The Resurrection Stone

Out of all of the holidays, Easter is my favorite. (Yes, favorite, which means it trumps Christmas.)

Although I’m not a Christian, Easter has always been a special holiday that I enjoy. It serves as both a metaphorical and literal reminder of rebirth and brighter days. It’s a holiday that not everyone celebrates, and those that do celebrate often celebrate it for a variety of reasons.

It’s a holiday that I can secretly and silently be really happy and excited for, without expectations.

This Easter, I spent the day riding my bike, walking, and watching a good five hours worth of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 and 2.

In Part 2, there is a scene that has always resonated strongly within me. It’s after Harry has seen snippets of Snape’s life, where it’s revealed that all this time, Snape has been protecting Harry out of love for his mom. Snape has one last message to deliver to Harry, one that Dumbledore was waiting to reveal until the time was right: Harry must die…it’s humanity’s only chance.

Realizing this, Harry walks to the Forbidden Forest, alone and ready to die. As he whispers “I’m ready to die” and gently presses his lips against the snitch, the snitch opens up and the Resurrection Stone floats out. Once the stone is in his hand, his loves ones appear and the following scene unfolds:

Harry’s closest loved ones appear and his eyes focus on his mom, who is holding her hand out for him to take.

He walks to her, attempts to take her hand, but then realizes that his mother lives within him…he can’t physically touch her.

Instead, he can only feel and see her through his memories; whatever he can recount from pictures and descriptions from others.

The scene ends with Harry saying “stay close to me,” and his mom responding with “always.”

Watching Harry and his mother interact, and observing Harry’s longing to be with his mother, I suddenly internalized everything and got an intense longing for my mother.

“To be held for the first time by a parent. To be safe. To be home. To be able to break, to melt, to be human.”Journey of the Adopted Self

All I could (and can) think is I want my mommy!, in the same way a four-year old would cry after falling down. It starts as a quiet plea, but suddenly grows to desperation, loud enough to fill a room with its intensity.

This desperate plea, occurring concurrently with the reminder that my mom doesn’t want anything to do with me, is a lot to bear.


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