I just finished the show again
and I am wrecked, again.
To no one’s surprise, this show has always made me think deep about my relationship with my dad. There were times when it wasn’t the best, but I’d say dad and I have had a really, really solid connection for the better part of the last 20 years. Maybe it has been the distance—I moved out of our home and to a different country a long time ago. I’ve built a life of my own abroad and he’s seen it and taken part in it and felt the joy of having a son pursue his dreams. Maybe my coming out as gay, and being unapologetic about it, and marrying and divorcing and going through a pandemic and rebuilding my life while developing a career in a field he wished he had been a part of—maybe all of this has gotten ingrained into our relationship. Whatever it is, this show, and especially its ending, hit me hard and deep in those crevices of the chest where love and regret coexist in a messy entanglement.
I wouldn’t change any of it, though. If there ever was a measure of fulfillment for life, i think it is not whether one lived without regrets, but whether one lived with honest feelings. We don’t have to love anyone—ultimately, true love is a choice we make every single day. And it needs work, and it can fade away and it can be broken and repaired like Japanese pottery, scars and all.
And I get to tend to my scars, and his, even at a distance. That is the choice I make. That’s how we pull apart the fabric of the universe so we can be closer to each other even when we can’t be together. But every so often I catch a plane and, 10 or 12 hours later, I can give him a hug and tell him I love him. I don’t take that privilege for granted.
Much to my sibling’s chagrin, I know I am his favorite thing.