When Catherine Bell posted that this would be the last season of the Good Witch, she quoted Dr. Seuss:
“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened!”
I assumed this would be the last season. This is the 13th year of the franchise. I mean, seriously, anyone familiar with this show would know the significance of 13 - for Cassie and for Cassie and Sam - a poetic end after 13 years - "Oh, thirteen gets such a bad reputation but it's actually been a very lucky number for me."
Still, I was surprised by how sad I felt upon learning that my hunch was now a reality. My initial thought was, "Another loss." And, it did (and does) feel like another loss in a long string of losses this year - which feels very strange to say about a television show. Seriously, it's a television show - not real life!!! On top of that, it's not like I have followed them for 13 years. I learned about the show during the middle of season 5. I am a newbie fan.
However, for anyone who has read my blogs this past year, you will know that the Good Witch show has been an integral part of my self-care plan through Brad's death and COVID. I cannot tell you how many times I have watched each episode - and I never weary of them.
As matter of fact, I was watching an episode (how to make a Middleton quilt) this morning when I was called into work for a code - CPR in progress.
Last night was a draining night - covering two hospitals - the wife of one patient begging me to stay with her and me sitting with her for over an hour - another patient coding and dying in the ICU, the family overcome with grief.
I slept well but was still dragging. So, between prayer group and church, I decided to watch an episode of the Good Witch. I barely got started before having to rush out the door.
And - the young mother of 4 did not survive. She died before I arrived. The family was gathered around the bedside. Even after I left and headed to church, I worked two phones trying to find a Catholic Priest on a Sunday morning who would pray with the family (at the family's request) - a nearly impossible task being a Sunday morning and the fact that Priests do not offer anointing for people after they have died. (Luckily, we have a great network at Methodist and a Catholic Priest chaplain was on duty at another hospital.)
Now, my neck and shoulders ache - and I find myself thinking of last night, today, the sermon this morning, and the loss of my Good Witch Middleton family.
When I got to church, one of the pastors greeted me at the door and mentioned how slowly I was walking in from the parking lot. I shared with him and another man why I was so sluggish.
Inside the church, an old friend saw me in the foyer and came up to greet me with a hug. She asked how life was treating me and I said good. She asked if that's really how I was or if I am just a good liar. Before telling her that life was really good, but that I was having a rough morning, a scene between Sam and Cassie flashed into my head.
Sam: Something wrong?
Cassie: No.
Sam: I'm going to try that again. Do you want to tell me what's wrong?
(Yeah, I suppose I am kind of an addict at this point. 😏)
This woman is not just any retired nurse, but a retired military nurse. So, she knows the importance of self-care from a lot of angles. She asked me how I care for myself. I listed some of the ways:
Therapy . . .
Exercise - and not just any exercise - 9Round where I get to safely punch and kick things . . .
Writing . . .
and being here (referring to church).
I did not mention Good Witch, but it was in the back of my mind, obviously!
Before the service fully got underway, I received a text from my Catholic Priest chaplain friend letting me know that he had reached out to the family and taken care of them. I sighed with relief and mouthed the words "thank you" to the ceiling.
During the service intro, one of the pastors mentioned their Sunday School lesson - Jesus walking on water - how the men in the boat must have been thinking, "After all this, now we have to deal with a ghost!?!?!" I laughed to myself, improperly thinking, "After all this, now I have to deal with the cancelation of one of my best and favorite self-care routines!?!?!"
I never want to give the wrong impression about my job or EVER make it sound as if I consider myself to be a martyr. That is the furthest thing from the truth. I LOVE my job and am good at it, but it is NOT about me.
When it comes to grief, I am a stranger inviting myself into a family's worst day. There are generally three typical responses:
1) They want nothing to do with me and "my God" and make it very clear that I am not welcomed - in which case I quietly walk out of the room, but may remain close-by but out of sight just in case (more for staff than family) I often pray for them anyway, but silently and out of sight.
2) They are indifferent - in which case I make it known that I am available and quietly slip out of the room (sometimes praying with them first).
3) They cling to me as if I am God Himself or at the very least an intimate friend - in which case I let them grab onto me. In this case, I know fully well that it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with who I represent.
Yesterday and this morning, the families all fell into category #3.
I am not an empath. Although I may cry with the families or feel for their loss, their grief does not become my own. It is not grief that zaps my energy. It is simply an emotional drain.
It is like the story of the woman who reached out and touched the edge of Jesus' garment. People were pressed in all around Him, but He still felt power leave Him the moment she touched Him. “Someone touched Me, for I know that power has gone out from Me.” (Luke 8:40-50).
I don't particularly like that comparison, because, well, I am not Jesus. But the sentiment fits.
Another comparison is like the gentle giant from the movie, the Green Mile. He had the power to heal, but whenever he did, it drained him of his own power.
Again, this is not the best example. I do not have supernatural powers to heal. I am simply a good listener. However, I am an emotional conduit and after such emotional encounters, I am drained.
Before COVID, Blue Bloods used to be my favorite show. For the past year, I have been unable to watch any show that even remotely mentions COVID, masks, politics, or any of the serious issues going on in the real world (with the exception of This Is Us). I find it rather difficult just to keep up with the local news.
That is why one of my favorite and most effective refueling tools is to go home and watch an episode or two (or five) of the Good Witch. The shows are predictable, safe, and filled with love. There is always a happy ending. It refuels me.
So ever since I learned that the Good Witch was being canceled, I have felt sad and a little lost. What am I going to do without my Middleton family?
During the service, my pastor gave some wonderfully vivid illustrations. One was about a woman from his hometown, a Christian for over 60 years and the most bitter woman he had ever met. He asked if we wanted to be stuck like that. (At least I think he did - that's what I heard, "Renee, do you want to be stuck?")
That hit me right between the eyes. As I lay down to try to sleep after learning about the show's cancelation, I felt like God was telling me that this was a sign that it was time for me to let go and move on. But from what? I have had milestone moments in my life before, things that changed my trajectory. Where will I land this time?
I have been sitting in limbo, feeling like I was in a holding pattern for another change. I know I have been in this holding pattern for this past year, but I am beginning to see that I have actually been stuck for a lot longer.
I kind of feel like I am a ball in a pitching machine, whirling around waiting for my turn. I think my turn is coming. I think I am about to be sucked up and shot out. But when? Where? How?
I have referred to all of my self-care techniques as band-aids, but maybe I have relied on them a little too much for a little too long. It's not like I will stop doing them or watching the series. I mean, they do serve a vital purpose. I have 7 seasons to watch over and over again as much as I need to or want to, but I think it is time to find a real Middleton.
Last week during a text exchange with my pastor, I admitted to needing help with a class assignment that involved our church because I have been MIA for a while and feel way out of touch. I have changed a lot this past year and I no longer know what that means as far as my role at/with the church (meaning SAF and the universal church).
Today, I think it became a tiny bit clearer. Friend after friend came up to hug me during church. I saw some people I haven't seen in a while and I met some new people.
A sweet young girl (16) with significant issues of her own, knows just a tad about mine. She had seen me in the foyer trying to have conversations with people while trying to take care of the hospital stuff mentioned above. Before I left, she gave me a hug and asked if I was okay.
This girl, with this great big heart. She genuinely cares about the wellbeing of this old lady!
I waved my hand around the sanctuary and I said, "I am now. I have been refueled."
Hugs - community - a place to belong - isn't that what we all want and need?
Middleton may not be real and this chapter may be ending, but I will always have the memories and 7 seasons of reruns.
However, I do not have to wait two years for graduation to find out where I am eventually going to land. (My post-graduation plan is to get a job at a cancer hospital somewhere in the country, work on my doctorate and eventually teach at the university level.)
I have a home right here, right now. For now, my community, my church is my Middleton. I should start treating it as such and not just as a stop along this destination.
It is scary, to think of moving away from my grief - of letting go of Brad - he has had such control of me my entire adult life. I know letting go does not mean I have to forget or stop loving him. It simply means I need to stop letting him have control over me, my emotions, and my actions.
It means I need to stop living as a visitor rather than as a resident of my own life.
Dealing with the "ghost," choosing to not be the kind of Christian no one wants to emulate, walking away from the beach for good (sermon points) is terrifying.
But, it's the next step in my journey. And, oddly enough, it begins with saying goodbye to the fictional town of Middleton.
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