Last night was the series finale of ‘Downton Abbey’ on PBS. Unless you have been living under a rock or in a coma, you at least know that this show exists. Being a major history nerd, I watched the first episode before The Juggernaut was even conceived and I could not get into it. My mistake.
Fast forward a couple years and I now own a baby that I was not prepared to have, a massive case of postpartum depression that left me incapable of functioning, and a yet-to-be-diagnosed autoimmune disease that was making me sicker and more anxious by the day. In short, I was a hot mess.
So, I started watching ‘Downton Abbey’ on Amazon and I was instantly enamored with the manners and pomp and circumstance and tradition and the richness of the show. It made me feel a sense of order in all the chaos in my life. I was a new mom in a new home with a new life and it was all too much. Too…new. I needed something that was rich in history and completely outside of my current reality and the Grantham family gave me what I needed and then some.
I’m sure there are critics who are going to say it was wrapped up in a pretty little package at the end, but sometimes, that is exactly what an audience needs from a story. I watched last night with a great deal of satisfaction and a little bit of sadness. My Sunday nights will be filled with something else going forward, but I know I can always revisit the people who gave me so much comfort as I went through the darkest days of my life so far…even if they weren’t real.
Now, can someone please be a lamb and get me a cup of tea?