene. Context aside, the way his passing was framed against the double sunset and the Force Theme wrung tears out of me and I couldn’t help it because it’s LUKE and all of my love for this character just streamed out in this moment. 

The Good (it’s solid, thumbs up)

- The female characters. This film is still very much Rey’s story, and I still appreciate the innocence, compassion, and thoughtfulness Daisy brings to this protagonist. And now she is joined by more of Leia, Admiral Holdo (a role that really surprised me–in a good way), aaaand…

- Rose Tico! I love Kelly Marie Tran, and her Rose is adorkable, caring, and endearingly noble. It’s unfair that we haven’t had another Asian lead in Star Wars until her, but I’m glad she’s here now. I like that she does get a bit more narrative heft with her love for her sister and desire to see the oppression of the First Order end. And she’s an animal lover! And frees exploited creatures! She is actually the best. 

- Finn’s arc. I will disagree with some people by saying that he actually has an arc, but I believe he does. In TFA, we meet Finn as a former child soldier escaping from the First Order and trying to just survive. He’s inspired and encouraged by Rey and is determined to stay with her and protect her, and so he helps out the Resistance towards that goal. But he hasn’t actually joined in the Resistance–he still believes their cause is pretty futile because he KNOWS how vast and awful the First Order is. And so in TLJ, he has to process all of that and decide whether he wants to commit to this effort for the long haul. In being exposed to others like him also exploited by the First Order and working with Rose and Poe, he comes into his own and chooses for himself to be part of this, and that’s a big step for him. It could have been executed better, but there was a discernible change by the end of the film, and we see a Finn who is more settled in his decisions and less afraid. He has never been a coward, and now he’s showing more courage in choosing to stand against those who used and harmed him. 

- The opening sequence. It was frenetic, desperate, and moving, similar to the feelings I got during the opening of the new Star Trek film during Kirk’s birth–the same sadness and sacrifice permeates this scene. 

- The cinematography. I have to give this film props for some gorgeously framed shots and good use of color and atmosphere. There were a lot of moments that stayed with me simply because of how they were captured. 

- The acting. Everyone here is dedicating themselves to these characters, and it shows. This is a truly solid cast, and I appreciate them so much. There is a true sense of camaraderie among these characters, and they have good chemistry together. I also have to give a shout-out to the visible diversity evident in the different worlds visited, the Resistance pilots, and even the casino scene. That matters, so keep it front and center. 

- The PORGS. Y’all knew this was coming but how could I NOT mention my precious smol birbs with vacant, souless eyes and pudgy tummies? I just…love them (and we got to see baby Porgs OHMYGERSH) 

The Problems

- This does not feel like a proper sequel to The Force Awakens. There are so many major plot points and themes developed in TFA that are either tossed out or wrapped up messily in TLJ. Rey’s parentage being a significant struggle for her character and alluded to symbolically through her connection to the Skywalker lightsaber and other motifs? Nope, she’s an abandoned nobody (Kylo’s words, not mine) and we should all just leave that question in the past like it doesn’t matter who would make you think that? Snoke being a major villain player behind the scenes? Nope, he’s axed off in the height of anticlimax before we even find out who he is and where he came from (not all of us should need to read EU books to understand a movie plot y’all). Rey and Finn having an immediate connection with romantic dimensions? Nope, let’s throw in a last-minute love triangle! (everyone LOVES those). You can really feel the tension of the writing and directing problems plaguing this sequel trilogy because it’s so apparent in the lack of continuity. It’s like several interpretations of Star Wars got mashed together and this is what happened…

- Luke Skywalker. Oh Luke, what have they done to you? Look, I am not against seeing Luke struggle with failure, despair, even loss. We’ve seen it, and it can certainly be part of a character’s journey. I could even appreciate it in this movie…if it was detached from the larger context and motivations of this character as established by previous canon. In TLJ, I’m supposed to accept that Luke Skywalker, who could not even bring himself to kill his father because of his compassion, would attempt to kill (even on “impulse”) his unarmed nephew because of his dark potential? I’m supposed to believe that Luke, stuck in a depressed and bitter stupor, would exile himself for more than a DECADE and abandon his beloved sister and friends while KNOWING they were suffering? I’m supposed to accept this bitter, Logan-ized version of Luke for two hours and then watch him die without ever truly forming a connection with Rey or reuniting with his loved ones? He dies alone, and I’m not okay with that. Yes, characters change, but it’s not always necessary to make a character suffer and harden to make them interesting. We’ve already seen Luke fail. We’ve already seen him suffer. I didn’t need nor want to see Luke, defined by his compassion and optimism and openness, portrayed as cold and closed off from the world and calloused from pain. As I said, Mark played him beautifully, but he deserved a much better story than this–and I think the fans did too, leading to…

- The overall treatment of the original trio. So TLJ is on one level about accepting failure and making peace with the past while moving forward. But the thing is, the sequel trilogy has so far piled SO MUCH FAILURE onto our original heroes that the original trilogy begins to leave a bitter taste in hindsight. Every single thing these characters we love fought and struggled for is rendered broken and scattered here, and then they die with their aspirations tragically unrealized. Star Wars is predominately a space fantasy opera with hope at its center, but it takes a fatalistic edge when you look at what they did with Luke, Han, and Leia. Not only do we NEVER get to see these characters all reunited, but their sendoff is tragic and more bitter than sweet. Han is separated from Leia and killed by his son. Luke lives alone for years in self-loathing and bitterness, and after his glorious re-entry into the world and knowing another Jedi is out there, he still dies alone. Leia loses her husband, son, brother, the Republic and only really gets to say goodbye to one of them. This is depressing as hell and not the note you want to end on for some of the most iconic characters in cinema. And if this all was meant to service the theme of “failure is part of life,” it did it in the most unwieldy way possible by reaching the suffering threshold that tested the limits of not only these characters, but also fans. It honestly would have been better if these characters were dead from the outset, legacy intact, and the sequel trilogy focused entirely on the new characters. 

- The fact that the entire Canto Blight subplot could be excised from the movie and little would change. It gave us more time with Rose and Finn, which was good, but it didn’t further the plot, especially given that it takes up a good 20-30 minutes of screen-time. It felt unnecessary, and I wish it had been better woven into the main plot rather than as a side adventure. 

- With that comes also the issue that the Resistance plot…doesn’t really make much sense. So this handful of ships are just cruising along on fuel and the First Order is just…not destroying them all? Like they HAVE smaller ships to destroy them with…why not just be done with it already? Why are all the Resistance’s plans failures because of simply poor logic? That undermines one of the main themes of the movie because this failure doesn’t hold much weight if we know it’s mostly plot contrivance rather than a genuine character struggle! Like…many of the conflicts in this movie feel engineered by plot need rather than organic. 

- The Rey/Kylo dynamic. This was by far one of the most problematic aspects of the movie for me and the part I found most disturbing. In a year that saw the visible emergence of neo-Nazism and the #MeToo movement, the way the scenes of Kylo and Rey were framed felt downright uncomfortable. Kylo is a space Nazi–let’s just own that. He already contributed to genocide of several planets, believes in the First Order’s cause which has oppressed so many vulnerable peoples, and uses manipulation and torture to reach his ends. And Rey knows that. He tortured her in what must have been only a few days ago in this timeline AND murdered his father and her new father-figure. Not only that, but in THIS movie we see Kylo manipulating her further by calling her a nobody, outlining everything wrong about her, and then coercing her to join him. What kind of messed up BS is that? I’m angry about this because this is not okay. Luke tried to save Vader because he believed love could turn his father’s heart. Though it proved that Vader still had the capacity for good, it didn’t absolve Vader of his previous crimes. Rey barely has any real connection with Kylo and then suddenly in this movie wants to redeem him and put the rest to the side. This is not the same situation because it is framed with a romantic tension in this case as if we are also supposed to feel really bad for Kylo and want him to get together with Rey on Team Good. Do I see Kylo’s complexity? Yesss….but he also made choices that brought him to this place, and the movie made Rey look foolish in light of diminishing the weight of Kylo’s previous atrocities. The Light Side is NOT equal to the Dark when the Dark is defined by its selfishness, corruption, and persecution of others–don’t use the Force to make your “both sides” argument. 

- That’s not how the Force works! Okay, so apparently the Force really DOES give one unnatural abilities because there were many scenes in this film that strained my credulity–think mountain of salt, not the grain. Even my mom (not too big of a Star Wars fan) was like “She [Leia] CANNOT survive in space like that–that seemed unbelievable.” That and Luke’s astro-projection were jarring plot conveniences that did not feel consistent with the logic of the Force that had been established so far and also felt kind of cheap in the way they were used. Using the Force does have limits, but here Force abilities were treated like a crazy AU mod. 

- This film rides on plot conveniences rather than characterization. The story works by stringing set pieces together without giving enough heft to the characters’ development. The side characters and even Rey’s arcs are left strangely underdeveloped alongside these big battles and scenes framed as epic (like Finn’s battle with Phasma), leaving some moments oddly hollow. I honestly can’t say much about what Rey’s arc was…failure? Letting go of the past? Becoming a Jedi? Not enough was explained to chart a significant internal change in her, an issue that plagued other characters like Poe as well, who suddenly was framed as this hot-headed aggressive man in contrast to his buoyant but level-headed presence in TFA. Leading to…

- The treatment of the POC characters. There were a lot of moments that felt sadly tone-deaf for our current time. We didn’t need to see Rose tase Finn for laughs and then see both of them get stopped by white police telling them to put their hands up. We didn’t need to see Poe slapped and shot by white superiors and alluded to as this seductive “bad boy,” fitting neatly into certain Latino tropes. We didn’t need the total erasure of Finn’s backstory and past trauma, which was completely unacknowledged in this film, which spent more time lecturing him about being a coward (again–he’s not). As a woman of color, these moments irk me because it’s been so normalized to treat POC this way, and I don’t like seeing a franchise that boasts about its new progressiveness take advantage of that goodwill by sidelining its few main characters of color. 

The Whole Nutshell

There was much of TLJ that I enjoyed, but by the end, I left the theater in much of the same state that I arrived: confused, conflicted, and yet hopeful. I’ll be honest and say that this was not the sequel to TFA I would’ve liked to see, and it will probably go down as the most mixed bag of Star Wars movies for me. The fact that my father, decades-long Star Wars lover, said this movie “was disappointing and didn’t emotionally connect to him” speaks volumes. This is the only Star Wars movie he has EVER described in that way–he didn’t even say that for Phantom Menace! Again, reactions to TLJ span widely, but even that is telling. 

Considering everything that has been going on behind the scenes, I think TLJ represents a failure to realize a cohesive vision for the next chapter of this space saga, and a failure to understand and honor the characters who built it. There’s a solid movie still in there, and it has its flashes of brilliance and beauty, but its overshadowed by the continuity issues and divisive characterization decisions. It’s better than what I expected, but it’s not one I’m looking forward to re-watching anytime soon. 

Bunny’s Grade: 6/10

[youngwidowofbrooklyn]

The One With Infinite Names

Today is September 11th. A somber date in recent American history, to be sure. But for me it marks a remembrance of something far more personal.

He did not die on this date, but this day marks the last time he spoke to me. His words were confused, but his thoughts were not. He told me he loved me and I told him the same. I’ll forever be grateful for that. Today marks the two-year anniversary of the last time I lived with a foolish and all-encompassing hope for better tomorrows, or at least more tomorrows. The last time that I truly believed that if I just wished hard enough the universe would reverse its course of extinguishing the brightest light of my life.

This day is the two-year anniversary of the day after my sweet boy’s first day of preschool. The day after his father sent a slightly jumbled text message telling his son that he was proud of him, and sent a picture from his hospital room, smiling and giving a thumb’s up. This day is the marker of the last full day that my husband lived. The day after my son took his first tentative steps out of my full-time care. The day before my husband took his last slow breath as I clutched his arm.

Today is September 11th, as I am starting this post. I do not know if I’ll finish it today. There’s so much I want to say. So much that I’m feeling. All of the coincidences of the date and the days that have stretched between two years ago and where I am now. I hardly no where to begin writing or how long it will take me to feel like I’m done.

The other day, “Space Odyssey” by David Bowie came on the radio and I began to weep. 

Ground Control to Major Tom Ground Control to Major Tom Take your protein pills and put your helmet on Ground Control to Major Tom (ten, nine, eight, seven, six) Commencing countdown, engines on (five, four, three) Check ignition and may God's love be with you (two, one, liftoff)

This is Ground Control to Major Tom You've really made the grade And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare "This is Major Tom to Ground Control I'm stepping through the door And I'm floating in a most peculiar way And the stars look very different today For here Am I sitting in a tin can Far above the world Planet Earth is blue And there's nothing I can do

Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles I'm feeling very still And I think my spaceship knows which way to go Tell my wife I love her very much she knows

Ground Control to Major Tom Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you "Here am I floating 'round my tin can Far above the moon Planet Earth is blue And there's nothing I can do"

When I was a small child that song has haunted me in ways I couldn’t understand. As I grew older, the implications became more obvious: the unknowable expanse of our universe; a man, alone, set adrift in it, never to return; the mourning of those he leaves behind; the brain reeling to try to comprehend the incomprehensible....those left behind yearning to see space through his eyes; the man who is doomed to tread into it alone.

And, of course, these days, the allusion is painfully personal. Dead rock star singing to me from beyond the grave about my own beautiful, lost, Major Tom. The problem with my grief, still, two years later, is that I see meaning, parallels, poetry, in everything. In some ways, it’s wonderful. In others, it’s absolutely gutting.

Sometimes I think that the best art humanity ever attempts to make is the kind that stretches on its tiptoes to reach for the answer that none of us will ever know until it’s too late to share it with others. Death. The beauty and horror of it. No matter how much we fear it, defy it, embrace it, long for it, even, it continues at an even pace, its slow march for each one us, wraps us each up, silently, completely and ushers us, alone, to Another.  Death comes. It comes whether you’re ready or not. Sometimes death comes right after you’ve ordered a jumbo pack of toilet paper. Death comes before you’ve zeroed out the balance on your transit card. Death comes before you’ve finished watching all of the episodes of that television show you love. Death comes, so get ready. Death comes, and no one’s ever really ready.

Yesterday, I met my birth father for the first time. I wonder if it had happened at any other point in my life how I would’ve felt. Which is to say, that I felt very little, by comparison to the emotions I swim in on the regular. September will forever and ever be the most difficult of months for me, most likely. So maybe I should try to hunker down during this month and let the sadness and complicated feelings take hold and do their worst. Or maybe it’s a perfect time to tackle things that would otherwise seem scary or difficult. Like meeting your birth father.

We arranged to meet at a restaurant for breakfast. In truth, I didn’t know if he’d be there or not. I knew I’d be meeting my sister, my half-sister, for breakfast, and for only the second time ever. But in our arranging of plans, she failed to mention whether she was bringing him, and I didn’t ask....whether to protect myself or out of pride, I don’t know. I’m very good at hiding my feelings, still. Even from myself.

And so, I walked through the parking lot of the restaurant, holding the hand of my rambunctious son, and I heard my sister call my name. I looked up and there she stood, smoking a cigarette, standing next to a man also smoking a cigarette, and at first I didn’t know. It didn’t register. I’ve seen photos. I’ve spoken to him on the phone. I’ve read and re-read the many letters he sent my mother when she was pregnant with me. But my mind had created a version of him that was big, tall and strong. This was a man not much taller than me, which I noted as he hugged me. He was skinny in an old-man way, with a paunchy belly and spindly appendages. He looks like an old biker. And maybe he is. I wouldn’t know, since we are basically strangers.

We went inside and had a pleasant, if bizarre, breakfast. My attention turned away from the two newest additions to my family every time my son squirmed or complained. I think I was thankful for the distraction. It was insane to be sitting across from a woman, my sister, raised by our father alone, an only child, as I sat on the other side of the booth, a woman raising my sweet boy alone, destined to be an only child himself. It was a bit like looking into a funhouse mirror where you recognize all the parts but somehow they are arranged differently. Then again, like I said, I see coincidences and poetry everywhere these days.

But how was it, to have that meeting yesterday? To see my son meet a third grandfather? To see my own birth father for the first time? To see my sister and herfather-myfather together and know that they are mine in some way, but in a very much bigger way not mine at all, except on a cellular level that either matters completely or not at all?

It was...nothing. It was fine. It was okay. I didn’t cry. I wasn’t overwhelmed. I didn’t make any promises. I don’t expect anything. I’m weary and sad and that has nothing to do with meeting long-lost family, but it does leave me in a place where I have little capacity for emotions outside of these enormous ones I do battle with daily. 

There was a time, thirty-odd years ago, probably, where, if you’d asked me what shaped my life and made me who I was, I would’ve told you, rather melodramatically that never knowing my birth father made me.....what? Tougher? Enigmatic? Beautiful and complicated? A girl with a hole in her heart longing to be filled with the precise love of a father she never knew but whom she knew desperately loved her and wanted her? Probably all of those things. But I live in a world far away from that little girl these days.

My father embraced me yesterday and pulled back to look at me and, in a very effective dad-joke manner, said, “It’s been a long time!” To which I forced myself not to reply, “Since what? Since I was a sperm in your testicles?” He only meant kind banter, I know. I have only clinical detachment to give in return.

I used to be the kind of person who was afraid, overwhelmed and emotional at the slightest misstep. I used to work myself into knots over what was Fair and Just. I used to try very hard to control the uncontrollable. But something in my has shifted in a profound way, over the last few years. Whether it’s parenthood, loss, entering my forties, a combination or some Other, I don’t know. But I know that I have stone in places where I used to quiver. I let go of my battle to steer the Universe in the direction I want it. I released and I gave up. And it’s left me feeling very powerful.

It’s weird, yes, but it’s true for me. I don’t cry much anymore, and it’s because I know what real, true sadness is now. I don’t worry about finding love for myself again. Because I know that I had it once. It didn’t last near as long as it should have, but it was wonderful and rare. How lucky was I, were we, Tom and I, to have found each other? No matter how many years we could have had, it never would have been enough.

Believers and non-believers alike, let me tell you something you may not want to hear: True, deep and compassionate love is real. Soul mates are real things that can exist. I know because my soul had a mate. But here’s where it gets hard - just because it’s real, doesn’t mean it will find you. I hope you find the one person who gets you, who completes you and lifts you and inspires you and loves you with full knowledge of your flaws. But you might not. And even if you do, the best that you can hope for, the very best, is that they will hold your hand when you die, and spare you the pain of having to hold theirs when they go. That’s the very best possible outcome that true love offers. It’s still worth it, but know that one way or another your heart will break. Even true love can’t save you from that.

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And now it’s the end of the day. I worked today. I picked my son up from school and made a concerted effort to be present with him for a while and play and laugh and talk with him, even though I’m feeling out of sorts today.

There’s this line in the third act of OUR TOWN, where one of the dead in the graveyard says suddenly, “I keep remembering things today.” That’s how I feel right now. This moment, each moment of the day, today, I’m thinking, “Where was I two years ago today? Back when I didn’t realize how precious few moments were left before widowhood?” I remember that evening I left the hospital cautiously hopeful, and walked down Madison Avenue - is that right? Christ, I’m already forgetting the cross streets of that goddamned hospital - talking to my mother on my cell phone, telling her it was going to be okay. I remember I was walking under some construction scaffolding, talking and semi-oblivious to my surroundings, when I came nearly nose to nose with a raccoon who happened to be casually dangling from a beam inches from my face. That’s the first raccoon I’ve ever seen up close, and it was in the middle of the biggest city in America. It was delightful and odd, and I was sure it was a sign of good things to come. Less than twelve hours later, when his mother called me from the hospital and told me that I should come right away, I knew that I had been wrong.

Time became a funny thing after that. It no longer moves for me in an even paced and linear way.

I remember those first hours, days, weeks, I don’t know how long, really, that I was absolutely paralyzed. When I almost felt like my lungs would collapse from the all-consuming grief. I couldn’t sleep or eat or sit down or stand up. I don’t know how a person lives through that kind of pain. I did it, and I still don’t know. I remember the heaviness of my physical self. I remember the effort it took to walk steps and to see the world around me. I felt like I was peering out at the world around me from a fishbowl. The days were nightmarish, and the nightmares in my dreams were beyond anything I can describe.

I’ve been alive 792 days since he died. It feels like millions more than that. It feels like yesterday.

I’m not done yet. But I have to sleep now. Tomorrow is not going to be easy.