Intouchable

If you have never seen the movie The Intouchables, you must see it.

Someone recommended it last summer, and I logged that it my memory. It was brought to the front one day when I noticed it on a Redbox listing.

So tonight I finally rented it, and after reading the synopsis, and I was afraid to press play: a paraplegic and his unlikely caregiver, based on a true story.

I was ready for waterworks and to go to bed feeling defeated and empty.

But I am in good spirits. Because the man doesn’t die at the end.

The relationship between this man and his caregiver was hilarious and encouraging and so reminiscent of the fun Derek and I used to have.

The reactions, the head shakes, the silly responses, the sarcasm and cripple jokes: the things that are only truly funny and acceptable when you have accepted the situation and realize there is nothing you can do to heal it, but that you can always make it better.

I sank into their routines, so many similarities with stretches and shampoos, and all that it took to care for him. Sometimes I still go through the routine in my head, like I did every night for weeks after Derek died. I couldn’t go to bed without putting him to bed first.

I miss that young man more than anything, but watching this film made it all feel more real, closer than it has felt since moving to Seattle. And closer in a good way—remembering the fun, not the end.