THE HORROR OF SIX FEET UNDER



OK, so if you've not yet watched the final episode of "Six Feet Under" --- and you plan to do so --- skip this post because I am about to provide a couple of spoilers.

I have to be honest. I was not that impressed with the closing show. Somehow it all got wrapped up too easily. All of these horribly disfunctional people suddenly came together and seemed to resolve all of their issues. It was too easy. Suddenly with an offer to change career/life plans for her mother the daughter managed to turn 60+ years of sour frigidness into an easy-going pseudo-hippie full of love and life. A dream changed a deeply disturbed and angry woman into a mother at peace with her dead husband, her frail children and her life. A trauma victim skips what most would feel requires some hospitalization by a simple dream and pulls himself together. And, suddenly, a self-absorbed brat turns into a caring daughter, sister, friend and lover. All in 65 minutes. What gives? It just seemd to simple and tidy for a show that was so filled with angst, anger and turmoil. Granted, I've only ever seen the final season -- but this one unhappy group of people!

However, I have to tell you that the 10 minute wrap-up where we see as far as 80 years into the future and watch all of the major characters as they pass away into death --- despite bad old age make-up (where did the budget go?!?!?) and why-O-why does the future always look like one of those "mod" 1972 homes. Kids, that look is never going to happen. It's too white and plastic-looking -- but anyway, that 10 minute ending got to me. In fact, it gave me nightmares. I woke up in a cold sweat this morning at 3am. I guess I was already disturbed by the death of the older brother who, I believe was to have been born the year before me. So, my age --- and with the same blood disorder that I inherited from my father. And, the character ends up dying from it --- AVM in the brain equals stroke. So, that sort of bothered me. But, then seeing the younger brother who was to have been born a year after me die. It must have freaked me out more than I realized.

I am-a-scared of dying. However, I would much rather die at a picnic table imagining my deceased life partner playing football than to be gunned down while carrying money out of a Brinks truck. That death would suck. Actually, I guess I would prefer the death of the really little but cute mortician who just sort of falls down while on some sort of solar cruise. Oh, and was it just me or did anyone else notice that his wife just stayed in the lounger and watched him fall. ...she didn't get up. Or did I miss it.

However, despite my fear of death --- I don't want to live to be 105. No, that is a bit too long I should think. However, the way my luck seems to work --- and, trust me, I don't think I have bad luck. I just have odd luck. I bet I end up living to be 108, incontinent and in some crap senior home --- and, of course, some large weatherman/morning news anchor will show up to film me failing to blow out the candles on some horror cake made by the Salvation Army. He will ask me if I have any advice for living such a full life and I will respond in an inaudible manner. He will chuckle. Pat me on the back and say, "Thank you! A very happy birthday to you, my friend! Back to you Darcie!" ...I will try to slap him, but he will think I am trying to touch/connect with him and he will hug me. Yeah, this is probably how it will play out.