I really don’t know how this happened. I’ve been watching the old British TV series “Inspector Morse” starring John Thaw for months. I think it was broadcast in England for nine seasons. My wife and I would watch a couple episodes, then switch to something more modern for a while, then go back.
It’s a great show, and I recommend it if you haven’t seen it. We were able to find it on Britbox, but it may be on other apps, too. The Morse character is a very smart detective, with many human failings. He drinks too much, he has never been married (though he is very interested in the women around him), he’s a little patriarchal, he loves classical music (with a preference for Wagner), plays the crossword, is highly opinionated, doesn’t suffer fools, and doesn’t often give his partner the respect he deserves. He comes off as a curmudgeon, but a lovable one. It’s clear that he is the best detective on the force, but the system treats him badly. In most episodes, but not all, Morse figures out the complex relationships that surround the murders that are central to the show. The irony is that he has much more difficulty understanding his own life.
We watched the last episode, and I don’t think it takes anything away from the show to tell you that the character dies at the end. There is no real drama around it — he has been ill, and he passes away in the hospital. But this broke me up. I began weeping, then was openly sobbing. Lisa came over to hug me, and I cried on her shoulder. The depth of the emotion I felt surprised me.
I’ve tried to analyze what happened. Tears are not all that unusual for me. I can cry a little at the end of a sappy Hallmark movie, or some good drama. I cry when I go to hear my niece sing in her musicals (she’s amazing!) around the country, and they are mostly tears of joy. But this was a totally different kind of crying. I was sobbing, and I couldn’t stop.
It’s a shock when something like this catches me unawares. It doesn’t happen often, but it is intense. Frederick Buechner wrote, “But of this you can be sure. Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention.” So I explored it a little.
The thoughts that I’ve had about this whole episode give me some clues. The character reminded me in some ways of my Dad, who died during COVID. He was very smart, and good at his job, but there were changes in our world that he never quite understood or agreed with. The Morse character also had a strong relationship with his partner Lewis, but it was not an overt friendship — it was more subtle. They did things for each other behind the scenes, and then were irascible or teasing when face to face. As Morse dies, however, it is clear that they care for each other very deeply. I know that my Dad loved me, and knew that I loved him, but one of the terrible tragedies of COVID is that I was not allowed to be with him at the end. It is an ongoing regret for me.
One other thought that occurs to me is that I’ve already lost two of my five roommates from college, one of my best friends from business school, a very good friend who I used to frequently travel with, and many other friends and relatives. More and more my conversations with peers are centered around medical issues.
So the easiest answers to my tears are the most obvious: I miss my Dad, and I am uncomfortable with the way our lives go barreling toward death. There is probably more, though. Morse had a strong connection with Lewis, his sergeant, that included both mutual affection and respect. I’ve got some good friends, but almost no one has any inkling of my past work, and never will. The piece that I am missing is the ability to share successes and failures with someone who will truly understand.
The last emotional chord that was struck is related to a current internal struggle that I’m wrestling with. Since I retired from my primary job, I’ve been involved with lots of activities, but none of them feel like I am critical to their success. I keep my hand in lots of places, but it is always on the periphery. No one has to return my call or even care about my opinion. I miss making decisions and having them followed. I miss doing something that feels important. It is a loss of purpose that I feel. And Morse always knew his purpose, even when his superiors didn’t agree.
The shift to retirement has been more difficult for me than I expected. While my goals during the time I was working were always related to something external — pleasing my boss, completing a project, getting a promotion — now they have to be mine alone. I’ve been thinking about going back to work, but deep down I think that’s the wrong answer, the equivalent of kicking the can down the road. Instead, I think the answer is more about developing relationship goals — connecting with others in new ways, finding ways to make the world a better place, one person at a time. I don’t yet know how to do this. I feel like I am tilting at windmills. I think in many ways that was what Morse was trying to do in his awkward way — seeking justice in the midst of turmoil. And losing this fictional example of a familiar struggle brought me to tears.
