matthew. gallion.

Her teeny tiny giggle gurgles from the backseat
and she wheezes from the laughing. 

The noise bursts from her like an innocent hurricane,
                         devastating me,
                                                   flattening me. 

No amount of preparation or guardedness can save me. 

She is god and daughter to me—
the object of my devotion and my precious child. 

She is innocent, even a bit naïve,
completely oblivious to the pain and terror the world waits to pile on her. 
Her simplicity reminds me of the freedom to ignore the world, to willfully close my eyes and wistfully remember to breathe,

to live. 

She saves my soul with every choked out, snotty, shrill squeal of delight.  

*SPOILER ALERT*

So, I, like most Harry Potter fanatics, saw the new movie at a midnight show. After seeing on the big screen I gotta say, I was a little disappointed. First off, I thought the movie itself was a bit lazy. I felt the key elements of the story were neglected for some ridiculous CGI battle scenes. (Why did Harry’s and Voldemort’s heads get squished together, for example?) Where did the Hallows go? Where was the over-powering message of love? These elements were present, I’ll be the first to admit, but they seemed rushed to me.

Second, I realized I wasn’t a huge fan of the ending anyway. It was too neat, too convenient. ‘But it was a film adaptation of a book written for kids,’ you’ll say. ‘Pssh,’ I say. So here’s how it should have ended:

After Harry comes to terms with the necessity of his own death, he should have marched right on down there to ol’ Voldemort and let himself be killed. So far, the movie did alright. Then, however, there was this whole bit about Harry coming back from the dead (apparently because he was protected by love, which was seriously underplayed in the film). That’s the part they should have left out. Harry should have just died. He should have given his life to weaken Voldemort. The resurrection and subsequent happy life that Harry enjoys immediately thereafter seemed too neat and convenient to me. Not only that but it seemed to implement some sort of economy of exchange, suggesting that giving your life to fight evil will result in some sort of ultimate reward. I also couldn’t help but wonder what it was that actually separated Harry Potter from Tom Riddle to begin with? If it was love and Harry’s mother died to protect him, isn’t Voldemort’s greatest crime something like being an orphan or having lousy parents?

But I digress. Harry should have faced his death and died a hero. Voldemort should have carried Harry’s lifeless body back to Hogwarts where Neville would deliver a fantastic speech about Harry’s legacy. In essence, Neville would argue that Harry’s life was unimportant. His legacy of fighting evil could not be stopped even by death. If Harry was gone, then others would take his place. Neville would raise the sword of Gryffindor over his head and lead a new charge. As the two sides collide, the credits would roll.

This would obviously be a much less satisfying resolution to the story for many people, but Rowling herself demonstrated just how devastating resolution can be. The epilogue, in both its written and cinematic expressions, was terrible. It proves without a doubt that stories that are too clearly resolved ruin our hopes for the unpredictability of life. Do we actually want to know that everything is okay? Or is there not something beautiful about the uncertainty of the future? Sure, Harry could have survived and lived to fight Voldemort on his own. He could have (and did) come back from the dead and take it all on himself. He could be the Christ-figure who comes to save the world. But isn’t the beauty of this story that people die fighting with Harry? That people are inspired by Harry’s decisions to take responsibility for themselves? 

We need more uncertain endings. We need less heroes. We need the Boy-Who-Lived to be the Boy-Who-Died. Then maybe we can start living ourselves.

I suppose I should tell you what I’m doing with my life. Well, right now, I’m sitting in line to see Harry Potter, shooting some craps. What a night.

Life can be so entirely draining. There are an endless number of experiences that leave me feeling exhausted, overwhelmed, or inferior. During these seasons, I often feel as if I can’t sleep or read or write. Ultimately, this lack of ‘productivity’ only intensifies my lethargy and depression. So, I’m going to write more, even if I say less.

As I’ve struggled to come to terms with the destruction in my life, I’ve found a great deal of healing and hope, though it has had an unforeseen consequence: I’ve been quite comfortable with the power of trauma for my own existential being. That isn’t to say that I don’t have regrets, but it is to say that I have learned a great deal about myself and about what I perceive is just and right through my experiences. As a result, I’ve found a certain comfort in tragedies and somber stories. I suppose that, in certain ways, I may come across as incredibly dark and cynical, but I find it all incredibly affirmative and hopeful.

For those of you who don’t know, I’m going through a divorce. It’s brutal and gut-wrenching and terrible all at the same time. It’s no surprise that it’s an awful experience; these things always are. But it’s also been a process, both before I was aware of the difficulties in my life and after. I’ve been regularly seeing a counselor and relying heavily on a wonderful support system of friends and family. I appreciate all of the kind words that I’ve heard, and I suppose part of my reason for writing is to let everyone know that I am surviving—quite well actually.

Again, while these things are always tragedies, I’m not enough of a literalist to believe that divorce isn’t for the best sometimes. I suppose I could wax philosophically and hermeneutically to defend myself, to make my case, and to justify my actions. But those moves would undermine what I believe most about this situation (and about Christianity as a whole): life often comes from death. Resurrection is a real thing—even if it was not a singular, historical event.

So to all of those who are concerned for me, thank you for your constant care. To those who have encouraged me, thank you for your endless support.

And to J. J. Abrams, thanks for Super 8.

“Bad things happen, but you can live.”