Movie diaries...five.
May. 9th, 2005 16:58![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mapsedgeThis is somewhat out of order, seeing as it skips forward weeks in the narrative, but I need to write about it now. It's going to read like fiction, and if you don't believe in this sort of thing then it will be. That's fine with me. Frankly, I'm not sure that I believe all of it - or at least believe what it implies - but I can tell you this: these are the facts as I experienced them.
Six years ago, this would not have been a problem. Six years ago, I wasn't a dad. This is hard stuff for someone raised a Christian, though I've grown out of most of the closed-mindedness that blinds so many of our religion to what I experienced.
Our shoot took us to a graveyard outside of Excelsior Springs. The weather forecast was for partly cloudy, 80° weather, with a 40% chance of thunderstorms: my kind of weather. I threw on a pair of cargo shorts and a sleeveless T, hopped in the car and set out.
What we actually got was 60 degrees, wind, and raining all damn day. I survived the weather largely thanks to the good hearts of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
retdet and Baer, the former who lent me his jacket when they weren't shooting, and the latter who dug a sweatshirt out of his car when I had to relinquish the jacket. But that's not truly what the story is about.
We're out in the country, in the graveyard surrounding a little white church about fifteen minutes from anywhere. We drove out with the cameraman in the car recording us as we talked, hitting the salient plot points and providing exposition for the scenes to come. Arriving at the graveyard the AD called cut (he and I were curled up in the back, him to direct, me to provide off-camera dialog) and we piled out. Our scenario took us to the back of the graveyard, with the director and I staying behind the cameraman and sound-guy. I watched the stones, thankfully placed in ordered rows, so I wouldn't trip, noticing a small concrete lamb in the grass. Following roughly parallel to the cameraman, I stepped over it.
She was five or six years old when she died. Her death was not peaceful or sudden, and I believe she died alone. Possibly she died of some illness that wasted her away, made the people around her loathe to be close, I don't know. What I do know is that she recognized me for what I was, and made a grab for my attention.
It was like stepping over a high-voltage power line, a vibration that coursed down my spine out to my extremeties and back and settled somewhere in my heart, and I immediately turned and started back the way I'd come. At that moment, all I wanted was to find a place to curl into a ball and cry like I haven't cried in years. No opportunity, of course, the director is a non-believer, the AD is an insufferably juvenile prick as well as a non-believer. Instead I strode past Kate, said something lame like, "This is a damn busy place. I need to get out of here..." and tried to refocus on my job.
When I got home, somewhere around 9:45 and six hours after the event, I knelt by my daughter's bed, laid my head on the arms I'd crossed on her quilt as a man will do when he prays, and listened to her breathe. I was comforted by the sound, as I always am. I meditated, going back in my mind to the cemetery, trying to interpret what I'd felt, to try to glean some meaning from it.
I got the image of a little brunette, thin, in black shoes and a light colored dress, dove colored, maybe, or light blue. She stood by the lamb with her arms out, and as I picked her up in my mind's Eye I began to cry, violently. I shuddered and tried to regain control, and didn't until my own daughter stirred and rolled over. She didn't wake, and I'm grateful for that.
I may go back, to try and find the cemetery and the grave and the little girl again and tell her in my best Daddy Voice that it's okay to embrace What's waiting for her. I don't know if I'll be able to without help, but I may not be able not to.
Six years ago, this would not have been a problem. Six years ago, I wasn't a dad. This is hard stuff for someone raised a Christian, though I've grown out of most of the closed-mindedness that blinds so many of our religion to what I experienced.
Our shoot took us to a graveyard outside of Excelsior Springs. The weather forecast was for partly cloudy, 80° weather, with a 40% chance of thunderstorms: my kind of weather. I threw on a pair of cargo shorts and a sleeveless T, hopped in the car and set out.
What we actually got was 60 degrees, wind, and raining all damn day. I survived the weather largely thanks to the good hearts of
retdet and Baer, the former who lent me his jacket when they weren't shooting, and the latter who dug a sweatshirt out of his car when I had to relinquish the jacket. But that's not truly what the story is about.We're out in the country, in the graveyard surrounding a little white church about fifteen minutes from anywhere. We drove out with the cameraman in the car recording us as we talked, hitting the salient plot points and providing exposition for the scenes to come. Arriving at the graveyard the AD called cut (he and I were curled up in the back, him to direct, me to provide off-camera dialog) and we piled out. Our scenario took us to the back of the graveyard, with the director and I staying behind the cameraman and sound-guy. I watched the stones, thankfully placed in ordered rows, so I wouldn't trip, noticing a small concrete lamb in the grass. Following roughly parallel to the cameraman, I stepped over it.
She was five or six years old when she died. Her death was not peaceful or sudden, and I believe she died alone. Possibly she died of some illness that wasted her away, made the people around her loathe to be close, I don't know. What I do know is that she recognized me for what I was, and made a grab for my attention.
It was like stepping over a high-voltage power line, a vibration that coursed down my spine out to my extremeties and back and settled somewhere in my heart, and I immediately turned and started back the way I'd come. At that moment, all I wanted was to find a place to curl into a ball and cry like I haven't cried in years. No opportunity, of course, the director is a non-believer, the AD is an insufferably juvenile prick as well as a non-believer. Instead I strode past Kate, said something lame like, "This is a damn busy place. I need to get out of here..." and tried to refocus on my job.
When I got home, somewhere around 9:45 and six hours after the event, I knelt by my daughter's bed, laid my head on the arms I'd crossed on her quilt as a man will do when he prays, and listened to her breathe. I was comforted by the sound, as I always am. I meditated, going back in my mind to the cemetery, trying to interpret what I'd felt, to try to glean some meaning from it.
I got the image of a little brunette, thin, in black shoes and a light colored dress, dove colored, maybe, or light blue. She stood by the lamb with her arms out, and as I picked her up in my mind's Eye I began to cry, violently. I shuddered and tried to regain control, and didn't until my own daughter stirred and rolled over. She didn't wake, and I'm grateful for that.
I may go back, to try and find the cemetery and the grave and the little girl again and tell her in my best Daddy Voice that it's okay to embrace What's waiting for her. I don't know if I'll be able to without help, but I may not be able not to.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-05-09 22:28 (UTC)I will go with you if my presence would be a help.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-09 22:42 (UTC)Say a prayer for her tonight, and every night until you have the opportunity to return to the cemetary. Then, hold her hand and help her to know that she is safe to go on to that next place.
(I'm not Christian; my own beliefs run more in the Hellenic vein. What Christians see as Heaven those of my persuasian see as the Elysian Fields, where life flowers freely and without hindrance. Either is a good place for that child to move to.)
no subject
Date: 2005-05-10 01:36 (UTC)May you help her find peace, and find some for yourself in the process.
WOW
Date: 2005-05-10 03:16 (UTC)While I may be afraid ( a little) I am NOT afraid of being afraid.
Love is the endless healer and has more power than death. We can make this better for her.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-10 05:59 (UTC)Thank you
Date: 2005-05-10 19:23 (UTC)Thank you, friends.