11/28/23: On Grief and Video'd Games

In the time that I've not updated on here I have bought a video game, allowed it to make me extremely sad, and beaten it. Pretty good weekend, considering I was on call the entire time! Spiritfarer was heartwarming and heartwrenching in ways that I didn't think it'd be, though I knew it'd upset me pretty badly no matter what.

The game itself is about Stella, the titular Spiritfarer, who takes over the job of escorting lost souls to the afterlife from Charon, the Greek Mythological figure who oversees the travel across the river Styx into Hades' hands. Stella takes up the position and sees to it that people she knows well (though it isn't revealed how she knows them until later) are consoled, cared for, and carried off in loving hands through the Everdoor. A vibrant cast of characters and imaginative settings drive the story forward, along with some challenging platforming (if you're bad at games like me) and short puzzles. There's a specific game function where you can hug your friends, AND your CAT, Daffodil. Very cute and nice, all the way through, I was taken in by the characters and their stories.

In particular... Two characters you see through the Everdoor had me put down the game for some hours because they hit home a little too closely.

I won't get too deep into it, I have some strong stranger-danger sensibilities that were beaten into me as a child so I won't reveal all that much personal information about myself or my loved ones, but up until relatively recently, I only had two grandparents to my name. Both immigrants who came over in the 50s and made a comfortable life for themselves here, raised their children, cared for myself and my immediately family, the whole nine yards. I never got to know them all that closely because my parents had me relatively late in life, so by the time I was at prime grandparent enjoying age, they had checked out a little bit, they were a little too old to pal around with a seven year old or whatever. I get it, though, and I still loved them dearly. My grandfather died at the end of winter last year following a bout of poor health, and it wasn't too sad when he died, it was better that he wasn't suffering, it was his time, etc. The trouble remained that my grandmother was left behind, and she's still kicking, in memory care.

My grandmother, for as long as I could remember, had the sensibilities of some kind of Beatrix Potter cottagecore angel. Little old lady, bright, slight accent, a loving homemmaker with a silliness about her. She'd make up stories about things she'd seen or people she knew, and we all accepted it as a part of her personality. Well, turns out she had dementia, and we didn't notice it until it was glaringly obvious. When I was in college and I'd visit her, she'd ask the same questions over and over, often about stuff I did in high school. She stopped recognizing me as her grandchild and more of just a... Vague recollection of a beloved twenty-something in her life. She would ask, oh, how's Cole doing these days? And I'd tell her, Nana, that's me, and it'd upset the both of us. I cried over it a lot back then. It hurt pretty bad to know she forgot me, an entire person, who loved her so much and remembered so much about her.

But it wasn't about me, y'know? She loves me still, even if she has no fucking clue who anyone is when she visits. Half the time she thinks she's on the boat that brought her to America. Once, she saw a TV with a bunch of announcements about the nursing home she was in and complained that all the signs were in Spanish (Nothing was.) I don't blame her for it anymore. It hurts, but it's like, I understand. I can't move on from it, in a way, but I can live with it at the same time, I can function.

Damn, if Spiritfarer didn't ruin that. Halfway through the game, introduced a new wayward soul named Alice; a hedgehog who lives in a cottage, wears a straw bonnet, and loves desserts. Very sweet, very kind, so lovely. Instantly, I thought, oh, she's like my grandmother! How nice! The dialogue started to repeat itself, and not in the way games often do-- This time, it was purposeful. I started to feel the hurt all over again. Alice's arc culminates with her mistaking you for her daughter-- And acting as her daughter, you take her to the Everdoor. I wept like a baby. I didn't think I'd be so triggered by a game, by something that I'd talked about and dealt with in a lot of ways. But I was okay. It was a cruel reminder of a happy story, and it made me think of my grandmother, so I would take it in stride. Spritfarer is not meant to be a completly comfortable and unprovoking game, after all. It's about death, the things we leave behind, and the tales that dead men can no longer tell. I was okay. I kept playing.

Well, it fucking happened AGAIN and I was much worse for wear the second time. Beverly: A small bird who also has a small cottage, a husband she speaks of often, and children she mentions in passing. I kind of saw this one coming. It hurt me a lot more the second time, because Beverly was much, much more familiar to the woman my grandmother is now. Forgetful, yes, kind at times, loving, but prone to bitter outbursts. Beverly would demand why you hadn't built her a house, standing right out in front of the house you did build her, days ago. Beverly would get worked up, ask if people were talking bad about her, who was it that was spreading rumors, the works. Ooof. Oof!! I don't think my grandmother has reached a point of suspicion, but, she has her outbursts, she gets angry at the drop of a hat... It's awful. I finished the game, like, two days ago but I can't remember how exactly Beverly... Goes. I was too upset to really pay attention. I called my mom about it. It's no good.

But I'd play it again. Another thing that the game really leaves you with is a sense of palpable loss when people do leave, when you take them away. The ship you ferry them on is empty. Their home is cold, their bed full of flowers signifying their absence. It sucks. I spent a lot of time going through the houses before I finished the game, searching for more answers from them.

I felt the same way when my grandfather passed last year. He lived a full life I knew so little about. His time in the army for his home country, before he came to America. He was a third degree black belt in Judo, for crying out loud, he'd been doing it his whole life, and I never knew. Not until after he left. And though my parents could tell me stories, my relatives could fill in the gaps, I had lost the strongest connection to him and his life. Not to mention the second strongest link was his wife, my grandmother, who routinely assumes I'm one of my Aunt's children, but none of them specifically, so she just goes without saying my name and instead asks me over and over if my mother still lives on Alsup. My grandmother can't tell me a damn thing about the man. She thinks he's still alive, that he's out of town, or on worse days, that they've divorced, that she's alone, the matron of a college dorm somewhere in Michigan's upper penninsula.

I don't know. It bugs me. It's a selfish desire to know the unknowable and to use answers about a person's life as a mimic for actually knowing them. Dead men tell no tales, and their wives can hardly remember their own children's faces. It's only a matter of time before I have to become the spiritfarer in my own life, and watch my loved ones pass on before me.

When I was eleven I went with my dad to Chicago to his aunt's funeral. I got to meet a lot of family that I didn't see regularly, but I was still little, so the concept of death hadn't really stuck to me yet. What did stick was sitting in my dad's Honda Fit, in the parking lot of the funeral home, waiting for him to start the car and looking over to see him crying, something he had never done in front of me before. He told me that he was cursed, cursed to watch everyone he loves die before him-- My dad is the youngest of six, with a good two decades spanning between him and his eldest brother. He saw his parents die, his aunts, his uncles, cousins, everyone. And because I was the youngest of my family, just like him, I bore this curse as well. Too young to ever get to know anyone with any sort of substance, always too young to see someone else go. I think about that so often, the curse I bear, in my personal and professional life. I'm going to see a lot of people's last moments, being the person I am, in my position. It's inescapable. I probably shouldn't play video games about the subject, know this, but, what can I say. Spiritfarer was eight dollars. I got my money's worth.

On call again today, so I unfortunately have a lot of open time on my hands. I have a work dinner in the evening, So, that'll be a distraction for a bit. I'll get back on my Animal Crossing grind, schedule some stuff for January, and... Take a walk. It's cold today, below freezing for the first time this winter. Hopefully it'll be refreshing. I could use the break.