When the magic runs out
I’ve been listening to the Disney Halloween playlist on Apple Music.
It includes a lot of songs from “The Descendants.”
Which, I discovered after a long and miserable day at my storage unit, is an adorable series of movies about the children of Disney villains given a shot at redemption.
The music is amazing. It reminds me of “Six,” the play we saw earlier this year about the wives of Henry VIII. And now those are all mashed up in my tear-stained brain.
In the first (2015) Descendants movie, Mal, daughter of Maleficent, is on a date with Belle and Beast’s son, Ben.
Mal sings about whether he’ll still want her after the magic spell she put on him runs out.
Given that one of the movies is “Mal & Ben’s Wedding,” I’m going to say she’s fine.
I like the inherent struggle all these characters face, between taking over the idyllic kingdom and restoring their parents’ power or actually enjoying the fruits (literal fruits; Mal has never had strawberries before) of being good.
Anyway the title of this post really struck a chord with me.
How do you go on when the magic your momma brought to your life every day for 50 years is gone.
I used to get in fights with people and think it was worse than them being dead. That they are out there living and either don’t want anything to do with you (with you dead to them) or cannot leave you alone (e.g., always ready to remind you they aren’t dead).
There is a certain peace in knowing that your beloveds (or be-hateds) have crossed over. You know where they are.
You do not get new information to process, generally. You get some more perspective on who they were and your relationship with them.
But overall, they are preserved in amber and even the less pleasant memories tend to fade faster than the rest.
What’s sad is when there was so much magic and then it runs out because their time did.
Like I cannot wait from trump and his ilk to kick off. But no, those Disney villains keep reproducing and recruiting.
I wonder how many people out there are walking around with their hearts and tear ducts ready to explode because they had something so good and now they have nothing.
I got to talking to Peanut’s mom last night. Mom was a huge fan of Peanut. And she just died not from surgery but from the anesthesia.
I told her mom that MY mom was a huge fan. And that my mom was probably in line to love on Peanut at the Rainbow Bridge.
Peanut’s mom remarked on me losing Cocoa and Mom together, as she lost a hoomin recently too. That it’s unforgivable to have so much loss, so close together.
It’s in moments like that where we still find magic. Another person seeing you, really seeing you.
That’s what I don’t have anymore. That and stuffing balls.
Christ, I cannot even think about Thanksgiving. With no magical balls to be grateful for, what else is there?