Snapeshifter: The Woman who was Snape: In Memoriam Aeterni, Alan Rickman

"Oh . . . I have some bad news."

It will be one month to the day when I heard those words two years ago. My father stood on the front step, having just arrived in town for a visit. Barely in the door, it was the first thing out of his mouth.

He waited until my face clouded over.
"Alan Rickman died."

Now, celebrities live and die all the time, just as the rest of us do, and I don't normally make a big stink of it. Some chick named Aaliyah died, back in the day . . . then there was that fellow, what was his name? Oh yeah, Heath Ledger (I think) . . . Oh well, bummer . . . Who cares?

But my response that day, January 16, 2016, was immediate.
"No-oh," I moaned, and into Dad's arms I went. "No!"
"I know," he said. Upon telling me, he had pinched up his face in that odd little, rueful way a person has when he both relishes being the one to deliver such deliciously morbid, tragic news, yet is also genuinely sorry. I felt his hand move on my back. "I know."

Alan was far too young, in my opinion. Sixty-nine. Some kind of damned cancer, like as happens to too many other good people. And unlike with most other well-known names, I truly mourned the loss of the charming, snarky, velvet-voiced talent who had brought Severus Snape -- and so many wonderful other characters, from Hans Gruber to the Sherriff of Nottingham -- to glorious life onscreen in flesh and blood.

From that second on, I treasured every single movie, play and recorded snippet the world has of Alan, of his expressive eyes and warm smile, his perfect little sneer and astounding rich voice, every moment I could potentially find of him, whether audio or visual or both, whether I'd already seen or heard it or not, knowing there would be no more ever made.

2016 was a hard hitting year, a year of turmoil and change. Before it would end, it would take, not only Alan, but also David Bowie and Prince with it; and worse, leave us progressive and mindful American citizens with a pathetic tyrant named Trump lined up to take over the Presidential office, a veritable grown-up Dudley Dursley (far worse, actually, because as we all know, Dudley got it in the end: That fat, spoiled boy truly got it, dared to shake the hand of that freak Harry Potter right in front of his wizard-hating parents, and understood the meaning of love and gratitude).

And we thought Cornelius Fudge was bad. We now know what it's like to deal with a whole congress full of scumbag people like Umbridge; the best that can be said is, there's enough resistance that we haven't yet sunk nearly to the low of Hitler and Voldemort. Some corporations and people would drag us there, for sure, but we're holding them at bay. Snape, of course, gave his life in the service of fighting tyranny as a secret agent. The best us Snapephiles can do, who don't possess the powers to be good spies, is to resist in our own small ways.

It's fitting, then, that 2016 is the one year I didn't post a single entry to this blog.

Chances are, I was too busy surviving. Playing musical rent. Dealing with assholes. Or simply had other priorities: There were good things that year, too, such as snowboarding, mountaineering, and writing my novel about honey-bees.

But this blog would not be complete without an honorary entry dedicated to all the good Mr. Rickman did for the world and the magic he gave us. That year, flowers soon appeared in a huge pile where the entrance to Platform 9&3/4 would be, beneath a plaque commemorating Alan's life, and his work as Professor Snape. If I could gain one more year of his life by being caught twenty times in the hallways by the Greasy Git and punished with horrible detentions, then suffer them I would. The best I can do, of course, is this blog, and to keep enjoying the legacy Alan left for us.

One thing is certain: If anybody suggests to you that perhaps you shouldn't pursue a career in acting because you have a speech impediment that oddly constricts your voice, do as Alan Rickman did, and don't listen to them. If you love to act, then act anyway.
Fucking act anyway.