[Лаурелин]

To my surprise, my father did squeeze her fingers. He'd been unresponsive before, having reflexive small seizures earlier in the day and becoming still later in the night. He squeezed her fingers and wouldn't let go even when my elder sister said that she could hear him and that he could let go of her. I didn't know it then, but it would be the last time that my father actively and apparently consciously responded to an outside stimulus. When he didn't awaken from his coma a week after his surgery, we began to prepare our mother for the inevitable. Even while I mentally understood what would inevitably happen, I still couldn't stop myself from hoping for a miracle, that my father would suddenly wake up and that his mind would still be sound in spite of some impaired mobility.
It was at this dark time in my life that Mark e-mailed his mailing list for the second time. He apologized for not writing sooner and confirmed his identity. Although it was a short e-mail, I felt happy for the first time since my father had fallen ill. I knew the euphoria was completely illogical and maybe even somewhat forced, but I didn't care. Amidst sorrow there was joy. I would take what I could get, especially since my father's situation wasn't improving. The nearing of Chinese New Year further complicated his imminent passing. If he passed away before or shortly after Chinese New Year, even his own brother wouldn't attend the funeral because of the superstitious fear that doing so would bring a year of bad luck. Ignorant of all this, Mark had e-mailed, and his message had offered a short respite from the pain that I was going through. For that, I was immensely grateful to him. Besides, Mark's frown in the trading card of Gil-galad strongly resembled my father's frown. My reasons for adoring an actor for the first time in my life made no sense, but then, life wasn't making much sense to me at that moment. At last, I understood how an actor could positively affect his fan from afar.
Later, I sent a Valentine's Day present of Godiva chocolate hearts to Mark via Auckland Actors, his agency in New Zealand, and thanked him for being able to give me some short respite from my sorrow over my father's sickness. I doubted that he'd ever receive the gift and never learned if he had read my rather unusual Valentine's Day card to him. Even if he did read it, he wouldn't know of the 24-hour vigil by my father's bedside and wouldn't understand why I'd been so desperate for even a moment of happiness. Culturally, my father wasn't supposed to die alone, but even if it hadn't been part of our culture, I would have wanted to be by his side at the very end. I'd been suicidally depressed for most of my life, and I had decided at some point that it wasn't right for anyone to die alone—dying alone was just too sad. Then, the day before Valentine's Day, on Feburary 13, 2003, my father finally passed away in my brother's and my presence. Needless to say, the time that followed was extremely difficult.
The next time Mark wrote, I'd been so overwhelmed with stress that it had manifested as severe skin rashes. On that particular day, I had been too numb to even get up for work, and my primary care doctor had advised me to take the following day off as well. I couldn't believe his uncanny timing, of e-mailing his mailing list in my darkest hour. In his e-mail, Mark elevated us to the level of Elven princesses, confirmed that he would be attending RingCon 2003, and said that he might be attending the Gathering of the Fellowship, a Lord of the Rings convention in Toronto, Canada. I started actually considering going to Germany and planning to save up for the trip despite the fact that I didn't even have a passport yet. The main factor that stopped me from immediately registering for RingCon 2003 online was that the convention was to be held November 14-16, which would be preceded by the nine-month anniversary of my father's passing, a time when I should and would be mourning rather than having fun. It seemed more practical to try to attend the Gathering of the Fellowship since it was closer, but I'd first heard about Mark from the reports of RingCon 2002, and so I would always associate him with that convention instead of any others. Besides, his attendance at the Gathering of the Fellowship was not yet confirmed. I didn't visit my younger sister to see the movie premiers held just three blocks from her apartment; I didn't care about celebrity actors. But I wanted to go and meet Mark in person.
I don't know what others expected out of a meeting Mark. Some undoubtedly wanted to simply get to know him better. Others perhaps wished to be entertained by Mark's witty humor and charming mannerism. Still others might have hoped to have a romantic tryst with the handsome actor for our Elven-king. And me? I dreamt of crying on his shoulder. On the rare occasions when I wept before another person, I was always encouraged to stop crying. Only when I was alone was I able to cry myself to exhaustion instead of bottling up what sorrow remained unexpressed in my prematurely halted tears. I fantasized about Mark comforting me while simultaneously allowing me to have a full mental breakdown. I knew it was an unrealistic dream. After all, I could violently sob for over two hours without a break, and I doubted that a relative stranger would want to put up with that, but still, it was my dream. I wanted to cry on Mark.
Months passed, and my mood worsened until not even Mark's infrequent e-mails could provide me with a moment of relief. Regardless, I still wanted to meet him. In his later e-mails, he spoke of his two young sons, and there was a sincerity and gentleness to him that sometimes made me think that perhaps I could fulfill my dream upon meeting him. Perhaps through sorrow I could find joy. I vainly hoped that crying on Mark would somehow help me pass the worst of my grief and that I would then be able to begin to properly heal.
Even a month before RingCon 2003, I considered not going. I figured that, at worst, I would lose my registration fee, but it would be better than wasting even more money for a trip to Europe to chase a hopeless dream. Then I finally bought the plane ticket to take me to Mark. I decided that it would be better to spend the money and face reality. I felt like a character in my friend's story; I was too old to be worthy of a child's sympathies. Mark would see me as a 25-year-old fangirl, not as a child who had just lost her father. To my father, I would have always been his child regardless of my age. Indeed, one of the hardest aspects about losing a parent, an experience that had thus far eluded even my older friends, was knowing that no one would ever selflessly love and care for me in the same way again.
I waited nine months to cry on Mark, and when at last I met him, I was proud of myself for not bursting into tears on the spot. I was among other fans, other Elven princesses who had rallied to RingCon to meet their King, and I didn't think it fair to monopolize Mark's time by bursting into hysterics. Besides, I didn't want to spoil the meeting for him or his fans. I tried to convince myself that it was enough to have presented to him a Mark Ferguson mailing list shirt that sported the words "Boss Elf," a shirt that he would later wear, much to our delight. When he asked us where we were from, I discovered that all save three were from Germany. I couldn't help but to feel self-conscious about flying thousands of miles just to meet a stranger. My younger sister declared herself an extra and assumed that he didn't really care from where she came, and I told him that I was from Mithlond, the Grey Havens to where Elves traveled before leaving Middle-earth forever.
The time spent with Mark in person was entirely too short. My asthmatic reaction to the dense cigarette smoke prevented me from spending time with the other Elven princesses in the hotel bar, and I would regret this all the more when I later learned that Mark had joined them for a time. For the rest of the three-day convention, I watched Mark from afar. He did not disappoint. He was every bit as funny and witty as he'd been in the reports of RingCon 2002, which had first spurred his popularity. Seeing him on stage reiterated the fact that he was an actor and reminded me of the distance between us. Despite the fact that he had seemed personable online and exuded charisma on stage, he was not actually my friend. Besides, I rarely cried on friends. Crying was a solitary activity.
When I left the RingCon hotel, I couldn't help but to shed those long-awaited tears. No one could help me. I felt alone despite my younger sister's presence. As the rain further dampened my spirits, I kept thinking, I knew it would end like this. It had been a silly dream anyway. Who had ever heard of crying on an actor?
It was only later, after the crying spell had passed, that I realized that Mark had given me my answer. I had stood beside Mark for a group picture and looked up to him to ask, "Why did you first decide to tell us about your kids anyway?"
Without looking at me, he answered casually, "I don't know. I just thought it'd be kind of nice."
It was the closest thing to comfort that I would receive from Mark. I was a child to my father, but I was not yet a parent to a child. Mark's words served as insight into the other side of the parent-child relationship. His love for his sons made me feel less alone as a fatherless child. I waited nine months to travel thousands of miles to cry on Mark and did not.