How to Say Goodbye?

This week was awesome because the final book in Richelle Mead's Vampire Academy series, Last Sacrifice, was published.

This week was horrible because the final book in Richelle Mead's Vampire Academy series, Last Sacrifice, was published.

Readers, do you understand this contradiction? I'm sure you do.

One of the best and worst things about books you truly love is knowing they'll come to an end. When the books are part of a series it seems to me that this anticipation, joy, and sorry are amplified because you're that much more invested in the story arc and its characters.

I loved Last Sacrifice - it was a fantastic conclusion to the series. But I woke up this morning feeling a little blue because I'd spent time in the last two days sneaking time to cuddle up with my book and devour it. While I have many other wonderful books to read in my house, there is something about waiting for a book you've been wanting and stealing that time to spend with it that makes the experience exceptional.

This isn't a sudden revelation - my husband woke up to find me sobbing in bed at 5 a.m. because I'd just finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"I finished the book!" I cried.

Despite my post-book blues, I wouldn't trade the wonder of that emotional journey with characters for anything. But I'm wondering - how do you cope with the end of favorite series?

Remedy

I'm having a bad day. When that happens, I go to music for help. Here is my new favorite song:

On the Futility of Heroism

Sad news about Dandelion. We set our adolescent rabbit free as she was large enough to defend herself against cat attack and was about to be renamed Houdini for all her attempts to escape her cage.

I didn't see her for a little over a week, but sadly this morning I found her body in the middle of the sidewalk. She'd clearly been hit by a car and very recently, her body was still limp and warm. (Silver lining - at least the cat didn't get her, they hunt at night and hide their victims). I knew it was Dandelion because she had a unique white stripe on her face and a red ruff behind her ears.

I cried a lot and buried her under the ferns she found fascinating when I first set her free in our back yard.
My tears weren't only about Dandelion. When I stopped the cat from killing her a month ago, I felt like I'd done something important, like a hero. Now I feel like a fool. A fool for thinking I'd made a difference in the baby bunny's life, a fool for feeling so much grief that she's dead, for being full of hope that I'd see her with her own brood of kits in our back yard next spring.

Will I try to save baby rabbits from cats in the future? Yes, I think so. I can't bear the way cats toy with them. But the experience will be less sweet and lacking hope, more bitter and shadowed by ambivalence.