Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Go Gentle Into That Good Night...

I am exhausted.  Emotionally and physically drained from watching last night's episodes of Deadliest Catch and After The Catch where they/we lose Capt. Phil.  We've watched Deadliest Catch almost since the beginning in 2005.  And over the course of the last 5 years or so, Capt. Phil and I, much like Ree From The Pioneer Woman, became buds.  He just didn't know it.  He and I shared struggles together, man.  He worried about his two boys.  He questioned whether or not he'd been a good enough parent.  He hoped he had given them the tools to grow into men he could be proud of; who could be proud of themselves.  He yelled at them.  A lot.  But he did it with love.  They tested his patience to the limit and beyond, then threw in enough honey love to keep him from killing them.  Yeah, Captain Phil and I connected on a level you just wouldn't understand.  It was cosmic.

He also fished for crab, which I have never done, except vicariously through him.  But that was the kind of guy Phil was.  He let me, and thousands of others like me, into his life, in an open and honest way.  Captain Phil was about as raw and genuine as you get.  And that's why I sobbed quietly on the couch last night.

I didn't used to be a crier.  Seriously.  I can remember quite clearly a time when I would make fun of the silly crying ninnies at the movies, or heaven forbid, kleenex commercials.  And I know exactly when I became one of these crying freaks.  It was the hormones from my first pregnancy.  I went from a normal, well tear adjusted woman, to one that cried at the drop of a hat.  And literally over just about anything.  Crazy.  I became crazy.  And after the pregnancy and the lactating, I thought it would all go back to normal.  But no.  I am crazy for life.  So I cry.  I cry over movies.  I cry over commercials.  I cry randomly when I see dust flitting through the air.  Why am I crying? I have no idea.  I just am.  I can't seem to help myself.

And since becoming a crier.  The Hubs has taken on this weird new hobby.  At any time, if anything we're watching is even remotely sad, or could possibly be construed as sad, The Hubs must look my direction.  At least several times.  To make sure I am crying.  Why does he do this? Why does he care? Why does he feel the need to check to see if I am crying?  Is this some sort of new sick game? Hubs? Are you there? Why do you have to check to see if the tears are flowing?  Why?  My older girls do it to.  Is there a point system for each tear you watch fall down my blotchy red face?  Are there rules to this game I should be aware of?  The jig is up, I'm hip to you turkeys!  You better spill the beans!  Or I.. I... I'll cry!

But enough about me, back to Phil.

Ultimately, I knew this was going to be hard to watch for me, not just because of the long and lasting friendship Phil and I had in my head, but because the death of anyone forces me to re-live past losses.  My sister, my grandparents, and most recently my brother-in-law. And also, because we already knew how this story was going to play out, even if those living in that moment didn't.

What did surprise me, was the hope the doctors had after the first "event".  Captain Phil was recovering not just well, but miraculously well. I think that made it even more tragic. Knowing they were being mislead into having a hope that ultimately would end in tragedy. . No amount of TV magic was going to save Captain Phil, or spare his boys the agony of his loss.  And while I wanted to be surprised when they revealed in the "After the Catch" episode that Phil had insisted that they film his end, so there would be an end, I wasn't.  Phil was genuine.  Phil was honest.  Phil was real.  And I'm not surprised that he wanted to share all of who he was with us.  Not surprised at all, that he wanted to share his ending too.

So go gentle into that good night Capt. Phil.  You've earned the rest.  And if you see my family in heaven, will you tell them what good friends we were? And tell them I miss them?

Seriously.. Thoughts?

No comments:

Post a Comment