I’ve started watching Lost again. I LOVED it the first time around, and people can say what they like about the ending but it totally worked for me, I felt rather peaceful after the finale in a really strange way, and thought it was a really well executed finish.
So naturally I dutifully got the box set, to take pride of place among my other box sets for shows I’ve really loved: Friends, Buffy, Futurama, most of the new Doctor Who. But 15 months later I finally get the urge to watch it. I’d been putting it off because I only really majorly got into the show from Season 2, and thought the first season would be a real drag by comparison. I’m glad to report that this isn’t the case so far, and what I’m lacking in mystery (from seeing it the first time), I’m getting back from being able to analyse the events and exchanges in context of what’s to come.
Like someone smugly and knowingly giving hints to a person doing a crossword, I have that superior feeling when my internal monologue goes “oh Jack, if only you KNEW!” after an issue with Kate, or watching Sun feign ignorance when she can understand her fellow islanders’ attempts at contact. So I will look forward to hopefully enjoying the rest of the show just as much.
I was watching the episode “White Rabbit” yesterday while I did my ironing, where Jack recalls his daddy issues directly before the flight to Lost island. For some reason this set me off crying quite a bit, and I’m still not sure why. The issues in the story are nothing I have experienced, and my Dad is alive, so I don’t get it.
I remembered being at the hospital, Dad had just had a stroke and I was among the first visitors. It had that terrible facade of boredom that hospital visits have for me (and I’m sure a lot of people agree ), it makes it easier to want to leave if you think it’s just because you’re bored, rather than the likely reality that hospitals just terrify you with their atmosphere of pain, sadness and grief.
He was trying to hold it together as always, I don’t think he could speak much, and was on a lot of medication but he was upright. I remember him picking his arm up with his other arm, and letting it drop lifelessly to his side as if it was just something funny like getting pins & needles. But then he starting sobbing silently for a few terrible seconds before letting out this awful noise. I couldn’t handle it, Mum said I should leave them for a minute, which I did, half jogging away until I got outside the ward. I just broke down then, hands on my face, just as one of my sisters arrived. I’m so glad she came then. This is all just so vivid now, it makes me wonder how it has been so long since I thought about it.
That’s a bit of a depressing detour isn’t it, apologies, but I just felt I had to get that out. It’s odd how our emotional triggers are so unpredictable, maybe that’s just the power of good writing.