This morning we finished the last Harry Potter book. I choked back tears while attempting to read the epilogue. I wept for the end of a brilliant saga, for the flawed lovable characters and their triumphs and losses. My shoulders shuddered over the all-too-relevant metaphors of Voldemort-supremacy, victimized populations, dark magic and for acts of compassion and valor in the face of terrifying realities.
I cried–while the kids watched my contorting face with puzzled curiosity, and listened as my voice became Kermit The Frog-ified– for the hubris and vulnerability of elf, goblin, muggle, and wizard all, for the thousands of pages of my boys’ youth already turned, for the fleeting cozy read-aloud days in our home. I mourned the loss of my magic wand–my one reliable parenting skill and secret power. YOU GUYS. I was really good at those accents.
I need a new wand. This always comes as a surprise–when your reliable tricks cease to work effectively. A new wand requires practice. I might need to learn difficult spells, to encounter charms I don’t understand, to reconsider my own part in curses, and to encounter wizards unfamiliar to me. Perhaps I’ll taste the bitterness of a potion or two along the way, or encounter bully trolls; gate-keepers with Trump-hair.
As Bryan Stevenson writes at the close of a very different book I recently finished– his devastating and critically important Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, “The work continues.”
And so, I intend to believe–in hope, in magic, and in peace– for my home and our world.
This is brilliant, Ann. And sad and hard and part of the letting go of the little ones.
I adore you.
Thanks, Cheryl. Yes and yup.
xoxoxoxo
Tears.Big fat blubbering ones. I know this feeling and am grateful to know you, who understands. Life may have a surprise up ahead for you, Ann, as it did for me— in my mother’s last year, while we all lived her dementia with her, she loved nothing more than to lean into my shoulder while I read the kid’s books to her. I can’t remember where I saw it, “we don’t have to complete the work, but we cannot abandon it.” Happy thanksgiving day, ann, and happy day of gratitude.
I cried the better part of a day after finishing. What an epically incredible story to share with your kids.
Oh my, let there still be magic with this new wand. There is. I know there is. I love this, Ann.
I envy those parents who read the books aloud…my kids wanted to devour them on their own, and by the time the last one came out we had to set rules for who got to read it when and for how long. When it was my turn to read the last chapters – I’m actually crying a little bit right now as I type – I took it into the corner of my bedroom, sat on the floor, and sob-read it. I loved having that reading adventure alongside my kids, even if we weren’t reading together.
And when we went to the studio outside London where they filmed the movies they pretty much had to scrape me off the floor from all my emotions.
Which led to my new wand: giving my children plenty of material to laugh at about their mom. 🙂
So dear, and real. I mourn my children growing up with tears- even as I rejoice that they’re growing up with relief. I never know how to reconcile. Lovely piece.
Oh…how I miss the days of reading books together. Today my 15 year old and I were looking at a website together and I nearly danced too close to the flame and sniffed her hair…can you imagine if I had not caught myself? Best of luck finding a sparkling new wand…wave it proudly!
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