Manchester by the Sea
"There's no real remedy to grief. You have to endure it. The only attempt at a remedy to grief is the endurance of it. If that makes any sense." This is a quote from Patton Oswalt during his appearance on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert this past week. He lost his wife 6 months ago. She passed away unexpectedly, leaving him and their 7 year old daughter Alice to mourn her loss in their own way. As I finished watching Kenneth Lonergan's Manchester by the Sea, I kept thinking of Oswalt. Thinking of his patience, and ability to combat grief by purely inhabiting it. Dealing with it, by not dealing with it at all really. Just letting it soak. I came away from Manchester, which is my top movie of 2016 thus far, reliving my moments of grief.
On May 24th 2015 my mother Nila Candace McKeithen passed away from a slow shut down of her brain by a stage four cancerous tumor. I held her hand as we looked at each other in the eyes, and the already dim glimmer of life she still had left flickered, and extinguished. I let some tears go, but immediately straightened up and comforted my grandmother. I was ready for this, at least as much as one can be. My grandmother, no matter how much faith filled her life, still couldn't wrap her head around this tragic fact. It's not fair I was able to deal with it, with humor, existential conversations and what I am reaching to call meditations on what my life would be, and how I would choose to live after she was gone. But, she could not.
In Manchester, Casey Affleck plays Lee Chandler, a handyman fixing small problems for tenants in a large apartment building in Boston. He seems distant and saddened by life. Looking for ways to let out his anger. We don't know why. Soon, he finds out his brother, played by Kyle Chandler, has died, and he knows he has to go back to his hometown and deal with the aftermath. Mostly, comfort his brother's 16 year old son Patrick, played by the just wonderful Lucas Hedges, who he's not been very close with since he was a boy. Their relationship is full of dark humor, tense or uncertain conversations, but overall love.
I remember feeling so much resentment for the people in that lamp lit room as my mom passed that night. They were praying and singing loudly. Saying things like "rise up and walk! In the name of Jesus!". I wanted so badly for someone to say, "please let her die in peace, and with some dignity". Even though I would never say that to people like that. I don't hate, or even dislike those people. I know their intentions were good. They were struggling just as much as my grandma to come to terms with the truth of the situation. They wanted to avoid grief and sadness at all costs. They wanted to see a miracle.
The town Lee comes back to, Manchester, knows him and his story. He's got an ex-wife, played by Michelle Williams, and a life that seems very far away but is so present to him in essentially every moment. The only times he comes alive are in those moments he's helping Patrick. Patrick is like all the working class men in Manchester. Quiet, sarcastic, and trying to get through things tough.
I don't show emotion or let people know how I feel on my face very often unless I'm laughing. But, I want to make every tense or sad situation easier if I can. I will answer any question someone asks me truthfully, barring that truth hurting them in a way I can't take back, and I love having open and honest discussions. But goddamn, is it easier to shut everything out. The cynical thoughts about people and things seep in and create a guard of bullshit. It made me hardened for about a week after my mom died. When people say the normal things like "I'm sorry for your loss" or "if there's anything I can do" and I know most of them mean it. Most of them are kind, and if I did ask for something reasonable, they would do their best to oblige. But, when you're grieving, you don't focus on the good & kindness. You focus on the negative. Those you know are just checking a box off a list labeled sympathy. Those who you know didn't care about you or your dead loved one. They just like being the one you could potentially cry or vent to, as they never think of you again. The ones with an agenda. Those are the minority, but shit, they are the loud ones in your head.
Manchester by the Sea is a beautiful movie. It has the subtlety of a play or character study, the comedy of a well done dysfunctional family dramedy, and the top shelf acting required to make you fall into a world that feels soooooo lived in. I won't delve into the plot or specifics because I think everyone should see this film. I have an affinity for movies set in or around Boston. And he found a truth in all of this film. I can't recommend it enough to anyone wanting a real grown up movie that will make you smile as much as you'll be holding your hand over your mouth.
It's been almost 18 months since my mom passed. I heard Paul Rudd say recently, about the loss of his father, "my friend told me it takes 2 years to really get over a loss. Not forget, or even leave it, but just to not really think about it sadly everyday and maybe even smile more often than cry about it. And I think that's pretty close to being right." I think that's pretty close too. I've always been okay with the death, but I'm feeling more and more happy about what I got in those 18 years of parenting, and 4 years of taking care of her, like she would've done for me if I needed it, as opposed to what I lost.
My grandma still will bring up this thing I told her in the hallway a few minutes after my mom died, that has helped her cope any time she feels down, "don't let the death and years of suffering out weigh the 47 meaningful years she spent making you proud, happy, and fulfilled. And keep living the way she saw you. Not the way grief makes you feel." And I keep coming back to the thoughtful Mr. Oswalt. You have to give grief and sadness a big hug, and just live in it, and maybe you'll be okay.