More Goodbyes

Hannah took the boys to see Toy Story 3 during my Residency. This was a long anticipated event, I was sorry I could not participate.

“Mom you will LOVE this movie, when can we go?”

Being preoccupied with poems and paperwork, “…ummm, soon.”

“No, you will really LOVE it… I cried mom… so when can we go?”

“Soon, really, I just need to check these responsibilities off my list.”

That was that. I trust my daughter’s judgment. She is a deep thinker with her finger on the pulse of pop culture, knows when something needs this artist’s complete attention. Some of my favorite movies have been at her suggestion, Henry Poole was Here, Lars and the Real Girl. But Toy Story 3, really? You want me to add that one to the list?

About a week later she cornered me in the bathroom to read a review from Entertainment Weekly that began: “At a screening of Toy Story 3, I was sitting between a couple of colleagues—a pleasant situation that, by the end, turned just a little uncomfortable when I realized how hard I was working to conceal my tears. I’m not just talking about shedding a tear or two, or having that Brian’s Song lump in your throat. I’m talking about that soppy awkward thing where you make sounds.” I laughed tears and listened on. Phrases like, “beautiful transition ending for Andy’s childhood” and “beautiful full-circle ending” make me slightly verklempt. When Hannah read aloud, “The spirit of imagination hasn’t gone out of our world,” I felt my the throat swell, the tears release. I actually cried listening to an article written by a man trying to comprehend his own Toy Story tears.

“Okay, we’ll go the Tuesday after the 4^th of July.”

And we did.

So I’m sitting next to my 20-year-old daughter watching a movie about Andy who is getting ready to go off to college remembering the day we first met him in the theater back when she was 6. The story is touching, but I’m fine… fine until Buzz looks into Cowgirl Jesse’s eyes and reaches for her plastic hand as they head toward flames, then Jesse reaches for Bull’s Eye, then Rex reaches one of his little ineffective arms for Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head, and Slinky is reaching for someone in the mix. When Woody finally reaches to close the circle, well, that's when I too am desperately muffling sounds.

What was that?!!!

After 24 hours to catch my breath I’ve decided it was LOST. Yes, that’s right, LOST. Again, Hannah the muse clipped an article from EW, left it on her mother the poet’s desk, just the right fodder: “LOST passed into the good night of television history on May 23 with an emotional and mystical series capper that divided fans into camps of eye-weepy love and eye-rolling loathe.” I suppose I fell into the first camp and must admit the tears were, well, they were cathartic, the very same cathartic tears that rolled for Woody.

Bottom line, LOST was television that dared me to think deeply, emotionally... spiritually. The Toy Story Trilogy dares me to do the same. I mean, think about it… Jack… Woody… introspection, letting go, sacrifice, redemption...

...best movie of the summer, Sabbath for sure.