This week, television brought untold
sadness into our homes. First, we
watched in horror as Terri Schiavo died
slowly before our eyes, then a beloved and
well-respected pope died, then Prince
Rainier died, then Peter Jennings told us
he had lung cancer, and to end this
depressing week, my mother-in-law is not
expected to live past this weekend.
I have no more tears left. I feel
like Alice in Wonderland who swam in her
own sea of tears. "I wish I
hadn't cried so much!" said
Alice. She was up to her chin in
salt-water. Her first idea was that she
had somehow fallen into the sea...."
Lewis Carroll.
I
am in an emotional drought. This has
to be one of the most gloomy weeks that I
can remember. I cried when my mother
took me to see the film Bambi, at the age
of six. My sobs were so loud when
Bambi's mother was killed that I had to be
taken out of the theatre. I still cry at
weddings, funerals, during sad music, and
if a dog is hurt. I could never be a
doctor because I faint at the sight of
blood.
Depression
and I don't get along at all; that is why
I prefer the Broadway shows to grand
opera. I prefer to "look for
the silver lining, and put on a happy
face," as the words in the songs
suggest. When sad events happen,
most people turn to their religions for
comfort. I don't. I handle my
emotions the British way, not the Spanish
way. I keep a stiff upper lip, and
insist that the show must go on! I
do not let myself feel sorry for me,
otherwise I will never climb out of the
pit of despair. This stoicism was
developed over the years, because
genetically speaking, I inherited the
romanticism and passion of the Poles, but
my Scottish mother never allowed a show of
maudlin sentimentality in public.
However, this repression of emotionalism
served me well when I invented a character
in Murder by Roses. I was able to
let feelings rip through a protagonist,
something akin to being a psychic medium
who channeled one persona to the
personality of another.
Nothing lasts forever, not sadness, and
certainly not happiness. So I feel
it is easier just to handle each day as it
presents itself. We all have our own
personal way of dealing with misfortune,
and what works for one person does not
necessarily work for another due to
cultural differences and upbringings.
In Rome, at the Pope's funeral, the Poles
proudly hoisted their colors: white and
red high above their heads. They
wanted to send a clear message to the
world: "we are a free nation once
again thanks to Pope John Paul II".
He had been there for them during their
embryonic struggle of Solidarnosc, and
a grateful nation was now there for him.
He must have been very amused for Karol
Wojtyla never left the stage.
Sadness is a part of life, but it does go
away. I tend to agree with Woody
Allen: "I'm not afraid to die.
I just don't want to be there when it
happens." And Scarlet O'Hara
proclaimed in Gone With the Wind,
"I'll think about it tomorrow."
But when "death tugs at my ears and
says - live - I am coming," (Oliver
Wendell Holmes, Sr.) I also like to think,
yes, tomorrow is another day, and when
Prince Charles finally marries his
Camilla, we should simply turn this page
in the book of life, or think of another
novel to write.
"For lo, the winter is past, the rain
is over and gone. The flowers appear
on earth; the time for singing has
come." Song of Solomon
2:11 - 12
Alinka
