The End

This story's gotten quite a bit of play recently. In the original script for LOST's pilot episode, J.J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof had their main character, their hero, die at the conclusion of the second act. Jack Shepherd was going to be an early sacrifice to "the monster."

When they sent the script to a few friends and executives, the reaction was universally negative. "Kill Jack in the pilot," they were told, "and your audience will never trust you again."

I don't know when in the process of working out the mythology of the show Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse worked back to that original idea. But when they did, you can be sure that they were thinking of that trust, and how to honor it. For LOST's story, for the story of its characters, for Jack's own story, he had to die. He had to sacrifice himself, in the name of what he believed without knowing to be true. He had to give himself fully over to faith, fully embracing what John Locke knew couldn't be easy.

But how could the end of a series that was about redemption, about life, death, and rebirth, about love and community and relationship, how could that end be the singularly depressing event of its central character's demise?

The creators, in complete care of their audience's trust, decided to give us time to process his death. Though we wouldn't know it until the final moments of the final episode, what at first appeared to be a parallel universe spawned by Jack's desire to control was actually the natural consequence of Jack's hard-earned capacity to let go.

In so doing, the creators reinforced their one inviolable rule: whatever happened, happened. There would be no changing the past. Oceanic 815, despite Jack's plan, would have to crash on the island. And the story we watched take place for five years would remain unchanged. Did it work? Juliet thought it did. We, the audience, thought it did, in those first few moments of season six. But instead, the creators let us know right away, in the voice of Rose, that it's ok to let go. We just wouldn't learn how important that was until quite some time later.

As the final episode progressed, the characters, one by one, discovered or "remembered" their connections. They remembered the relationships that mattered most to them, and the growth they had to go through to enter those relationships. I don't claim to have any special insight into the creation of the show, but I have to think that Damon and Carlton were sending us a message. Yes, of course, it's ok for us to let go. But it's ok because even though the show is over, even though the journey we've been on for six years is done, the relationships we developed in those six years don't have to be. And just as our characters relived their journeys in the timeless instants of the flash-sideways, so we to can relive those instants whenever we want to, whenever we need to.

I first watched LOST shortly before Season Two premiered. Like many others, I watched one episode, and couldn't put the DVDs away. I watched the first season in a weekend, working long hours overnight at the DTS library. I introduced the show to my first friend in Dallas, my best friend in Dallas, Garrett Mathis. Not to be too overwrought, but the show's stories of redemption paralleled my own personal story of redemption. The show's great loves paralleled my own great love.

So, with that, I'm saying thank you to LOST. Thank you to all those who've gone on the journey with me these past few years. Thank you to those of you who have stuck it out, and read along with me on this blog. I'm not going far, but this blog is done. It was enjoyable while it lasted, but when a post from a friend couldn't raise me, I realized it was time to end things. So, good-bye.