We enter our lives upside down and should leave it the same way: so that our pockets may be emptied, our heads full and so that our inverted frown may be our last smiling goodbye to the world.
A life equation
Maternity Malleability Morality Mortality Morbidity Mortuary Moribundity
Disney films – go straight for the heart of kids and parents’ darkest fears. Though they are mainly kids films it surprises me to think of how many of them have orphans or children estranged / lost from their parents as a theme. Check out this list. Its from the top of my head so, there may be inaccuracies or omissions. Feel free to add or correct me in comments.
Here’s a quick, and by no means exhaustive list:
Anna and Elsa – Frozen (orphaned)
Bambi (Mum dead, Dad posing in the woods)Nemo – Finding Nemo (lost)
Dumbo (Separated from Mum (gets me evreytime!))
Simba – Lion King (Dad dead)
Peter Pan (Lost boy, no parents)
Tarzan (Orphaned and raised by monkeys)
Mowgli – Jungle Book (orphaned and brought up by bankers)
Aristocats (No Dad)
Snow white (Evil stepmother)
Cinderella (Evil stepmother)
Sleeping Beauty (Put into sleep and taken far away from family),
Rapunzel (Stolen by witch)
Belle (No mother, Dad kidnapped)
Pinocchio (No parents and an insect for a conscience.)
101 Dalmations (Stolen from parents)
Little Mermaid (No mum)
Penny – Rescuers (Orphaned)
Tod – Fox and Hound – (Orphaned)
I know, I know it isn’t all Disney – Harry Potter, Despicable Me, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – The list goes on and on…..
Dying is about the person.
Death is about everyone else.
It is 15 years since I lost my Dad.
Whenever I look back, it is with fondness. Great memories of holding onto his stubbly chin for a shoulder ride. How he always smelled of creosote or just plain old outside. How he used to do a 14 hour shift then fall asleep reading me and my sister a bedtime story. How he could build a shed in an afternoon and still have a bit of wood (and time) left over to help me make a crossbow to fire Mum’s clothes pegs at the neighbours windows. He’d even fetch me the pegs.
I can remember near the end, when he was fighting to stay around to see the cherry blossom. Prolific this time of year.
Whenever I see it I think of him.
How he fought, his breathing machine rattling on for one more breath. His family rattling alongside him through the dark, painful, destroying hours where we clung onto him as he dwindled away. Where we fought to stay awake, to hear his next breath; to make sure he did not die alone in the dark.
Like I said, Cherry blossom is prolific. It brightens up our world for a few days then fades away. We remember the vivid colours it shouts into spring, not the brown, desiccated remnants that lie on the floor then disappear on the breeze.
Though cherry blossom saddens me, just a little, the colours and joys prevail. Like death and life I suppose.
Like father like son.
It sums up my view on time.
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“Whoever said time is a healer, lied. It is not. It is just another dirty four letter word.
A dark destroyer.
A hurtling obsidian juggernaut.
The wrought-iron wrecking ball that swings at the tiny, fragile, ceramic, hand-painted ornaments of our lives and heals them to smithereens.”