Something I posted tonight on the “Aah! I can’t get enough Grey’s Anatomy” group on Facebook:
I love Meredith. She’s gloriously flawed (that’s where I got that term for my last post), and that’s beautiful. It’s real! Sure, she may seem more dark and twisty than some of us would like to admit we are (have you ever tried to drown yourself in the bathtub?), but I definitely have seen myself in her reactions, her narrations, her thoughts.
She’s poetry. She’s beautiful and deep. She has a depth she herself hasn’t tapped. Perhaps now that the bane of her existence, her mother, has… passed on…, she can go there. She can start believing that she really is extraordinary. We all know she is, just like we know we are. We might not live like we know, but there’s at least a tiny little part of us that knows. We may be too dark and twisty to let it show, but, I’ll bet, if given the opportunity to fight like Meredith was given tonight, we’d take it.
Mer’s got a new lease on life, on love, on family, on a future. And so does everyone around her. She came back for them, after all. She loves them. We’ve seen her struggle for hope at times, we’ve seen her wallowing in tequila, and I’ve already mentioned the bathtub thing. She’s been there, done that with the suffering thing, and the wisest know it’s endurance that makes one stronger. Perhaps she wanted to give up, but with a group of interns and the best surgeons in the country, not to mention millions of viewers worldwide, cheering for her, she’s back in the race.
Meredith is poetry because we feel her. She’s poetry because her story is beautiful and emotional. There’s an intensity to her that tugs on our psyche and draws us in.
“Sometimes a Miracle”, they called it. I believe the miracle goes on, because Meredith is breathing again. And so are we.