For the last seven years, my mom and I have been watching the TV show Monk together. At night, after we had completed our work for the day, we'd gather around the TV and follow San Francisco's Obsessive Compulsive Detective as he solved crimes and sanitized his hands. As time passed, we came to know and love the characters and their quirks. We watched their stories progress, especially that of Mr. Monk as he fought through a variety of struggles and put the pieces together to solve his wife's murder.
Tonight, on Thanksgiving, my mom and I watched the series finale. It's two-part story detailed a dramatic (and, as always, humorous) conclusion that saw Mr. Monk finally solve that one case that had eluded him. The episode was a culmination of years of stories and plots. When it ended, I couldn't help but feel a little sad and nostalgic. I couldn't help but reflect on the many nights over the last seven years that my mom and I had spent together watching this show, following these characters' "lives" develop as our own lives did the same.
When we started, I was 11 years old, not even in middle school. Now, I'm three months into college visiting home for the first time since I left. For those incredibly formative years in my life, watching Monk was something special that my mom and I did together. It was one of our things and I'll miss it. The memories of my mom and I watching and enjoying Monk together, laughing and even sometimes crying, are something I am truly grateful for on this Thanksgiving.
It's been a good run, Mr. Monk, mom and I will miss you.