So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish

As I layed in bed Sunday night, unable to sleep while due to the Swahili tense markers, I did what I often do when I can't sleep: I checked Facebook. It informed me that David Bowie had died. 

This morning, on my way to the gym, a look at the news told me Alan Rickman had died.

Both men were 69 and died as a result of cancer.

It's a strange thing when someone famous dies, especially artists. Music, movies, TV shows, plays; these things can have such an impact on our lives. They are part of the moments that make up our lives. When the people who give us these moments die, it feels like we're saying goodbye to a friend.

The following is something I wrote about two years ago. It has been sitting in my 'memories' folder ever since. I never really felt like to was worth sharing because it doesn't really have a point, but it seems like this is the right time to post it.

Kristen, Amber and I sit on the couch wrapped in our blankets watching Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. We were obsessed with the movie as was every other 11 year old girl I knew. We had already watched it before crawling into bed the night before (where we had discussed it at length before we actually fell asleep), but what better way to enjoy our Sunday morning bowls of cereal than with a repeat viewing?

As we eat our breakfast and stare intently at the screen trying to memorize every detail, my dad wanders in and gets a fire going. The drafty house is cold in winter and a fire is an almost daily occurrence. As the larger logs catch flame, my dad turns to the TV.

"This movie? AGAIN?" My dad is not a fan of Hollywood movies at the best of times - the man still prides himself on the fact that he's never seen E.T. - and my ability to rewatch the same subpar movie over and over astounds him. The irony in this is that I picked up my love of rewatching TV shows and movies from him. I just don't limit my rewatching to BBC movies and Irish soccer games.

"We like it, dad."

"Okay. If you say so. Do you need anything? Any food? Anything to drink?"

"No. Thanks."

"I will never understand how you can rewatch a movie the next day."

"Shh, dad. We're trying to watch it."

"But you've already seen it. You know what happens."

"Dad!"

As Alan Rickman's Sheriff of Nottingham starts listing all the things he was going to cancel, my dad sighs and starts towards the door.

"And call off Christmas," Alan Rickman shouts from the screen, My dad turns back to the TV and smiles. My dad's most prevalent Christmas tradition is telling everyone that Christmas is cancelled. Even children.

Especially children.

"I like this guy." My friends giggle at my dad being, well, my dad. I, familiar with this routine, roll my eyes.

"Dad, he's the Sheriff of Nottingham. He's the bad guy. You're not supposed to like him!"

"No one who wants to cancel Christmas is a bad guy," he calls as he heads back to his bedroom.

*** 

I walk into my room to get ready for bed and spot a piece of paper on my pillow.

Christmas has been cancelled.

Sincerely,

Sheriff of Nottingham

My dad pokes his head in,

"Did you hear the news? A special memo has been issued but the Sheriff of Nottingham."

I crumple up the paper to throw at him, but he's back into the hallway and chuckling to himself before it even leaves my hand.

"He's a great man, that Sheriff of Nottingham," he calls as he walks away. "I wonder if we could invite him round for tea."

Goodbye, Mr. Bowie and Mr. Rickman. Thank you for the all the parts your music and acting roles played in my life. I am forever grateful.