The End

So I walked into the hotel lobby at 1 PM and grabbed the special Amazon box from the front desk. I sat down to read at 1:30. At 7:25, dipping the last bit of bread into the pasta sauce, I closed the book.

It's been almost seven years since I sat on a couch at a rental house on St. George Island and devoured Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in one day. Since then, I've reread each book at least three times, and have listened to the tales on audio CD more times than I can list.

I've looked forward to this final book since I read the first one, as has everyone gripped by JK Rowling's tale. But I've also dreaded it. Not because I was afraid that she would mess it up. Indeed, this is her tale, and if she chose to have Harry go join the Peace Corps and settle down in Namibia instead of facing Voldemort, that would be her choice (though one I would probably find less than satisfying).

I've dreaded the final book because it is just that: the final book. No one wants to see our loved ones to leave us, even if they are fictional. The emotions you pour into a story by reading it and turning the characters into living breathing beings in your mind can be just as powerful as those you attach to the people in your life.

So it was with slightly red eyes that I opened the book at 1:30. And I write this with red eyes now. But as sad as I am to close the book on Harry's last adventure (and I cannot see how it can be otherwise), I cannot wait to open the first one again, and begin to read it to our children. As they discover what worlds reading can take them to, it will remind me that our loved ones do not leave us ever, in the real or fictional world.

Thanks, JK, for a monumental achievement in storytelling, and one that will live through the ages. And thanks for reminding us, time and again, of the love that exists between a child and mother. If people remembered this love more often, I do believe our world would be a better place today.