Post-Apocalyptic Parents, from Walking Dead to Pacific Rim, Grieving the Loss of a Child


Share with friends

 

image-30

 “Got all these widows and orphans,” we hear Beth Greene say to Michonne, “but what do you call someone who lost a child? You’d think someone would have given that a name.”


By Carolyn Jenkins

The Walking Dead: Warming Up or Getting Tough

If season three of The Walking Dead is any indication, we as a culture are obsessed with watching the world go up in flames. Do we get a vicarious thrill out of watching the world we live in implode into terror? Or maybe zombies are just a really perfect allegory for the problems we relate to in this this modern age.

Whatever the case, Apocalyptica is a trend that has been cropping up for the past several years. A common thread running through it  is how the characters handle the death of a child. “We read fantasy to find the colors again…” says George R. R. Martin author of Game of Thrones, “to taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang.” While escapism is sometimes frowned upon by the court of public opinion, fiction as a whole can help viewers cope. The most terrible pain that can be felt is the loss of a child. What does the way post-apocalyptic fiction handles this situation tell us about ourselves?

The Walking Dead utilizes the zombie apocalypse not only to show juicey zombies, but to postulate that the true evil is humanity. One of the most heartbreaking stories is that of fan favorite Michonne.

First seen holding two “walkers” with chains and her trusty katana, Michonne was first considered a mystery. “Got all these widows and orphans,” we hear Beth Greene say to Michonne, “but what do you call someone who lost a child? You’d think someone would have given that a name.” Michonne trudges through the zombie apocalypse like she is one herself.

In a truly spectacular tragic fashion as only The Walking Dead can provide, it is revealed that Michonne’s infant son was killed in an attack on her former camp due to her boyfriend’s neglect. Our only entrees into her mind are the guilt ridden dreams of the life she lost. When Rick starts to hallucinate that his dead wife is back, Michonne says succinctly, “I used to talk to my dead boyfriend,” almost in solidarity. This is the most she has said, showing that she is healing and becoming a more open person.

The death of her infant boy took a piece of her that made her just as dead as the walkers. And even though that piece is gone forever, she can find redemption and love in the new group that has made just as many mistakes as she has. As Michonne warms, slowly but surely, to the group and in particular Rick's son Carl, she demonstrates a way to move on.

Carol also lost a child. A former abuse victim, Carol was forced to watch her twelve year old daughter transform into a monster into and killed in front of her. Carol then had a transformation of her own.

While fundamentally different from Michonne, the death of her daughter causes her to change. Michonne becomes more open while Carol, who used to be under the thumb of her brutish husband, becomes one of the most fierce and independent warriors of the camp. Where Michonne gained a heart, Carol gained a skin.

The 100: Finding Faith

Chancellor Thelonious Jaha of CW teen drama The 100 has not only the mantel of single parenthood on his shoulders, but is also responsible for protecting the human race from extinction. The 100 takes place 90 years after a nuclear war ravaged Earth. 100 juvenile delinquents are sent to Earth to see if it’s survivable for humans. Three episodes in and Wells Jaha, the son of the chancellor, is murdered.

Jaha carries around the death of his son on his shoulders. It makes him resigned, so apathetic that he is even prepared to sacrifice himself to get the rest of his people on the ground. He will be the only one left on the Ark - the space station - left to suffocate and starve. But strangely, the death of his son also did something else. It has gave him faith.

In one of the most terrifying and stressful scenes of the show, Jaha hears the cries of a baby. Realizing that he must save its life and not leave it to die, he insulates it in a space suit so he can vault himself on a missile that will take him to Earth. (Stay with me here, it gets good.)

After his space helmet cracks and he almost misses his trajectory, he lands in the airlock and unzips his suit to find that the child is gone. Though it was already not terribly difficult symbolism to follow, The 100 makes it easy. We realize the child only existed in his mind, as his dead son comes to him in a hallucination and tells him he must carry on and not give up yet. (Cue all of us crying.)

Jaha launches the missile and lands in the middle of Earth’s “dead zone” - a horrible and desolate desert, of course. But what Jaha still has after everything is his faith. His continuing mantra is “it’s not our time to die.” He has faith that he is supposed to live on. And before he vaults into unknown territory, he recites the common motto of his people to the visage of his dead son. “May we meet again.”

Battlestar Galactica: Distraction

Sci-Fi is written to examine problems of the day in a removed setting. While Battlestar Galactica is not a new show by any stretch of the imagination, from the first episode, it is clear that this is not, well, your mother’s Battlestar Galactica. Not only because of the truly the antagonistic Cylons, but, because of its relationships.

When the show starts, Commander Adama of the Battlestar Galactica - an ancient space battleship - is already struggling with the death of his son. Adama deals with this loss the way you would imagine a military commander would have to: distraction. Surrogate daughter Kara says “we only speak about it two or three times a year, but he struggles with it.” When you’re a high ranking military official, isn't repression just kind of part of the package? But when his surviving son Lee returns, Adama must face all of the mistakes that were made that led to Zak’s death.

This has less to do with moving on and more to do with mending bridges with the son that’s still alive. The Cylons completely destroy the home planet and only by chance is this ancient battlestar that was headed for retirement not destroyed and must be the ones to keep the Cylons at bay. And in this sort of scenario, does anyone really have time to deal with the death of their son and their ugly estrangement from their other child?

Octavia Spencer Snowpiercer e1399595582332

Snowpiercer: Blind Revenge

A child may not just be killed to be lost in Apocalyptica. In fact, it is almost more tragic or indecent when they are not killed at all. Some of the most nefarious things seem to happen in these worlds. The world has ended because things have become twisted and ugly. 

In independent film Snowpiercer, the use or, more accurately, misuse of children is subtle and silent, but disturbing all the same. The action takes place after an attempt to combat global warming with a cooling agent. This cooling agent backfires and covers the world as we know it in ice, making the remaining population live on their remaining days on a never stopping train. The poor in the last car are forced to eat rations made out of cockroaches.

The human race lives on and procreates, as is evidenced by Timmy and his mother Tanya, played by the underutilized and wonderful Octavia Spencer. Only five years old, Timmy is taken by the front of the train at the beginning of the film and is never seen by his mother again. A strong female character, even all the male characters attempt to stop her from going to save her son. “I’m stronger than your skinny soldiers,” Tanya throws at hero Curtis defiantly.

This is a priority higher than any sort of overthrow of government. This is the fate of her five year old child. A strong character that could have brought a lot to the story, Tanya is of course killed in the battle for the train’s soul. She isn’t the only one, but her death is looked over and dismissed just as quickly, despite her blind devotion to her child. This represents another coping: blind, self-destructive devotion to revenge.

Pacific Rim: Pride

Nothing is more unbelievable than giant robots fighting alien monsters. But that is the joy of Pacific Rim. Despite the fact that it is effect-heavy, action, blockbuster bait, that’s not all it is. This is not just a gratuitous action movie.

Herc and Chuck are a father-son alien fighting team in their giant jaeger called Eureka Striker. Before the final battle, father Herc is injured so he cannot participate in the final climactic battle that is present in all action flicks. His son Chuck must sacrifice himself in the final battle. Herc understands this. He honors what his son has done, although his son has been taken from him. He continues his fight and stays in line, using his sons sacrifice to elevate him to something greater even than he was in life. He becomes the father of a martyr for the human race, the proudest distinction a parent can have.

Parents will do whatever they can for their children. A post-apocalyptic world just makes these decisions more important. The love a parent has for a child cannot be eclipsed by anything. Although Apocalyptica deals with unbelievable scenarios, these are feelings that are very real.

In a world where survival is paramount, it almost seems that mourning a child cannot be a priority. Yet these characters manage to represent the full range of practical grieving. They keep living, even in an impossible and horrific world. The mere memories of their children make them fight and live on, though in entirely different ways.