About a week ago, I was looking for something to read - something light - no mysteries - no murders - no drama - light. So I checked on Amazon for Kindle freebies and found a book called "The Beach House" by Mary Alice Monroe - a Harlequin book. I read some of the description - sounded pretty good - it got 4.5 stars on Amazon. It said it was about a young woman far removed from the beach who reunites with her mother at the beach house.
I downloaded the book and the first scene was the mother sitting on the beach (crying, I think). Mom is 69-years-old (What a coincidence! So am I!). It also turns out that Mom is dying of cancer - and the book is about the beach house... sure... but more about the broken family dynamics - and preparing for death by uniting the family. Cheery. (I did finish the book and really did like it)
Then Michael and I decided to watch a movie titled, "The Assassination of Jesse James". Okay... so obviously it's about death, but it's Jesse James - ancient history - shouldn't be a problem.
Until three-quarters of the way through, when Jesse gets assassinated - and as he's lying on the floor, bleeding from the head - dead, his wife lifts his head - holds his head in her lap - sobs hysterically and starts screaming... "NO! NO! NO!"
I lost it - covered my ears - closed my eyes - started yelling "Turn it off! Turn it off!" It was too much. I was right there in that room with her, but I could see myself holding Greg's head - I could see his neck and the rope marks - and the scream was mine. That image was just... there - instantly. I didn't seek it - didn't ask for it - didn't expect it. I had to talk to myself - tell myself that it wasn't real - no matter how real it felt - it wasn't real.
Today I decided to watch a quirky little movie about a family (husband, wife, and two daughters) that leaves Ireland for the U.S. and lands in Hell's Kitchen in New York ("In America"). The husband is an actor, trying to get a break in New York. Again, I thought... okay... I can watch this.
Right. It turns out that the family lives in an apartment building known as the addict's building. (Great). And the entire family is traumatized by the death of the youngest child, a son - who died before they left Ireland. The movie explores how each one deals with the death.
The Jesse James thing was obviously about death, but it was about a bank robber and I was prepared for him to die (I thought). I certainly didn't expect any personal connection. The book? The movie? Should I have known?
Am I doing this to myself unconsciously? Am I choosing "death" stories without realizing what I'm doing? Or am I just more sensitive to it now?
I wish I knew.
I downloaded the book and the first scene was the mother sitting on the beach (crying, I think). Mom is 69-years-old (What a coincidence! So am I!). It also turns out that Mom is dying of cancer - and the book is about the beach house... sure... but more about the broken family dynamics - and preparing for death by uniting the family. Cheery. (I did finish the book and really did like it)
Then Michael and I decided to watch a movie titled, "The Assassination of Jesse James". Okay... so obviously it's about death, but it's Jesse James - ancient history - shouldn't be a problem.
Until three-quarters of the way through, when Jesse gets assassinated - and as he's lying on the floor, bleeding from the head - dead, his wife lifts his head - holds his head in her lap - sobs hysterically and starts screaming... "NO! NO! NO!"
I lost it - covered my ears - closed my eyes - started yelling "Turn it off! Turn it off!" It was too much. I was right there in that room with her, but I could see myself holding Greg's head - I could see his neck and the rope marks - and the scream was mine. That image was just... there - instantly. I didn't seek it - didn't ask for it - didn't expect it. I had to talk to myself - tell myself that it wasn't real - no matter how real it felt - it wasn't real.
Today I decided to watch a quirky little movie about a family (husband, wife, and two daughters) that leaves Ireland for the U.S. and lands in Hell's Kitchen in New York ("In America"). The husband is an actor, trying to get a break in New York. Again, I thought... okay... I can watch this.
Right. It turns out that the family lives in an apartment building known as the addict's building. (Great). And the entire family is traumatized by the death of the youngest child, a son - who died before they left Ireland. The movie explores how each one deals with the death.
The Jesse James thing was obviously about death, but it was about a bank robber and I was prepared for him to die (I thought). I certainly didn't expect any personal connection. The book? The movie? Should I have known?
Am I doing this to myself unconsciously? Am I choosing "death" stories without realizing what I'm doing? Or am I just more sensitive to it now?
I wish I knew.
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