#MicroblogMondays: Group hugs and Kleenex

(SPOILER ALERT)  

I watched the second and final episode (two parts, four hours) of the screen adaptation of David Nicholls's novel "Us" on PBS Masterpiece last night. (I read the novel last month, reviewed here -- and Mel mentioned it in the latest Friday Roundup.)  The New York Times had an interesting review/story about the show, how it was filmed (pre-covid) and the experience of viewing it during the pandemic. Travel wish fulfillment, anyone? (Quote from the article:  “Rather than a love letter to Europe,” Nicholls said ruefully, “the series became a love letter to leaving the house.”)

I thought it was extremely well done -- the author wrote the screenplay, which probably helped -- especially the scenes involving  the couple's first baby, Jane. The scenes at the hospital had me in tears, which I expected. And the scenes involving that precious little box of memories -- Connie, alone in the house, opening the box;  curious little Albie, pulling it off the shelf;  Douglas offering it to Connie in the end, asking only for copies of the photos. 

What I didn't expect was bursting into sobs near the end, when Douglas, Connie and Albie embrace in a group hug in Albie's college dorm room. It was a big emotional payoff for the entire story -- the family together at last in a moment of genuine love and emotion, before heading their separate ways -- but it also hit me (as it still does, from time to time) that it was one of those moments I've missed out on and will never experience with my own daughter. (The big family group hugs, in the college dorm room and/or elsewhere.)

One of so many moments. 

You can find more of this week's #MicroblogMondays posts here.