life is so damn short

La Princesita and I just finished watching the end of the Latin telenovela entitled Al diablo con los guapos. I had been interrupted while watching various key scenes in the duration of this particular soap opera and the children enjoy watching a show I can narrate a bit for them, although La Princesita is starting to understand some of what is being said.

Lots to talk about here...

Why on Earth do I let my children watch overreactive telenovela trash? Because I am finding this is a great entry into specific talks I need to have with them. They see drug/alcohol abuse, so we talk about those dangers. They see the "bad guys" smoking...only the "bad guys" seem to smoke. They see sex, and La Princesita asks me openly about it. Racism is a common theme, as are class issues and poverty. Instead of having to be the initiator of all these conversations, I can allow the show to initiate and then let the children come up with any questions they want to ask. Perfect.

The soap operas in Latin America last anywhere from a few months to a year and a half, max. So, much like a short story, it is easy to get emotionally invested in the life of the protagonists as character development and evolution is rapid, coming to closure in a decent amount of time. Then it is all over. Sometimes these come to a "happily ever after" conclusion. Others, like that of tonight, are surprising in the pure quantity of wet tissues they produce.

About 20 minutes into the final hour of tonight's finale, the "happily ever after" wedding occured and all were happy-happy-contentos-felices. It was lovely. Princesita giggled, saying that her eyes felt all wet. I told her it is natural to feel like you want to cry when you feel happy as well as when you are sad.

Commercial break. I wondered what was to come next.

The scenes, over the last half hour, jumped in time from after the wedding a few years, adding more, then more; the protagonist's mother died. Another mother died. It was not bad; it was peaceful, with loved ones surrounding. Children were born, the cycle of life was illustrated. Happiness, aging, and then the protagonist's father died--miserly and alone.

The final scene had Millie and Alejandro walking on the beach, the same beach upon which they first slept together--remember, the one with the perfectly fluttering white linen in the beach breeze silhouetted against a red sunset? Yeah. That one. This time, however, they were ancianos, a pair of lovers who had aged so much that they shook as they made their way in the treacherous sand. They stopped and looked at each other against the light of the sun, flashing back to that night they were first together, expressing their undying love for each other, how her eyes are the last thing he ever wants to see in his life, how he wants to die with her. Flash from past to present a few times. You can see their memories of that first night that sealed their destinies in the same envelope for the rest of their lives.

The kind of love I would die for. The kind of love I want to know. Life is too short...

At that I could not hold back the tears. Sure, it's fiction, but it's the beauty of the ideal that gets me.

The two of them made their way to the makeshift little cabana that still exists. Somehow there is a sofa there, under the sunshade. They sit and flashback to making love on the blanketed floor below their feet.

Flashback to present: elderly Alejandro has slumped down against ancient Millie. She puts her head down and they die there together.

Together. In peace and in love.

I don't think I've ever seen my Princesita sob so hard. At first I thought that perhaps this was too young to let her watch this--but I didn't know the show series would end this way.

Then I remembered that, when I was her age, I began to experience fear. She has been asking me about death lately, about what happens to bad souls vs. good souls when we die. Hard questions.

I tucked her into bed and kissed her tears. They continued flowing.

--Do you need to sleep in Mama's bed tonight?
She nods.
--Come.
I take her hand and lead her back to my king. She lies back on my pillows and cries.
--Do you want to talk about it?
She shakes her head.
--It's life, darling. We all get old.
"I don't want to get old. I am afraid to get old. I never want to grow up."
--If I hadn't grown up, I wouldn't have you now, you know.
Silent, sobs, shuddered breathing.
"I don't want to die. I'm afraid to die."
--So am I, love. I am, too. That's okay.

When I was young, I used to lay in my bed at night and cry myself to sleep, wondering if it would be as black and dark when I die as it was in my bedroom. I know how she feels--but never had a parent who would hold me through those nights. I was always "overreacting."

My baby girl sleeps with me tonight. She needs me. I need her, too.
Life is too damn short.