May 26, 2010

Lost and Found

Posted in Fun Stuff tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , at 6:43 am by autismmommytherapist

Lost aired its final episode Sunday night. I am bereft, even though intellectually I know it’s only “TEL-EE-VI-ZUN”.

I’ve been sad when other dramas have departed the big screen, none more so than when Sex and the City went off the air six years ago. I remember that evening, recall telling my toddler that “short of him stroking out Mommy was going to see this episode live, so he’d better behave and sleep tonight” (I am just that kind of mom). I was disappointed and mildly disturbed at my lack of closure when The Sopranos went off the air, and my mourning for Six Feet Under was mitigated only by viewing the second last best fifteen minutes of a television series EVER (thanks Alan Ball, genius emeritus).

I also spent ten minutes sobbing in my husband’s arms when I realized not only was Jimmy Smits dying on NYPD Blue, but the little boy who spoke to him in his dreams was his unborn future son, which really put me over the edge (I know, that wasn’t a series ending, but I felt compelled to get that in here somehow). After my children came along I found I didn’t get out much anymore, so good television series, and fortunately there have been many as of late, have been a source of escape for me. I’ve relished every minute, looked forward with unswerving loyalty to every SATC movie that will ever be made, and contributed to every actor’s third luxury home by owning every DVD of each series. I am a dedicated fan.

And then, there was Lost.

Lost aired when my family and I were still living in Northern Virginia, just weeks before our lives would be changed forever by the brusque, slightly irritated declaration of “autism” by our son’s pediatrician as he shoved the names and numbers of some developmental pediatricians into my shaking and outstretched palm. The weeks that followed rendered his parents lost indeed, as we struggled to figure out what to do, who to call, what therapies to choose, what this meant for our lives, and what this meant for our son’s future. My husband, fortunately still employed, got to put it all behind him for the lion’s share of his day when he went to work. For me however, it was continuous, consecutive fourteen-to-sixteen hour days of chores, therapy, general child care, and the sinking feeling that this intruder into our lives was permanent, that my son would not be one of the fortunate crew who would live with his ailment yet be fortunate enough to lead an independent life. Lost became my invaluable escape from autism, and the knowledge that at least twenty-two hours of the year I’d have to stretch my brain for something other than the ramifications of my son’s neurological disorder was a great comfort to me.

I was not the only person captivated by the rich story lines, intense character development, and tantalizing mythological references that comprised the television show. Even famous people have been seduced by its magic, as when Rainn Wilson outed himself as “gay for Richard” after that particular character’s backstory episode aired (I must admit, as much as I loved gazing at those miraculously unlined eyes I reserve my gay for Tina Fey – Mean Girls and 30 Rock will forever have my heart, as will that Brownie Husband segment on SNL). Lost has been viewed and revered by millions, and I’m proud to count myself and my husband as part of the flock. I will miss all of it dearly, from Jeff’s and my unwavering commitment to view every episode together, to our discussions afterwards as we pretended to understand what had transpired, as well as when we fooled ourselves that we could dissect the missives of the brilliant Doc Jensen on for hidden meaning the following day. We once tried to play “drink mythology” as a way to reward ourselves for figuring out literary references as an episode played out, but when we quickly realized our palates would remain primarily dry we ditched that approach, just laid back, and took it all in. It’s been a wild ride ever since.

It hasn’t just been the excellent writing, the consummate acting, the eye candy of Matthew Fox or Josh Holloway, or those fabulous one-liners intermittently dropped by Jorge Garcia on his loyal viewers. There have been the themes to explore, a handful of which I feel pertain strongly to my life as well. Sacrifice. Redemption. Choices. Faith. Producers Lindelof and Cuse have included something for every viewer, should they care to drink at the trough.

All of the characters on Lost had to make gut-wrenching sacrifices in order to grow. Clearly, as any good parent of a child with or without a disability does, my husband and I have made sacrifices too. Our relocation to New Jersey from Virginia somewhat stalled my spouse’s career, and definitely tanked mine, at least for the time-being. We left behind a fairly rocking social life for two almost middle-aged people with a child, and found it’s taken almost four years to begin to build one again. Then of course there’s the financial aspect of autism, where we pay out-of-pocket for every therapy our oldest has, because our adopted state south of the Mason-Dixon line has yet to get on board in the insurance wars. We’ve given up stuff. The truth is however, we’re parents. It’s our job.

I’ve found, through sacrifice (which trust me, I was not inclined to make too many of prior to giving birth), that I am a kinder, gentler person. Letting go of my singular desires for the good of another person, particularly a child I adore, has redeemed me from the somewhat career-obsessed/what are we doing Saturday night individual I once was in my twenties and early thirties. Having a child with a major neurological issue forced me to dig deep into my soul, question everything I thought mattered. My son, and his autism, redeemed me in a way, encouraged me to make better decisions about how I spent my time, more insightful choices as to what would define my life from now on. He’s made me a better person.

As I’ve watched each character on Lost struggle with the choices that have lead to redemption for many of them over the past six years (many were engaged in battle in two worlds simultaneously, I should stop complaining), my husband and I have endeavored to make the right ones for our son, then our sons, then our entire family as we’ve taken this journey. I’m not certain the choices we’ve made have always been correct. Some days, just like the characters on Lost, I think we haven’t even come close. I’ve witnessed the actors fight to exit the island with all of their will, and sat mesmerized as many of them realized departure wasn’t the answer, that escaping a geographical location would not release them from their inner torments. I mirror their conflict when I contemplate how I regard my sons’ “extra”, when I attempt to consolidate my acceptance of their plight with my understanding that I will never be completely at peace with it. I understand it is ultimately my choice as to how I view this disorder and how it manifests in my family. It may truly be the sole event over which I have any control.

I have to admit that the one theme that has resonated most with me over Lost’s tumultuous journey is the one embodied by the good doctor, Jack Shepherd. Watching his tenuous transformation from a man of science to a man of faith for more than half a decade has enabled me to define my concept of faith, and to whom I bestow it upon. Back in the day, my faith was unquestionably linked to my parents and grandparents, then as I grew older came the subtle shift to friends and husband. Ultimately, my choices have lead me to a greater faith in myself. This feeling, this certainty, is stronger than any I personally have ever encountered in my Presbyterian parish when I was growing up, or later in the great cathedrals of Europe as I prayed and waited for a feeling, a moment, even the slightest sign that indeed something was out there greater than myself. I tried. It never came. It hasn’t to this day.

But what has evolved in me is a confidence that although there will be bumps along the road of life – polar bears, Smoky, a disastrous detour of a storyline – eventually my husband and I will figure it out. Sometimes it won’t be pretty. I have not been above imagining a sideways world myself, one without sleepless nights, the vagaries of intermittent OCD, and a seemingly endless supply of poop. I had twenty months of “normal” with my second son, and although that experience was difficult at times too, it never carried with it the emotional pitfalls that an autism sentence inherently conveys, and for me that has been the most difficult concept of all to transcend, the idea that this is permanent. There is no escape for this family, no plane that might or might not be blown up to whisk us away from autism island.

I have learned, however, that a fairly happy ending is indeed possible.

I know there are naysayers, but for this fan, I now feel this is THE BEST ENDING OF A TELEVISION SERIES EVER. No, not every mythological question was answered, and we’ll never know how long each of the characters lived in their parallel universe, and how they died. I do know however, that as we watched Matthew Fox’s eye close in the only possible last scene that could have given me closure, my husband and I had already been bawling for twenty minutes and had vowed at least six times to become better human beings.

I hope it lasts.

So for now I’ll say goodbye to the show that has followed my family’s progress from downright miserable to most days enjoyable, and at the very least, tolerable. I will count the months until the six season box set is made available for my viewing pleasure, and will voraciously explore every extra, deleted scene and actor’s chat made available to me, save the choice to be regaled by the aforementioned options in Spanish. I will hope for yet another hit show or movie for Matthew Fox whose work I’ve enjoyed since his Party of Five days, and pray that no other network will feel compelled to try to emulate Lost’s success with some flimsy replica which I will be forced to disparage. Some things in life, and in art, are simply epic, and cannot be repeated.

To the writers, actors, directors and producers of the show (and the craft services employees who kept them happy), I bid a fond adieu, and my thanks for six incomparable years of entertainment.

Your fans, are indeed, lost without you.