OK, first: Are you fucking kidding me?
Along with many fellow fans of The Good Wife, I am currently in a state of shock. Like, time is moving really slowly right now, and I can’t feel my face, and all I can hear is this buzzing sound, and there’s blackness seeping in at the edges of my vision.
I no longer remember the moment it happened, because I think my mind has blocked it out in sort of a self-preservation way. I do remember thinking that if I’d had some donuts, that might have helped. That’s nonsense, obviously — donuts can’t change anything — but who can explain the strange thoughts that pop into our heads in traumatic moments? Realistically, even if I’d had donuts, I’d probably have been so angry that I’d have thrown my donuts, and they’d have hit the wall and then landed on the floor, which is always covered in dog hair, and then I’d just have been sitting on the ground, sobbing, holding hairy donuts and screaming out to God for answers.
I keep wondering, Could I have stopped this from happening? What if I hadn’t watched this week? Would it still have happened? I know that’s magical thinking, but the brain goes through some pretty desperate acrobatics in search of stable footing in times like these.
Anyway. I have a lot of shit to get done today, and I can’t keep wailing and gnashing teeth. I need closure. So for everyone else in the same situation, I invite you to join me for —
A FUNERAL FOR WILL GARDNER
First, we’re going to gather in an elevator together to swap fond memories of Will. Memories like these:
Then, probably at least one of us, maybe more, will have to go outside and yell and punch a door. This is OK. Don’t hold it in. Does anyone need to vomit? That is also OK. Sometimes the body reacts to tragedy with attempts at physical rejection of the upsetting news.
There will be a service. Someone in fancy garb will say something in an attempt to soothe our souls. We won’t remember.
After that, we’ll gather ’round for more stories and memories. Even the ones that are tough to revisit.
Then we’re going to have funeral snacks. Spicy crackers and deviled eggs, that sort of thing.
Someone will tell more stories:
At this point, more than a few of us will be drunk. This is excusable. Where I come from, the greatest liquor expenses of one’s life are weddings and funerals. Go ahead and drown your sorrows for a little while. That’s right, here — have another. You want to what? Take off your Spanx and throw them in the kitchen trash? That’s fine. You get comfortable, honey. It’s OK.
As the evening winds down, we’ll re-live just a few more moments from the past:
Then it will be time to go. We’re all going to do our best Alicia Florrick one-manicured-middle-fingered-hair-tuck-behind-the-ear, put our shoulders back, and wipe the mascara from under our eyes. We’ll take a deep breath, get up, smooth our tasteful and expensive outfit, and start walking. Because now we must move on.