Write. Share. Give. Join the March Slice of Life Story Challenge @ Two Writing Teachers
Our daughter Olivia is studying in London for the year, and she turned 21 yesterday. A big day for Livy, the baby of our family. A big day for us, her parents, who felt the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean on this her special day.
I thought of Livy all day, and tried to imagine what she must be up to: going to her classes, writing her papers, taking the Tube here and there, perhaps even to a celebratory dinner with her friends. At lunch time, feeling the need to connect with her somehow, I reached for one of her favorite Harry Potter books (it helps that I teach sixth grade and always have these handy) and read one of her favorite parts – the part where Dobby, the faithful house-elf, dies. Livy loved Dobby, and we would often have to stop and reread parts in which he made an entrance over and over (and over) again. When Dobby died, Livy was beside herself. We read this part many, many times:
“He did not know or care whether they were wizards or Muggles, friends or foes; all he cared about was that a dark stain was spreading across Dobby’s front, and that he had stretched out his thin arms to Harry with a look of supplication. Harry caught him and laid him sideways on the cool grass.
“Dobby, no, don’t die, don’t die -”
The elf’s eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words.
And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great glassy orbs, sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
On one of her many travels in her junior year abroad, Livy made sure to visit the site where the scene above was filmed, and we were not surprised to see this post:
I spent a long time looking at this photograph and thinking of my Livy, now 21. I thought of her big heart, her wicked sense of humor, her keen sense of social justice and what was fair and right. I thought of her gifts of music, of being able to offer comfort and counsel, and the way in which she can size up any situation or problem and just get things figured out and done.
And I was proud.