A Letter to Doctor Who
Dear Doctor Who,
You are a childrens show. You are. You are aimed towards children. You are not meant to traumatize them. So—
How is it that you always break my heart? I cry and am crushed. Near weekly, something happens that absolutely makes me miserable. When 9 had to go. When Jack died (the first time). When we lost Rose (the first time). “Rose Tyler, I— (love you)”. The Master’s insanity, his death, his misery. What happened to Donna. When 10 regenerated. When Amy waited. The missing Clerics. When Rory died (every time). Vincent. When 11 was trapped in the Pandorica.
How is it that you break my heart, and then piece it back together using magic and love and hope and joy? How is it that, every week, you reinvigorate my deep belief in the whimsical? In magic? In adventure? In beingfantastic? Running about London with 9 and Rose. Jack’s immense lightness when we first know him (I’m always stunned, in going back and watching episodes like Boom Town, how absolutely… happy Jack is. He’s a totally different person than when we meet him on Torchwood and from there on out. He’s darker. I’m always amazed, and I forget, how terribly joyful and irreverent he once was. Anyway, that’s a tangent). The Master being so cheery and singing along to The Scissor Sisters. The Doctor-Donna, those grand adventures, The Unicorn and the Wasp. 10 saving the world. Six people flying the TARDIS. The Time Crash. Eleven. Rory. When Amy chooses Rory. Vincent. Craig and Sophie. Rory’s return. The Wedding. The Doctor Dances. “Good-bye!”
How is it that you’re so silly, so light, so full of childish absurdity, and yet you manage to touch my heart every week?
I don’t know, but you do. You make everything seem alright, even when it’s not. You make everything seem more magical. More possible. More wonderful.
You’re so much more than Sci-Fi fantasy, cheesy nonsense for children. You’reso much more. You’ve got so much more heart, so much more power to to you than just that.
I know The Doctor won’t sweep in to save me, or save everyone, or save anyone. Or make my life magnificent. But you know what, Doctor Who? You make that sort of magical life seem more possible. Less impossible. Less out of reach.
I can have a marvelous life. Maybe not traveling through space, having adventures with someone truly wonderful, someone old and new, someone very kind, and the very very last of his kind. But I can live my marvelous, magnificent life here on Earth, and be happy. And feel magic and whimsy. And cry and laugh and be broken and be rebuilt. Can find a nice, normal, wonderful guy like Rory Williams, and be terribly happy. And together we can have adventures, and have love and joy and whimsy. We can curl up together and watch Doctor Who until it finally ends. Which I hope is at a time far far away.
Life can be is marvelous all on it’s own.
So.
Thank you, Doctor Who. Really.
Much love, forever,
Hannah
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