Confessions of an OTALIA Widow

Olivia Grave

I guess I have to humble myself and come clean.  No need for Father Ray or Sister Anne’s private confessional; I freely admit it.  When I watched the OTALIA scenes today, I felt like my heart had been the one transplanted.  I sat there holding the one I am in love with, moved beyond words.  How do you write when the ability of cognitive thought has failed you?

Crystal Chappell’s performance at Gus’s gravesite was better than anything I have ever seen in daytime, rivals any classic film, and has no comparison in same-sex storylines bar none.  The emotion was gut wrenching and raw, and better yet, believable.  I could feel her soul being torn loose from within.  A cemetery is no stranger to demise, and aptly, Olivia was dying inside.

I am the self-professed OTALIA widow, a kinship I now know I share with a multitude of others.  I make no pretenses that I lament the time my significant other spends on the computer watching clips, downloading podcasts, and chatting with our big purple friends across the country.  I lost count the number of arguments started because I rolled my eyes or intentionally pronounced the acronym wrong.  Today, the sacrifice became worth it.  My cynicism fell to the floor as my tears fell from my eyes.  I followed my story performed before me with a passion and a vulnerability worthy of my struggle.

For the rest of this love story, I plan on sitting on the couch with my baby, fighting over the remote, wearing matching jogging suits, and finishing each other’s sentences.  The OTALIA journey will culminate in an ultimate destination we have never been before.  Hey, baby, scoot over.  I’m getting in.