It
is about separation and loss; the futile quest for permanence. It is about what endures. It is personal and direct; it is suggestive,
poetic. It is about death.
We
can only watch, as the father tells his son that he is dying from an incurable
disease. Proud and powerful, the boy's
lifelong, bedrock security is passing.
The
son cries inconsolably. And it not the
encapsulated crying we are hardened to on television. It is real world, real time, unrelenting sobbing. The son experiences this as a plastic bubble
over his head, pulled tighter and tighter.
There is no hope, no release, no escape.
It
is hard to be an intimate witness. We
squirm and cough. What can anyone
say? What felt like it would endure
forever will soon be gone. There are no
words to break this tension. It continues
and builds.
Finally,
there is some small degree of comfort.
Soothing words, reassurance. I
will be here for you, child, I will provide, endure.
And
finally, finally, through tear-filled eyes, the boy indicates that he
understands. He hears the father; it
will be all right. Something of the
father will be there, always there, for the son.
This
is not a son's bus station hug before college; nor is it a father and
daughter's bittersweet dance at her wedding.
This is neither temporary nor symbolic.
This
is not your father's Oldsmobile. This
is your father's death.
No
it's not.
This
is an advertisement for your father's
death brought to you by the Incurable Disease Division of the John Hancock
Insurance Company; a polished morality play with its hand in our pockets.
And
what is the moral? What is to save us
from this unrelenting sorrow? What
remains, what endures of our love?
"An insurance policy," quoth the ravenous, nothing more.
Where
are Beavis and Butt-head when you need them?
* *
* *
In
real life, as it happens, the fellow playing the father is indeed dying——but of
a curable disease. And there is an expensive treatment that
might save his life.
But
his insurance company won't pay for it.
"Where's my wife
and family? What if I die here. Who'll be my role model, now that my role
model is gone, gone, gone..."