Dear Naomi,
Your mom told me that the two of you read the scene in Harry Potter when Dobby dies. “He dies in the last sentence of the chapter!” she told me, and then she said the two of you considered reading further with the hope you both could get over the sadness quickly. She decided against it. “We sat and cried. And we’ll sit in that sorrow all night long.”
It’s been over a decade since I first read that scene, and I still can’t hear Dobby’s name without feeling a sting. I was in Barnes and Noble when he died. Hadley was around six months old, and in those days, Jesse would come home from work around five o’clock, and I’d take off to a coffeeshop with a book or my journal. Naomi, when you become a mama, there will be a lot of things that need to get done at five o’clock. Those things will always need to get done. They show up everyday, and they’ll never not need your attention. But you don’t have to do them. Those things might get left undone, and you know what? Life will go on. You’re a writer now, so you know the vital importance stories carry. Don’t let the stories go undone.
When it happened, when Dobby died, I cried as hard as I cried when Dumbledore died, but for some reason, Dobby’s death felt worse. Did you feel that same way? Why is that? Because he was smaller? Was it because he was finally free and barely starting his life? Did he seem more brave because of the very little power he had? I don’t know, but I remember thinking the same thing as your mom: maybe if I read on, I’ll get over the sadness faster. I didn’t continue to read, though. I walked around outside, finishing my coffee and thinking over things.
Here’s one thing I want to tell you about that moment and all the moments I’ve become so steeped in a story that it is as though I am a part of it, and it is a part of me. When I’m reading, I allow myself to feel however I want to feel, and I indulge in that choice. It is the only time when I don’t worry that my feelings are wrong or stupid or, – the horror! – dramatic. Nobody’s there to tell me to “Calm down,” to “Relax.” I get to feel however I want to feel without judgment from others or concern over whether I’m making someone uncomfortable. So go on and feel how you want to feel when you read because here’s another thing I want to tell you: It is never just a story.
I’m not sure that sorrow from Dobby’s death will ever go away. You won’t always feel it. You won’t always know it’s there, but one utterance of his name, and you’ll remember what you carry. I don’t tell you this to make you sad. I think this is a good thing. I think the ability – the willingness – to draw upon sorrow, to let yourself feel sad, or mad, or happy, or excited is a powerful and strong thing to do.
Hadley, Harper, and I read this scene years after I’d read it alone, and it was not any easier. In fact, I had to read it a few times because I was crying, and so it was hard to understand. Then, Hadley and Harper were crying and I guess looking away from it wasn’t an option, so we read the scene over and over again.
“Bellatrix did this?” Hadley whimpered.
Hadley loved Bellatrix. I think it was her tenacity, and her boldness that drew Hadley to her. She likes strong female characters, and while you might ask, “What about Hermione?!?!” and I would see why you’d ask that, Bellatrix never waivered. She never ruminated. I think Hadley admired that. Hadley also liked that she was named after a star, and because of this, she assumed that eventually the good would come out of her. If she was bright, she’d be good. She was Bellatrix for Halloween one year, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that soon, Bellatrix would show how evil and ruthless she was.
The night Hadley and Harper found out, for a second time, I had to decide whether to read on in the hopes we’d recover quickly, or spend time in the sorrow of Dobby’s demise, and now, who caused it. In some ways, Hadley lost hope in a person she thought would eventually be a hero.
I closed the book that night and we went to bed sad. This time, mourning the loss of a selfless, courageous friend, and the innocence in hoping the best in people will prevail.
When I read fiction, I like to find what’s true in the story. For example, Hagrid is a made up character, but I bet you know someone who is really talented with animals; maybe even the animals that most of us are afraid of. Remember that giant horse we saw in that little zoo when you visited? Or that leopard named Harper (she was a leopard, right?)? It takes a special person to take care of animals like them, but they exist. And you don’t have a werewolf for a teacher, but I bet you’ve had a teacher who’s showed you the magnificence strength there is in facing your fears. It’s good to find what’s true in a made up story because fiction helps us see the truth, and then walk around with it.
This tactic can also help when we learn that people aren’t always what they seem to be. It would be a lot less painful if Hadley hadn’t hoped for the good in Bellatrix, just like it would be a lot more gratifying to see him defeated if we hadn’t learned about Voldemort’s boyhood. Life would be much simpler if we were all only one thing. But we are not. We are annoying and we are hilarious. We are evil and we are good. We are wild and we are sane. The truth is, most of us fight to do what we think is right and good; most of us are learning that we have the capacity to use what is wild, what is annoying, what makes up all the parts of us that could strike or demean a person, and find a way to turn it into something beautiful that could save the world. (Most of us have to decide to learn this lesson everyday.)
Finally Naomi, what I want to tell you is that while this is sad and awful, and it will never not be sad and awful, that’s not all that’s going on. There is courage, and friendship, and love all around, and they will triumph. And you have a mama who is with you in this. This story is happening to her, too. You are not alone.
It’s OK to spend the night in sorrow, my friend. It’s important to look around for what’s true, grab hold of it and bring it to life for yourself and the world. Know that there is always more going on in the dark, and there is always more going on within all of us than what we’re sometimes brave enough to present. I promise you that you are not alone.
Now, don’t let those stories go undone.
Your friend,
Callie
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