Bittersweet Endings

Yesterday, I went to see the final Downton Abbey movie. It was very bittersweet for me, not only because it was the end of a series I had thoroughly enjoyed, and the end of an interesting decades-long saga for the characters, but because it was the end of a journey I had begun with my husband and ended alone. 

My husband and I were surprisingly late to jump on the Downton Abbey train. I'm not sure why, but it took until his sister recommended it to him at the end of Season 1, and after watching the pilot episode, he announced excitedly that he knew I would love it (for the clothes, if nothing else), so we went back and watched the pilot together. And I was immediately hooked. 

The two of us didn't always have the same taste in shows and movies, although we loved finding things we could watch together. Most of the time, one of us loved a show and the other liked or at least tolerated it. 24, for example, was one of his favorites, and I thought it was just okay, but it was fun to watch together. The Great British Baking Show, on the other hand, was one that I loved and he thought was okay, but again, it was fun to watch together. Whenever we decided to watch a show together, each of us refrained from jumping ahead, waiting to watch an episode until we could do it together. Fortunately, we both loved Downton Abbey so much that we both eagerly watched each episode as soon as it was available. And when the series ended and the films were released, we went to see them together as soon as possible. Which meant that this final film was the only part of the series that I watched without him. 

It felt wrong. 

It didn't help that I went to a Tuesday matinee showing, which meant that the theater was nearly empty. I was as physically alone as I was emotionally alone. I was aware of every moment I would have leaned over and whispered a comment in his ear. I was very aware of every moment I would have put my hand on his knee. Near the end of the film, there is a lovely, tender moment between Lord and Lady Grantham where he tells her he loves her, and they reach for each other's hands, when I involuntarily lifted my hand to take his. But it wasn't there. He wasn't there. It was a moment of profound loneliness. 

And yet, it was also a moment of profound love, and of thankfulness that I had had the privilege of sharing so many years with someone who was touched by the moments that touched me, who actively sought out shared experiences, who was willing to spend time doing things he didn't love because I loved them. I saw some of us in every one of the beautiful love stories portrayed on the screen. 

I saw his loving tolerance of my awkwardness in Baxter's sweet smiles at Molesley. I saw his appreciation for my nudging him out of his occasional pigheadedness in Cora's standing her ground with Robert. I saw our romantic connection in Mary's memory of dancing with Matthew. I saw the sweetness of finding love at an older age in the relationships between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes and between Mr. Mason and Mrs. Padmore. I remembered our early infatuation in the young love stage of Andy and Daisy. I thought of how I blossomed and developed confidence through our relationship as Edith stood up for opinions while Bertie stood back and watched with pride and affection. I thought of our hosting parties together as Cora managed things behind the scenes and Robert made a charming speech to their guests. 

And I saw myself in Mary, as she looked back at but memories of her past, recalling all the joyful moments she had spent in that house. And then the memories faded away, and she was left alone, facing the daunting task of managing Downton by herself. 

It was a bittersweet mix of happy memories and the pangs of loss. It was the ending of something we had begun together, but also the beginning of my learning to do things without him. I would rather have watched the movie with him, but I was still able to enjoy it alone. There are many things that I would rather be doing with him, but I am learning that I am able to do them alone. 

It's a bittersweet ending, but it's also a new beginning. Like the Downton characters, I can't see exactly where my future will lead, but I have confidence that things will somehow work out. I can look back and see all that I've overcome, and know that I can face whatever comes next. 

Even if I'm facing it alone.