Following the conclusion of Thanksgiving dinner, the last football game of the day, and my tryptophan-induced nap, I settled down to get a little reading done Thursday night. I'm currently making my way through the Harry Potter series for the first time ever.
(Insert here reaction of horror and/or dismay and chants of "Unclean! Unclean!")
The initial waves of Harry Potter mania passed me by for one reason or another, possibly because I was technically already an adult when the books began to take the world by storm. I did, however, often attend midnight premieres (this is a thing we did Back in My Day, kids) of the movies with my siblings and their friends, and I always enjoyed them even though I did not necessarily understand the cause behind all of the jubilation. Likewise, I had a enjoyable experience seeing the spin-off film Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them last week.
Once upon a time, I also researched and wrote (and published) a brief biography on J.K. Rowling for a work project. I remain rather impressed with what she has been able to accomplish as an author and as a philanthropist, overcoming some rather difficult circumstances to get where she is.
Anyway, I'm a filthy Muggle, but I've been trying to atone for that. Currently, I'm onto the third entry in the series, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The books have not quite yet reached Lord of the Rings or Star Wars levels of symbolism for me yet; nevertheless, I did find myself empathizing with the characters when they first meet the dementors of Azkaban on the Hogwarts Express. These are the characters who, in their initial encounter with our heroes, bring only despair and misery.
Here are a few passages that describe their encounter:
"The thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings."
"The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart. . . . He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold. He was being dragged downward."
"'It was horrible,' said Neville. . . . 'Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?'"
"'I felt weird,' said Ron, shifting his shoulder uncomfortably. 'Like I'd never be cheerful again.'"
"He felt weak and shivery, as though he were recovering from a bad bout of the flu; he also felt the beginnings of shame. Why had he gone to pieces like that, when no one else had?"
One thing I learned about J.K. Rowling in my research was that she had lived through periods of major depression, and that she created the dementors as a representation of what the illness feels like. Having been through more than one episode myself, I concur wholeheartedly that the dementors very accurately represent what depression is like.
I've heard more than one person (including one in a sacrament meeting talk Sunday) remark that 2016 has been a really tough year. That's certainly been the case for me. I've learned or re-learned the lesson that problems and trials don't really ever go away completely; they just come at you in different forms. One month it's dementors, and the next it's three-headed dogs or Mandrakes or what-have-you. And I've also been reminded through an extremely difficult period of time that my own personal battle with my own dementors is not over, and it's not something that's "cured" like other illnesses; it's a fight I'll have to continue every day for the rest of my life in one way or another.
Even so, as I took in this message on Thanksgiving Day, having also had my parents (one of whom was not home for the holidays last year), my siblings, my nieces and nephews, and even two of my three favorite puppies around me for a good portion of the day, I couldn't help but realize how immensely blessed I have been this year, too. They are my favorite people in the world. In fact, my cup runneth over in many, many ways.
There are parts of my life that remain incomplete, but though the dementors would have me focus on those, I am trying to choose instead to focus on what I do have, and to control the things I can control. If my own experiences with the dementors haven't helped me to be more understanding, more patient, more kind, and more grateful, then those lessons have been wasted; but I'm trying to make sure they are never lost.
Another message given in the book, once the attack has been thwarted, is that eating chocolate helps you to feel better. Which is also 100 percent correct.
