Ruined Six Feet Under ruined

Ruined Six Feet Under ruined me last night. In the first two minutes, I knew what was going to happen. I wanted to turn the TV off, run upstairs and check on Max, even though I know he’s almost two and that SIDS happens between birth and 18 months. The very thought that something like that could happen was enough. I cried.
Then, when Frederico had to embalm that three-week old baby and held his still little hand, I cried again. It was just so unfair that this young father (well, he’s the same age I am), who has one child and another imminent, had to deal with the idea of a dead child just stabbed me in the heart.
And the end of the show, when they had their own baby by c-section, JUST like we did, and the look on his face when he heard his new son cry for the first time – I lost it completely. I sat there alone in the dark with the credits rolling blubbering like a child.
I love that show. I love that it makes me feel. Most TV is absolute garbage. So much so that watching TV on Sunday (Sex and the City and Six Feet Under) makes the rest of the week painful. Jen mentioned that yesterday afternoon. She’s so smart.

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