I went to the movie store last night to rent a mind-numbing and entertaining movie that would transport me to another existence temporarily. It's not that mine life is so bad or that I'd like to replace it. However, there are times that I seem to missing the "plot' of my own life and seeing the finite moral in a movie is comforting.
After after asking the woman behind the counter for some recommendations, I noticed that there are a fair few movies with either a heart-broken widower in need of love and understanding or a young, hot-bodied widow with a huge life-insurance pay-out as the protagonist. I suppose that they introduce these characters that have lost their spouses as a way to have a character who is hurt but not angry? Or to add a twist to the single status they wear aside from "single because there is a flaw here that does not make for good television"?
The clerk went on to tell me that "P.S. I Love You" was one of her favourite movies of all time. After making a mental note to never ask for recommendations from her again, I launched into, seemingly, 50 million reasons why this movie sucked. Hard.
I told her that in the first stages of grief, you NEVER look good. Your eyes are so swollen from crying you look as if you've been in a prize fight. There is one heck of a lot of snot involved and your hair never falls in romantic waves on your shoulders....more in a tangled rat's nest at the base of your skull.
I told her that although it was a lovely and romantic idea that this woman's husband had written her ten letters, it is highly unlikely that he was able to have the energy or the ability with a terribly invasive brain tumour clogging up his brain.
Also, I've been to Scotland. Yes, it's not Ireland....but they have great whiskey and fabulous accents too. And not every "bloke" in the pubs were charming and good-looking. In fact, a fair amount were missing teeth and had trouble keeping upright on their stools.
I did love that the movie portrayed a growth and a fearlessness that occurs when you have lost the love of your life. That you shed a piece of yourself that is not necessary and tend to hold onto and rekindle the parts that require nurturing.
Now, looking back over the time I have spend as a young, not-so-hot-bodied widow, I see have truly grown and I can see my own plot....snot and all. But it is not at all glamourous and maybe I am just truly jealous of those last ten messages....