I cannot accept that ‘Grey’s’ is done for the season

What is UP with season finales making me cry? The series finale of “Will & Grace” had me welling up just a tad, the season finale of “ER” had me sobbing for Michael Gallant (who was needlessly killed in this needless Iraq war fustercluck) and for Luka and Abbey and their unborn baby during that mess of a shootout, and my beloved “Grey’s Anatomy.” *sigh*

From the GreysWriters Blog:

And here’s something you maybe don’t notice until all our interns are gathered in the room with Izzie who lies on the bed with Denny’s body: the prom clothes are actually mourning clothes. Funeral clothes. Suddenly, you see that Meredith and George and Cristina and Callie and Alex are all dressed, not for a prom, but for a funeral. Everyone in dark colors, everyone dressed somberly. As if they were in mourning. Only Izzie is in happy pink. Only Izzie looks like she didn’t know this was coming.

Izzie is the embodiment of “Pretty in Pink,” seeing as though we’ve got the whole John Hughes/”Breakfast Club”/Brat Pack motif going on throughout the show. I’d noticed that. I noticed that everyone wore black to the prom. I had just assumed it was so that Izzie could shine — that it was the happiest day of her life. I admit, I didn’t think Denny was going to die either. I know the writers and the male writers’ wives would divorce their husbands for Jeffrey Dean Morgan, and maybe I would too, if I had one, that is. 😉

But the ending had to happen. I see lots of comments saying “How could you?” on the blog. He had to die. He was a metaphor for their idealism, all of them. While everyone’s busy screwing around and just getting through the day-to-day on a wing and a prayer (like all of us), he had to exist to show us beauty and he had to die to show us its transience.

I identify with Izzie not because she’s the “pretty” girl, the one no one ever thought was smart or talented or destined to do anything with her life, but for being her polar opposite. All I have is my mind. My only claim to fame is my ability. I have nothing else. If I’m not working hard and doing things as perfectly as I can and innovating and achieving, who am I?

I say this because now is a time that I need to be creative and innovative. I need to stand up and stand out. I need to prove myself in a way I never have before. … Aaaannndd, I’m tired. Worn out. So consumed in the day-to-day and the darkness that instead of entertaining the brilliant flashes, I ask them to go run out and get me a cup of coffee so I have time to put on my sunglasses. I stare at the usual barriers and wonder if I’m going to have the strength to hop over them, or if anybody thinks I can. I wonder whether I’m just another one of those Gen-Xers who is just bored easily and who needs more than this or whether there’s a certain amount of time one must put in before they can feel like they deserve change.

And in that, I am Meredith. I want the surgeries. And I want the McDreamy. I am left in my own cliffhanger, staring at two equally attractive roads and resisting the urge to just bolt in the other direction.

When TV season ends, it’s like I lose all my support groups.

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