I watched the final part of ‘My Last Summer’ the other night.
As expected, it was heartbreakingly sad and no doubt the entire audience watching around the UK were in floods of tears.
I could feel the raw emotion though, bubbling around inside me like an uninterrupted volcano, and afterwards, I kept doing those big shaky inhalations that you do after you’ve bawled your eyes out. Except I hadn’t.
I cannot seem to feel or express. It’s the same as my orgasms. The body seems to go through the motions if I force it, but it’s not even worth disturbing it, so miserable and pointless is the outcome.
I’m like a big frozen turkey that someone has forgotten to take out of the freezer, and shows no signs of being aware, much less bothered that it’s Christmas day.
Gobble, gobble, toil and trouble, my innards churn but my heart’s made of rubble…
But my throat has a lump that won’t go away, and my heart aches for those poor, brave people who have suffered so much, especially the two who continue to suffer.
I haven’t had chance to see Dr B about lowering my meds yet; that said, I’ve already started without her, but nothing seems to be happening.
Then this morning as I was vacantly TV channel flicking, trying to find the news for the day (yeah, right…), I come across ‘Terms of Endearment’. It was about 30 minutes in, but to my surprise, I grabbed myself a tea and settled myself back onto the sofa to watch it.
‘What are you doing?!’ nags my Good Parent/Higher Self/Some Nosy Interfering Bastard With Nothing Better To Do, ‘what about trying to cut down your TV consumption and spending your time more fruitfully? Turn it off, apply for jobs and do some bloody yoga!’
But I’m curious and stay put.
Of course I’ve seen this movie numerous times over the years and know when the worst bits are coming.
And here they come.
The bit where Emma’s told that her treatment hasn’t worked and that she’s going to die.
Slight contraction in the throat, hand raises to mouth.
The bit where Aurora kicks off and screams at the nurses to give Emma her painkiller shot.
I sigh, do a tea burp and shift onto my other bum cheek.
The scene where Emma says goodbye to her boys, and the youngest is sobbing his heart out.
WTF have these drugs done to me? It’s official. I must be dead. Or a Vulcan or something. Saying I’m a frozen turkey is an insult to fowls everywhere. Even Bernard Matthews would consider me a heartless old bird.
I sigh, gather my shit and prepare to go and do something productive. Like comfort eat, do the cats tray or clean the toilet.
Then I pause and decide to stay for the death scene. What the hell, I might as well finish what I started.
And then, after Emma dies and you see Aurora fidgeting frantically, both contained and agonised, then cracks wide open and howls her grief….so do I.
Let it go, let it go, I’m really gonna cry…
It starts with a solo tear trickling down one eye and then I convulse and break into a proper sobbing fit, complete with snuffing, gasping, a streaming nose and that horrible ache in the throat that always accompanies such an outburst.
It wasn’t a big one and subsided soon after that scene ended. But it’s a start.
And so the thaw begins.
I maybe even be ready for Christmas.
Thanks for that Shirl. You deserve an Oscar. And then some. x