I didn’t start watching Supernatural from the start. Back in 2005 I didn’t really watch that much TV. I was too busy dealing with two kids as a single mom, a very old, very big house that was too much for me to handle alone, and my sister’s diagnosis of lung cancer.
If I had started watching it then, I probably would have stopped. Supernatural hits very close to home for me. At the time, I couldn’t deal. The nerve was too raw. I had an older sister who I worshipped, who was my surrogate mother, who always had my back, who watched out for me the whole of my life – until in late 2006, she died.
If I’d watched this show then, discovering what it was really about – these two brothers, the bond between them, the dedication to each other that they have – I would have turned it off because at that time, it was too real.
I understand Sam. I get Dean. I know why they would do anything for each other, why they go to such lengths to keep each other safe. I understand their grief.
When my sister died, I went into autopilot, shut down, plowed through every day that followed. I wasn’t living. I existed. My only focus was to try and make sure life for my kids remained on an even keel. I took on this persona; tough, determined, charging ahead. The only way out is through. Sound familiar?
In 2013, 7 years after my sister’s death, I watched 8 seasons of this show in three months. A thing happened then that I did not expect, or even know I needed. A catharsis. I cried and cried and cried for Sam and Dean, only I wasn’t really crying for them. I let go. The weight of grief lifted.
And then I found fandom. I found a connection to people who are just like me, passionate, loving, kind, resilient. They helped remind me who I was before grief stole my life away. I found family and I am profoundly grateful for that ‘little show that could’.
Supernatural: Always and forever.