Kyle and I have spent the last three months watching Six Feet Under (HBO’s series that ran from 2001-2005). Okay, we may have been late to the party, but hey, at least we showed up.
We finished it last week and the final few episodes were almost too much to bear, especially given the circumstances we are dealing with right now. I found myself cursing our friend (sorry, Matt) for introducing us to the show. I had become so emotionally invested in this fictitious world that was so visceral and real to me, and it was crossing over and entangling itself with my actual life and experiences. It changed me, my outlook, my view of death. It moved me.
The portrayal of death and grief resonated with me. As did the portrayal of life.
I am already grieving someone who I haven’t even lost. I am already preparing for the heart-wrenching grip that death mercilessly exerts. I am already drowning in my tears.
I am struggling trying to make sense out of the senseless, searching for reason in the unreasonable, fighting to avoid the unavoidable. Even with my family and friends surrounding me, I feel so alone.
In the final commentary, the show’s creator, Alan Ball, says that “grief is a process that the only way out of it is through it.” How true. Grief allows us to emerge. Grief allows us to live on. Grief is our reminder that we are still here. That we are still alive.
The song in the final scene of the show sent me immediately to iTunes and was put on repeat as I sobbed making lunch the next day. It is the summation of grief for me. The painful, cold solitude that leaves you so desperate for comfort, for warmth and reminds you that this pain is life. The arms of a loved one may not be able to take the hurt away, but they give you reason to emerge from the grief and remind you what there is to live for.
So, without further ado, I give you “Breathe Me” by Sia. You may want to grab some tissues first. Seriously.