bring her back and other horrors

dear mom,

I've been on a binge of watching fucked up movies. Mostly rewatching. Some of them like Final Destination are so silly now, though it really imprinted in my memories when I was young. When I slept over at Kaycee's house, we always watched something scary. I think that's partially where my affinity for scary movies comes from - the comaraderie of being afraid together.

In adulthood, I naturally sought out friends who shared this thrill though for every five movies we watched, I felt thrilled maybe once. On your death day, we pivoted from watching the newest Final Destination installment, and I followed blindly into the theater to watch Bring Her Back.

Oh my god Mom, this movie was so fucked up, but it's the first and only scary movie that moved me to tears. What lengths would we all go to to bring someone we love back from the dead. Demonic ritual that involves sacrificing other people including an unknown number of bystanders? I don't know. I really don't know. In the first days of grappling with your death, I would've traded anyone for you. I would've killed to have you back. ...maybe easier said than done. Nine year old emotions are hard to regulate.

I've never watched a scary movie that featured a monster that I could sympathize with. Usually it's just a story about how untreated mental illness can go horribly wrong. Or something with religion. But I left the theater after watching Bring Her Back with the weight of Laura's grief, and I wondered if I knew there was a horrifying ritual I could perform that would put your soul into another body... would I actually follow through with it?

Trading a life for a life - a common hypothetical question to test morality. The embedded answer is that all life is precious, and killing is wrong. The honest answer is that I think I still would give anything to have you back. And maybe part of that feeling is driven by the reality that I just cannot have you back.

Once again, I'm faced with the permanence of death. It never ceases to surprise me somehow. Even though my grief has morphed into something less scary and more manageable, I still feel heavy when I think about you.

I've thought about what your physical body must look like now. It's morbid, I know. By now you must reduced to a skeleton in the nest of a once-starched jacket that have decayed into rags. I imagine digging up your casket and opening the lid to a puff of ashes that blow away in the breeze. Tonight I don't have a meal for you because I'm not sure what to make. I'm not hungry.

I want you back so bad,

amelia, 6/2/25