Lost came out in 2004. After my Mother's urging, I started watching it and soon became HOOKED. Like, majorly hooked, but not quite.. "druggy" hooked. Not so hooked that I had a note book and wrote theories and drew doodles with "I <3 Sawyer" ('cause he's a major babe).
In June of 2005, we found out that my cancer had come back, for the first time since childhood, in my right lung. I remember being in Stanford, the hospital, with my Mother, laying on that terribly plastic hospital bed, freezing and puking, sleeping and feeling like utter crap.
My Mom and I used to watch Lost together. The T.V. was tiny, but there were subtitles, so it was sufficient. If not in the "House of Germs" (Mom's term), we'd watch Lost together in the at home, Tivo-ing if we were too tired to stay up.
I remember being so sad and feeling so desperate. I remember crying and being so scared for my life. Scared that I would die. That I'd wither away and my life would become this sad, after-school movie story. My soul would ache and I kept secretly praying and begging -- "Please let me live. I want to DO things. I want to buy a house. I want to have babies.. I.. I... I want to see the end of Lost." In my head, I even came up with the idea to write a letter to the CEO of ABC, asking them to share the ending with me, a poor little dying girl, if it came down to that. I'd promise not to tell anyone and the secrets would go to the grave with me. (I wonder if they would have done it?) Yeah, my state of mind sometimes dipped into this huge jar of negative sauce, but it was warranted. :)
After I got better, I begged Dustin to watch it then he was hooked. We continued to watch it together, episode after episode. I'd talk with my Mom on her lunch breaks about the episodes until she finally got fed up with the confusing storyline and stopped watching. Dustin and I stopped watching it on TV around the middle of the third season, for some reason, too.
On a whim, we picked up some of the seasons on DVD and decided to have Lost marathons and watched the first through fourth seasons back to back... two or three episode a night. Ha!
I got sick again and then got better again, and last winter, we watched the fifth season (my favorite) together through Netflix. More date nights, but this time, we made the episodes last. We had to resist the urge to watch more than two episode a night and spread the viewings out over a few weeks. We'd eat artichokes and oven baked cod with our eyes glued to the T.V.. Mounds of vegan mac-and cheese (I wasn't eating cheese at that point) with peas and corn on the cob. Tacos and hot tea and Locke. Pieces of Lost's story were slowly falling into place, new characters were being introduced and still there were so many questions to be answered. Characters found new lovers in old friends, the past and present became interwoven in this massive, meaningful blanket that was Lost. We loved every second of it.
By the time the last season, the sixth, premiered in February, we were all caught up. Bubby and I watched each fresh episode every week on Hulu together. More artichokes and cuddles and cod.
This past Sunday was the last episode. The end. No more. Fin. So many of my friends talked about how sad they were that it was ending and I was, too. And then, when Dustin and I were watching the second to last episode, it hit me....
I cried the happiest, most thankful tears. A blubbering mess. Dustin looked at me like I was possessed until I explained it to him....
I've made it.
I'm alive.
I got to see the end.
