COLUMN: Grieving for my lost love
Where were you when the world as we know it was shattered? What were you doing?
I was sitting in my room on Aug. 14, innocently checking my e-mail when I heard the news that “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” wasn’t going to be released Nov. 21.
In an act that can only be described as purely inhumane, the Warner Brother’s stole all hope for this Thanksgiving. After hearing the news, I went through what any normal fanatic would have, Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ “Five Stages of Grief.”
Stage one: DENIAL
It couldn’t be true. How could it? Who would do such an awful thing? No, it wasn’t true. Harry Potter has never been unfaithful to me, and after 11 years in my life, never once had I been failed by “the boy who lived.”
I didn’t know how to deal with it. I crawled into the fetal position and rocked quietly for several minutes, unwilling to admit the all too true reality that had rudely slapped my face.
Stage two: ANGER
Well, reality set in after about two hours, and when it did, I was ticked off. Harry Potter had deceived me. The one true constant in my life had turned his back on me. I ran out of my room, down the hall, out the door and howled into the night.
No, I am not a werewolf, and it was not a full moon, but I woke up the next morning on my floor without a recollection of the evening. I promptly picked myself off of the floor and began to purge my room of any Potter paraphernalia. I ripped my Hogwarts posters off of the wall, took my Hedwig bedspread to the dumpster and took out my emergency supply of Bertie Bott’s Beans and began pelting them from my third story window at innocent passersby. I grabbed my Harry Potter books, including my rare special edition copies, and thought about ripping out their pages.
However, I couldn’t bring myself to destroy the literary wonders that had breathed life into reading for so many people. Instead, I shoved them to the back of the closet, a swift and relieving repremand. That will teach them to mess with me.
Stage three: BARGAINING
After I had settled down, I realized that I really would miss Harry Potter this fall. I got on my knees and began to plead with God to please change Warner Brother’s minds. If he would do this one thing for me I would change my life around. I would eat Wheaties for breakfast instead of Golden Grahams, I would never sleep through a class again, I would stop making fun of the Utah “poof” hair-do, I would even try to become a Republican if it would please him.
Stage four: DEPRESSION
Alas, it was not meant to be, and that hit me pretty hard. How was I going to make it to next July? It seemed as though the world was collapsing in on me.
I spent the next few days in bed, sheets pulled over my head, wondering if life was worth it anymore. I had loved Harry Potter so fiercly, and now that he was gone, I felt so alone. Nothing sounded pleasing to me. My friends tried to lull me out of bed with promises of sushi, angel food cake and lasagna, but I was numb. I had lived vicariously through the magic world, and now that it was gone, I wasn’t sure if I could survive on my own. Could a mere muggle live for herself?
Stage five: ACCEPTANCE. Sort of.
Well, it’s been more than a month, and I have resigned myself to the fact that this Thanksgiving is going to suck rocks. I guess what hurts the most is that all of the Twilight fans still get to have a fantastic fall.
Some people have suggested to me that I cross over to the “Twilight” side. How dare they suggest such blasphemy. My loyalty does not change so easily, and furthermore, where do you “Twilight” fans come off. You haven’t been around as long, and you think that just because you have been to Forks, Washington, and have dreamt of Edward every night for the last three years your movie gets priority over mine? Well it doesn’t.
I still say Harry Potter should be coming out this Thanksgiving and I refuse to become a “Twilight” fan out of convenience.
So there you have it, five stages, but I would have gone through six if it would change the outcome.
Lindsay Anderson is a junior majoring in broadcast journalism. She is issuing a reward for anyone who has seen her Hedwig bedspread at the local dump or on Ebay. For questions or comments send them to lindsay.anderson@aggiemail.usu.edu