So not only did I read the 6th book in time for the release of the 7th, emailed friends a nearly naughty photo of Harry Potter and tried my best to not talk about what might happen at all times of the day with anyone who seemed remotely interested, but I also went to one of those release parties...by myself...in a town 45 minutes away...at midnight
There was a part of me that was trying to deny that I’d gone off the deep end; that I could wait to get the last book; that I wasn’t completely curious about what other Harry Potter fans would be doing that night; that I didn’t think that it would be fun join in on the insanity. But there was a much larger part of me that wanted to be a part of all of it. So I went with that part. And it was great. I loved seeing packs of teenaged boys with their shaggy hair dressed in their dark blue sweaters, white collared shirts with matching ties. I loved seeing the gaggle of girls in matching t-shirts that read “Dumbledore’s Army.” I was surprised by it and envious of their supreme fandom. I chuckled when I read the sign for Pollyjuice potion for sale…and then I bought some. I felt like a bit of a fraud, but who gives a shit?! I didn’t! I loved that people were this excited about reading a book. I waited in line with 2100 other people for my book, I didn’t get home until 2am and it was totally worth it.
:: Terrible photo, but you get the idea
And I’ve spent the better part of the past 2 days reading the entire thing. I cried (again) at the end, not because of what happened in the book, but because it was over with. And I was really sad about that. I walked outside after finishing the book and thought simply, “Oh. Everything is the same.” And I came inside and sobbed with grief.
These books were such a great distraction for me. I have been reading these books for the past 8 weeks. As you all know, a lot has happened over the past 8 weeks and these stories helped me escape from some of it. I became so engrossed in imagining this other world and I didn’t anticipate how hard my grief would come pouring back once it was all over. My grief had waited patiently until there was room to return and then it filled up all my empty crevices.
PLUS, it’s Sunday. And I fucking hate Sunday.
I had a conversation with a student this week who’d felt surprised and angry with herself when she found herself crying over something she’d thought she’d moved past. I explained, “This is how grief works. It will leave for a time and allow you time to gain strength. Then it returns – the first unexpected arrival hurts worst. Each time it comes back it is easier to get through, b/c you have been there before and you know the way out. It will one day, no longer be grief, but it will always be sad. You will just keep getting stronger.”
So I’m allowing myself to cry. I’m trying to do nice things for myself and I will go to bed early and tomorrow I will wake up early and go for a run. It’s the best way I know how to sort it all out.
I kind of wish I had a magic wand though.
and one of those "Dumbledore's Army" t-shirts.
and another day off of work.
