Saying Goodbye to "Frasier"

After some hesitancy, I finished the last two episodes, the two-parter series finale, over the course of the last week. Once again I have gone through the experiences of emotion, of remembering what was forgotten, of leaving new footprints on a well-worn path. There is always a hurdle to get across when leaving something behind, and though I know now that clotting emotions give way to balance once more within a minute or so of departure, it is still a sad reverie indeed.

I am ever looking forward to the new series--longing with a heavy heart for a reunion with my extended family once again--but as with those many that have passed since the series ended, the reality is always quite clear: that the time will come for a true end to be set.

And, as I write today, so many of those have come to pass, both within and without the series:

• John Mahony's (Martin Crane's) passing in 2018...
• Ivan Reitman's passing on the 12th (and his touch on the "Ghostbusters" series and the upcoming "Triplets" gone forever. He has joined Harold Ramis somewhere off shore...
• Michael Crichton's passing in 2008, leaving an open space in the world for lovers of his books and the "Jurassic Park" series, among others...
• Those others that escape me even now, who have left the scene leaving possibilities of " "entertainment" " to the shadows of loss and uniqueness of finesse to overrule;

As I woke this morning, emptied the grinds, cleaned out the carafe, heated water, made a cappuccino, forsook the Seattle's Best Coffee (later), watched the episode, prepared to write this...

I awaited my beautiful niece's awakening. Awaited it with unease.

Unease not for her, but for the potential complexity of juggling my computer work and my own needs to watch TV with her desires to watch "Disney", "Miraculous", "Encanto", and, ever since she was a baby and my mother found the first for her, "Five Little Ducks".

Of course, she wins every time.

And, of course, I'm sure you have been there, too.

Perhaps the "sidetrack" is an "unnecessary" "subplot" of this article, but we shall see as I shall let "you" decide...

For so long I have yearned to see and touch and hear and interact and experience life with these imaginary characters, to live a duology; to forsake not those who are real and who I treasure beyond time, but to gain and never lose.

I have understood for a long time--not always, but a long time--that words on the printed page do not reveal complete pictures of those realities their intension is to convey, but simply nudge the reader to fill in the blanks through their imagination. In that regard, the idea of Heaven loses a touch of reliability. For though actors can assume their roles through skill and the perfection of Heaven's boundless energy, characters on the page can never be formed as they truly are. At least, that is my belief. Even in the writer's mind, stories shift and churn and change over time, marking endless deviations from start to finish. Only the end result can nurture the means to the end, by way of the beginning, as well.

In the end, it seems to come down to the psychology of "why": "why" you chase these imaginary characters, and long for them. Is it because of a real lacking in your life? A brain-fart that has yet to clear the room of your consciousness? Do you REALLY long for these things? These things that may never be "real" after all?

It pains me to say that suspicion is the only answer I can rely on.

Besides, such things may be, or never be.

And I've got a precious angel stirring sooner rather than later.

And, to leave this page with a requisite bow, strewn by an unconditional love from within, and one earned from without, she is the angel that helps to show me that Heaven is already here.