The last enemy to be destroyed is death.
-1 Corinthians 15:26, also found on James and Lily Potter's tombstone
In J.K. Rowling's beloved Harry Potter book series, the main character - Harry, is constantly dealing with adversity in the wake of his experiencing death. As a baby, Harry was in the very room that his mother was murdered in. And as a student, Harry witnesses the death of his classmate Cedric, his godfather and guardian Sirius, and his friend and mentor Dumbledore. Harry's experiences with death make him more vulnerable, but they also have impressed upon him strength and growth unique in comparison to his peers.
In Rowling's third installment, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry is plagued by the soul-sucking dementors that guard the prison Azkaban. Being able to feed more incessantly upon those with painful pasts, they unfairly prey on Harry. Later, Harry's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher - Professor Lupin (the only competent Dark Arts teacher Harry has in the entire series) - teaches Harry the shielding spell necessary for warding off the creatures - the patronus charm. But in order to conjure a proper patronus, the wizard needs to delve into a memory - a happy memory to be exact. Harry first tries the spell while remembering the first time he rode a broom. WIZARD FAIL. The dementor breaks through Harry's broom-shield the way a strong, generously-proportioned kid busts open the pinata. Coincidentally, Harry needs chocolate to recover. At the behest of Professor Lupin, Harry attempts the spell again, this time with a much more powerful memory. Being unsure of this second memory's happy quality, he is certain of its power. This time Harry succeeds in repelling the creature. The powerful memory turns out to be the earliest one he has - of his parents before they had been murdered by Lord Voldemort. So a memory inextricably linked with deep pain turns out to also be a source of great strength for Harry.
The theme of death takes on a startlingly different visage in The Order of the Phoenix, in the form of the creature/conveyance thestrals. Whereas the other students assume that the coach that brings them from the train to Hogwarts pulls itself due to magic, only Harry and Luna can see the situation for what it is - that the thestrals are what actually pull the coach. Luna later informs Harry that it is because they have seen death that they can see the creatures. What can best be described as a skeletal pegasus, the thestral won't exactly be winning a beauty contest any time soon. When Luna states why others avoid thestrals (presumably other than the fact that most can't see them), Harry finishes her thought by saying that they're different.
In the film's depiction, Harry finds Luna in the woods, feeding the thestrals. He learns that Luna lost her mother when she was younger due to a spell that went wrong. Luna is refreshingly honest about the situation, telling Harry that it was a horrible thing, and that she is still sad about it from time to time. Rowling creates an insightful depiction of what healthy grieving looks like through Luna. The truth she reveals is that grief is indeed a difficult thing - something that many try to avoid, but it is in fact a healthy thing to visit grief from time to time, nourishing it with reflection and memory. This is why Luna can in the same breath tell Harry that her mom was a remarkable witch and also that the pain of her death still lingers. If she were to avoid processing the grief involved in her mother's death, she would also be neglecting the memory of the beauty of her life.
Two of the four existential givens in psychology are death and isolation. These are universal themes found in life that we as humans (and wizards) must confront at some point. It's no coincidence, then, that the same scene which features Luna's reflection of death also features Harry's struggle with isolation. After all, the two often work in tandem with one another. After Harry makes a passing comment about how Luna and her father are probably the only two who believe in him, Luna reprimands Harry and corrects him, saying she doesn't think that's true, although that's probably exactly what Voldemort wants Harry to believe.
In Narrative Therapy, the therapist works with the client to alter negative storylines that the client may have developed in life, called dominant stories. In this circumstance, Harry's dominant story that he has authored is one in which he is alone - perhaps that he has been alone all his life. Like a jedi, Luna plays inception on Harry, implicitly challenging him to begin reframing his dominant story into an alternative one - that he is in fact not alone, and that there are many who are on his side if he would but simply let down his guard and invite them in. Perhaps implicit in their interaction is that Harry can begin to reframe not only his isolation, but also his experience with death in contributing to his strength and maturity as a precocious young wizard. Perhaps death has not been holding him back but instead has driven him towards the realization of his being The Chosen One, the boy who lived. Wasn't it Death, after all, who gifted the Peverell brothers, and consequently Harry, with the means to conquer death?
Well I am not The Chosen One, and my life's narrative reads far differently than Harry Potter's. But I have experienced death. I lost my dad back in April. I was by his side when he passed. Witnessing death does change you. Like Harry with the thestrals, you begin to see things differently. You think differently about life, as you come face to face with its fragility and finitude. Wounded, you are left more vulnerable to the dark arts of this world. But the lesson we learn from Harry and Luna and dementors and thestrals is that though death is indeed ugly in its unveiling, that does not mean we should shy away from confronting it in our grief. It is incumbent upon our ability to grieve properly that we can in turn cherish the memory of that life. And what lies in the power of those memories is the ability to shield oneself from dark thoughts when they attack. We are not strongest when we avoid the pain of death; we are strongest when we attribute meaning to it.
As I said, I'm not Harry Potter. Death in the land of muggles is death, and it hurts. And at the end of the day, I can't turn to the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak for mastery over death; I look instead to that same promise found on James and Lily's tombstone, and in the death and resurrection of Christ I find a different kind of hallows. In replace of the Elder Wand fashioned by Death himself, I have a cross and the blood of Love Himself. Instead of a resurrection stone, I have an overturned stone. Instead of an invisibility cloak, which obscures a man, I have the hollow linen cloths that prove His absence.
Hallow means holy, sacred. My dad passed away the day after Easter. He had the hallows. They were close in his mind and in his heart, which is right where I'll keep him.
