Farewell to the Fishers

I didn’t sleep well last night. I tossed and turned most of the night. At 4 a.m. I was staring at the ceiling in the bedroom. It was too early to get up…even the dogs hadn’t been in for their first wake up call. And they weren’t going to be for quite some time. Rhiana was sound asleep. Occasionally she would turn or adjust, but I was awake on my own.

I know exactly why I couldn’t sleep. You see, Rhiana and I got these DVD’s through our mail service media rental club yesterday. Two plastic shiny discs. Yes, they were the reason I couldn’t sleep.

We’ve been watching the entire HBO series Six Feet Under in bottleneck fashion. We’ll get two or three discs at a time, each holding three or four hours of morbid story line. The show is about death and dying. It stories the life and times of the Fisher family. A family that owns and operates a funeral home. Typically each episode begins with a death. Yeah, I know what you are thinking…beginning with an ending…pretty deep right? I’ve come to see the symbolic openings as the trademark of the show. Anyway, the show is about the Fishers and their struggle to be real people among the living, while always surrounded by death. I won’t say too much more because you really should see it for yourself. The series is probably one of the best, if not THE best that HBO has ever produced. And don’t give me “The Sopranos” bullshit, because I’ve seen it too and it doesn’t even come close.

So how does Six Feet Under tie into my sleepless night? Yesterday, with the two discs we’d received, we put the series to rest. Five seasons, five years worth, of death and dying fed to us like it’s icing on the cake. The stories got to us. The plot lines, the lovable(and despicable) characters, the struggles, and the laughs. It all made the “whole death thing” a little prettier. But not in the end.

If the series made any clear statement during the tear jerking starkly alone finale, it was that all life comes to an end.

Ironically, Rhiana said to me this morning, “It really gave me a sense of closure.”

That’s just it. Death and dying are very difficult. The series painted death over. It was this pretty event and livelihood that the Fishers lived with. How paradoxical is that? Living for death.

I watched the ending twice again this morning. Once in normal format and the second time with the writer/producer, Alan Ball, commentating. It’s amazing to go back and see the show a second and third time. So many little details hidden in the nooks and crannies…it truly was a treat. It was also bittersweet of course because it was the end of the Fishers.
Just as in death, we will not see them anymore. “They won’t be on our T.V. ever again.” A thought that is eerily parallel to that of a person in mourning.

Death has come to Six Feet Under.

I’ve been obsessed with my own death since I was very young. I can remember being in the 4th or 5th grade and laying awake at night. I was scared…terrified. Not of monsters under the bed or noises at the window. I would call for my mother and ask her what it was like to be dead. “Forever dreamless sleep.” It isn’t normal I’m sure. I’ve talked to people about this feeling, both professional counselor and personal confidant. It is a troubling thought and feel. I guess that most people think about it from time to time. It is only natural…death…it’s part of life after all.

Six Feet Under and it’s thought evoking demise is what kept me awake last night. It resurrected those feelings within me regarding my own death.

Perhaps it is fitting that today is Easter. Because although Six Feet Under has been ceremoniously buried, today life moves on.