Grief through Fiction
Sep. 25th, 2015 12:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdI am bad with emotions. And grief is hard even for people who are good with emotions.
So, as with everything, I'm letting fiction do the work for me.
I've written about this before, about coming to bed after watching Houdini, which ended the only way it could, and bawling all over Richard. He asked if it was the movie. It was and it wasn't. The movie let me shed those tears for Mom that I'd been holding for four months.
And for Darren, it was Smallville. See, I knew Jonathan Kent died in Season 5. I was NOT expecting it on the 100th episode. It blindsided me and I got my crying on. I've been meaning to write a post about the framing and imagery of that episode, from the scene where he helps Martha on with her pearls, to the scene where she can't manage them herself before the funeral. That, and Clark all in black and white, without a trace of red or blue on him, that got me. I don't have it in me, and the disc has gone back to Netflix. And all Youtube gives me is this or the death scene:
Today, as his family and friends gather in Billings, and I am here alone, I do my own comforting.
And one from a fanfic I wrote, years ago, that seems oddly appropriate.
Full story
He sat on the damp rock, feeling the cold gnaw at him, stiffening his joints, making every breath burn in his throat. The boys would fuss over him if they knew what he was up to. They thought he'd just gone into the
woods. As long as he carried his lightsaber, and the staff Han had given him on their last Renewal date, they wouldn't object, even if they did worry about his ability to wield the weapon.
"If you're gonna be an old wizard, kid, you need to look the part," Han had told him, presenting him with the polished wood. Luke had laughed then, and kissed him breathless. Forty-nine Renewals had come and gone then, and they were still together. Had Han lived another month, it would have been fifty. Luke turned the durasteel ring that still rode on his left index finger.
"It's getting late, my love. I need to be home before dark, or the boys will be levitating half the planet to find me. You know how unstoppable they are together. And watching out for his dear old senile father has
become Hreik's favorite hobby. I miss you. It's still cold."
He rose, leaning heavily on the staff, and stared out at the water. In the Force, he could feel the last vestiges of the consciousness that had once been his mate. Even dead, Han was stubborn, and was resisting being
subsumed in the larger Force. "Hold on to your identity, Han. I won't be much longer."
"O-oh-na!" Luke summoned the Threefold Lament from the very bottom of his being, and it rang across the waves, faint echoes rippling away. "Once, as you taught me, to open the gates of the next world." He took a breath. "O-oh-na!" He listened to the keening echoes fade. "Twice, to carry the dead through." Drawing on the end of his failing energy, he sent the third. "O-oh-na!" He recovered, breathing hard. "Three times, to close the gates."
Han had taught him the Men's Lament at Elka's Passing, when he'd listened to the eerie, steady drone of "O-oh-na, o-oh-na" from his nieces, punctuated by the lower male voices rising in series of three cries. Now, this too had become part of his ritual.
He rose to go, and, bracing himself on the stout staff, turned back for a last look at the Sea. "O-oh-na!" The cry seemed to come from the Force itself, and it lingered over the water, dissipating into the foam. "Open
the gates, my love. The med-droids say it won't be long until I come to you. Then you'll wrap yourself around me, as you always did when I was cold at night, and we'll dream together, forever."
So, as with everything, I'm letting fiction do the work for me.
I've written about this before, about coming to bed after watching Houdini, which ended the only way it could, and bawling all over Richard. He asked if it was the movie. It was and it wasn't. The movie let me shed those tears for Mom that I'd been holding for four months.
And for Darren, it was Smallville. See, I knew Jonathan Kent died in Season 5. I was NOT expecting it on the 100th episode. It blindsided me and I got my crying on. I've been meaning to write a post about the framing and imagery of that episode, from the scene where he helps Martha on with her pearls, to the scene where she can't manage them herself before the funeral. That, and Clark all in black and white, without a trace of red or blue on him, that got me. I don't have it in me, and the disc has gone back to Netflix. And all Youtube gives me is this or the death scene:
Today, as his family and friends gather in Billings, and I am here alone, I do my own comforting.
And one from a fanfic I wrote, years ago, that seems oddly appropriate.
Full story
He sat on the damp rock, feeling the cold gnaw at him, stiffening his joints, making every breath burn in his throat. The boys would fuss over him if they knew what he was up to. They thought he'd just gone into the
woods. As long as he carried his lightsaber, and the staff Han had given him on their last Renewal date, they wouldn't object, even if they did worry about his ability to wield the weapon.
"If you're gonna be an old wizard, kid, you need to look the part," Han had told him, presenting him with the polished wood. Luke had laughed then, and kissed him breathless. Forty-nine Renewals had come and gone then, and they were still together. Had Han lived another month, it would have been fifty. Luke turned the durasteel ring that still rode on his left index finger.
"It's getting late, my love. I need to be home before dark, or the boys will be levitating half the planet to find me. You know how unstoppable they are together. And watching out for his dear old senile father has
become Hreik's favorite hobby. I miss you. It's still cold."
He rose, leaning heavily on the staff, and stared out at the water. In the Force, he could feel the last vestiges of the consciousness that had once been his mate. Even dead, Han was stubborn, and was resisting being
subsumed in the larger Force. "Hold on to your identity, Han. I won't be much longer."
"O-oh-na!" Luke summoned the Threefold Lament from the very bottom of his being, and it rang across the waves, faint echoes rippling away. "Once, as you taught me, to open the gates of the next world." He took a breath. "O-oh-na!" He listened to the keening echoes fade. "Twice, to carry the dead through." Drawing on the end of his failing energy, he sent the third. "O-oh-na!" He recovered, breathing hard. "Three times, to close the gates."
Han had taught him the Men's Lament at Elka's Passing, when he'd listened to the eerie, steady drone of "O-oh-na, o-oh-na" from his nieces, punctuated by the lower male voices rising in series of three cries. Now, this too had become part of his ritual.
He rose to go, and, bracing himself on the stout staff, turned back for a last look at the Sea. "O-oh-na!" The cry seemed to come from the Force itself, and it lingered over the water, dissipating into the foam. "Open
the gates, my love. The med-droids say it won't be long until I come to you. Then you'll wrap yourself around me, as you always did when I was cold at night, and we'll dream together, forever."
