In the 36 hours since Sunday night, the internets have been abuzz with talk of you. Did you end the right way? Were people’s minds sufficiently blown? How accurate were our theories? Was the conclusion good enough?
Mainly: are we satisfied?
Lost, you were my favorite show I’ve ever watched, and gave me something to look forward to for 6 years. From living in my studio in Seattle, to driving around the country for 3 months, to a tiny apartment on Music Row in Nashville, to a house shared with roommates and so many friends, to this new little life in Denver, you have been, as Daniel Faraday would call it, my constant.
You were an excuse to get together with friends – or, in more recent TV-less, friendless months, a reason to go to the gym on Tuesday nights. You introduced me to interesting characters who asked interesting questions. You tied together and orchestrated seemingly unrelated stories – and as exaggerated as it may be, in a small way it kind of makes me think of this.
[Seriously. If that isn’t a masterpiece, I don’t know what is. It doesn’t matter how many times I listen to it – I lose it every time. I think that’s what heaven is going to sound like.]
I will miss the happy confusion you offered, and the absolute delirium I felt when I realized the game had changed (“We have to go back, Kate – we have to go back!”). I love how you littered the Island with unrealistically good-looking people – women with fantastic cleavage and men with glorious scruff. Thank you for throwing in polar bears, book clubs, Virgin Mary statues, time-traveling rats, swinging pendulums, smoke monster security systems, The Mamas & The Papas, spinal surgeries, ghosts, submarines, cliff fights (THE PUNCH!), and – loyal to the very end – a dog named Vincent.
People can say whatever they’re going to say – but you were good enough for me. I’ll miss you.