Few plot devices have captured as much of my attention as the waiting lover. When I was young, media had a love of telling stories set in port cities where a woman would stand by the shore and stare out at the sea. It was a behavior she performed to the point that it became her whole personality. Everyone in town knew why she did it. Her lover had left for some far-off transaction, maybe even war, and she is longing for the day that he returns. She stands there every day until suddenly she doesn’t. Inspired by the dedication, the townspeople build a statue that stands in the same spot, encouraging strangers and tourists to ask, “Who is she?” Many countries have different names for her, but they share the same motivation.
Ever since, I have had complicated feelings around the waiting lover trope. Maybe it’s because as a child it’s easier to see that statue as ominous, something more akin to a ghost who haunts the land waiting for some oracle to unlock peace. Some have gone centuries with unrest. It’s the type of aura that makes the shiver from the wind shake a little stronger. Your breath becomes shallower as you get lost in thought for the life that could’ve been. What if she didn’t wait? Maybe he would never leave and they’ve be together forever in overwhelming happiness. As I’ve gotten older, I also wondered if there was a selfishness on her part, that her love is so one dimensional and that she ignores those walking by who could make her happy. So much exists within this waiting lover statue that has resonated in my mind for well over 25 years.
As I’ve gotten older, the paradox becomes easier to understand. There’s the hypothetical that has also been seen in loved ones who sit by their ailing partner in a hospital, waiting for those brief moments of cognition. You’re filled with regret if they faded from awareness while you were in the hallway trying to get your crumpled dollar into a snack machine. The idea of taking your eye off the prize for any period of time somehow becomes disrespectful. What if the waiting lover leaves as the boat appears on the horizon? Suddenly the patience will seem crass.
There is something spiritual about the waiting lover that can neither be explained nor debunked. Maybe most of us wouldn’t stand by the shore and wait, but I feel like there comes a moment in one’s life where they suddenly experience a turning point so painful that it paralyzes them. You stand there, noticing that the cosmic forces aren’t aligned and you wait, patiently you wait, for the unknown to work its magic. You believe everything will return to normal and that this was just faulty psychosis. You wait. And you wait. And you wait. And you wait. And you wait. And you wait. And you wait. And you wait. You wait even past the point where it’s clear that something is gone. You’re on your own now. Good luck.
I’ve struggled to love this as a literary trope for many reasons. It’s so simple to imagine a waiting lover standing portside for years, but I have to believe there’s a few days where something interferes. Maybe they stop by a local food stand for lunch and start up a friendly conversation with a fellow widow. Something more has to be going on, especially as those years pile up. I understand people have performed ritualistic behavior in the name of things like protests, but the waiting lover’s inactivity doesn’t make sense in the physical form. Metaphysically, it’s the most beautiful dedication to love that has ever been manifested. Most of us live with a similar absence. I think it’s just that in the modern go-go economy, you’d probably be arrested if you sat by your local pier for that long.
The premise also confuses me because I have now lived on this planet for 35 years. It’s easy to imagine waiting for decades. I am quickly approaching 20 years since my freshman year of high school, and with that has come memories of the people I met. A lot of friends have disappeared and some have even died. In the best of cases, they are all parents with stable jobs currently planning their summer vacations. However, I think the odds suggest a few tragedies among the mix.
For me personally, I have lived with regret over friendships that have faded for reasons unclear to me. My fear of abandonment often convinces me that I pushed them away. Long do I wish that I could’ve played one moment differently because I assume I was in a bad mood that hour. For as much as I think the time travel plot device is even greater bullshit, many nights pass where I wish my life was like a first draft novel where my red pen could mark things up to help make the protagonist more likable.
Instead, I live with consequences around how I treated “the one that got away.” Like the waiting lover, I have long imagined running into them at a grocery store years on. It has been at least 14 years and, again, I want to imagine they have found peace in their life. For as much as I want to believe I’d break out into this grand monologue expressing every thought I’ve had since we last saw each other, it would probably be subtle, like the Twitter hypothetical of visiting your younger self and only having five words of advice. There’s so much that I want from that moment. I want to know what they’ve looked like since they were in their early 20s. I want to know what their career is like. Something I’ve coveted more than all of that is what's been most inaccessible since 2010… I want to hear their voice. I don’t know what I’d want them to say, but it's a sound that I’ve only been able to imagine for 14 years, wishing it would appear on my phone to ask about getting together to laugh over coffee.
As life has gone on, I’ve struggled to piece together a lot of truths. Everything has changed with time and certain memories have become reshaped. Are they even the person I envisioned, or have I lived out a fantasy that hasn’t been refuted? So long I’ve wanted to have that minute of my life less because I believe it’ll amount to anything, but more because of the hope it captures that same endorphin rush that I did as a teenager when we were both much more naïve. To some extent, I remain the waiting lover to uncertainty, waiting to know how much of my regret is real and what has been a fabrication. Maybe I’ll never know for sure in that moment if they actually have thought of me as I have of them…
Or I think I’ll just let the mystery be.
Recently, I decided to rewatch The Leftovers. In hindsight, the timing was perfect for two numerological reasons. This upcoming summer marks the 10th anniversary of the first season. Similarly, it has been seven years since the third season aired. For those familiar with the final stretch, it focuses on the 7th anniversary of The Departure: a day so traumatic and uncertain that it has impacted millions significantly. In 2024, I saw season one as being reflective of the current year. We’re just far enough removed from the worst of the pandemic where life is attempting to return to normal. Except, I don’t think being exposed that frequently to mortality will keep a sane mind. If anything, I feel The Leftovers is maybe too generous and sympathetic for what humanity could mold into.
By the time of season three, seven years have passed since everyone has experienced one of the worst moments of their lives. The viewers have spent years following their journey and, while there’s been growth and every season ended with some family reunion, the reality is that these characters still feel alone on some deep level. They can recognize the human connection around them, but is Nora Durst’s life better without her family? She doesn’t think so. Even as she’s attempted to rebuild her family, it’s clear that her suicidal lover Kevin Garvey can’t start a day without ritualistic asphyxiation to remind himself that he’s alive. They may say words to each other, but it’s hard to know if they ever communicated. Their pain forms an eroticism, this strange connection that may be intimate, but not at all personal.
Co-creators Tom Perrotta and Damon Lindelof have essentially created the perfect depiction of the waiting lover trope by answering the question of why they wait in the first place. Nora’s waiting involves the loss of a family. She could never forgive herself for having the final conversation be an argument, unreflective of her true feelings. She longs to apologize and make right everything that felt wrong in that moment. Kevin, meanwhile, may not have lost anyone during The Departure, but his life has remained a mess as he’s met with divorce and a son who temporarily joined a religious cult.
I think something that shines through on this rewatch is how well Kevin’s mental illness is depicted. Even if I didn’t love the “International Assassin” type episodes, I could see them as reflecting a subtext of a character who struggles to connect with the world through their own psychosis. He’s so overwhelmed by the tragedy that he becomes seen as the savior by his religious friend Matt. He’s a hero akin to Jesus without Perrotta and Lindelof directly calling him His Holiness. By the point of season three, there’s so much that exists in the abstract texture. This is a show about mystery but is not defined by them. Maybe everything is a coincidence. Even then, how could we be so sure in a universe where The Departure happened? Meaning is where you find it in The Leftovers, and where someone sees profundity another could yawn.
That’s how the 7th anniversary plays out. People like Matt turn to the bible, noticing the importance of the number seven and how it symbolizes an unfathomable storm that will wipe out the planet. If you believe the bible, it’s the story of Revelations. Given that Kevin has risen from the dead, he’s seen as the only force capable of saving the day. Does he? Well, no. Life goes on as it normally does.
They’re just in Australia now.
Around the time of “G’Day Melbourne,” the series turns its attention to the waiting lover premise in ways that don’t seem immediately predictable. Nora decides to visit Australia on the grounds that there’s scientists who have invented a machine that can travel to a parallel universe. It’s the one where The Departed were carried to. Despite being a resident skeptic who spent her days poking holes in fantastical theories, she’s curious enough to at least hear the scientists out. The argument can be made that it’s because of her own desperation. She is so defeated by life that failure will be just as much of a relief as success. For almost a decade, she hasn’t seen her family. She longs to see the few people who made her happy.
Meanwhile, Kevin is wandering around Melbourne chasing people that he assumes are out to get him. The suggestion is that he’s delusional and that the series’ more obtuse scenes are reflective of his psychosis. While it could be predicted from Patti’s ghost prodding him to suicide in season two, here it becomes clear that he has a condition that’s going to be much more difficult to cure. Even if he saves the world, the better question is whether he can save himself. It’s an idea that comes to amazing revelations in the penultimate episode, though given the timeline it may be a bit too late.
The final scene of “G’day Melbourne” ranks as one of my favorite closers to any episode in TV history. Kevin and Nora are emotionally defeated in their own ways. As Kevin tries to berate her for being delusional and even tossing Matt’s Book of Kevin onto a nearby fire, it’s clear that each see the world differently, and not in a way that could ever coexist. When you’re suicidal, having someone you presumed loved you spout the most toxic encouragement is a Pandora’s Box. On the one hand, it’s giving you permission to, as Kevin says, “be with them,” but it’s also filling Kevin with guilt that once this mood passes and he has a moment to think, he may come to realize that he lead Nora to suicide. The episode ends with one of the best images in TV history of Nora sitting underneath hotel sprinklers as infinite tears pour down her face to A-Ha’s “Take On Me”: itself an allusion to characters jumping into an alternate reality.
There’s a decent amount of room between “G’day Melbourne” and the finale “The Book of Nora,” which I argue only helps to emphasize how much waiting occurred. Even if most of the plot unfolds within the immediate series’ future, it’s clear that these two are struggling to appreciate life away from each other. There’s no standing by Australia’s many port cities and wondering where the other has gone. They attempt to move on and, like many irrational break-ups, produces a lot of mixed emotions.
Because I have spent decades thinking of the waiting lover archetype, I found “The Book of Nora” to be one of the most perfect episodes of TV. For a series that has pushed the boundaries of expectations on a week-to-week basis, I was left in awe of how the hour unfolded. It’s always bittersweet to reach the end of any series and, I’d argue, this one felt special given its premise. The idea of loss in the pilot encourages viewers to think of the precious limited time that they have together with loved ones. The show theoretically could’ve gone on and on doing this, but having it end with 28 episodes creates a finality that makes you appreciate the limited access that more gluttonous programming like Lindelof’s Lost doesn’t have. There’s as much space for error. The mysteries can not be solved. What is here will always be here to be appreciated as minor miracles.
It would be easy to jump directly to the final monologue, but I’d argue the whole episode is deserving of consideration. Not unlike my own life, there comes a point where you don’t know where your waiting lover will be. You’ll be going about your day and suddenly someone will say, “They came around asking for you,” and it’ll be the most exciting sentence in the English language. For Nora, it could be unnerving, especially as Kevin attempts to hide his past in hopes of rekindling the parts of their relationship that worked.
The most evident clue in The Leftovers is that neither characters’ lives ended up being significant achievements. Everyone is mostly the same, though maybe a bit more mentally adjusted. With presumably decades passed since the beginning of the episode when Nora stepped into the parallel universe machine, it feels like certain wounds have healed. Except for Kevin, there is one. He tries to lie to Nora about his lack of pain, believing that it would undo everything he sacrificed to be in Australia. However, she knows that there’s something off. Even as they crash somebody’s wedding and experience the vicarious joy of people starting their lives together, there is the hope that they can fix things decades after that hotel fight.
Deep down, I sympathize with Kevin as the waiting lover. He isn’t the only one in the scene, but his story is a clever twist on the conventional. He has traveled to Australia during his vacations, hoping to run into Nora. There is the hope that she’s in the last place they were together. One can imagine the cost financially and emotionally of him wandering around, looking for any clues. Given that he was a police officer, he’s used to asking people questions. The reality is that he’s spent decades potentially following a dead end. Like my desire to run into someone at the grocery store, Kevin’s encounter is so sudden that had we seen the 10+ seasons between the previous episode and this one, it would really feel like a relief preceded by interminable worry. The ending may lose some of its punch to know what was true, but we’d feel the weight of being the waiting lover, trying to find any reason to move forward with life even though the most significant part is gone.
Again, we can never fully understand another person. They can reveal a lot about themselves, but it’s unclear how much they are sharing or have personally forgotten. We can only hope to feel connected to someone for a limited time, appreciating what’s there until it’s gone. It’s why I find the earlier scene in this episode between Nora and Matt to be so beautiful. As they play a personalized version of Mad Libs, they share a final goodbye. It’s maybe the only time in the show’s history that two characters are given that credence. It’s beautiful and reflects Matt’s own waiting lover arc. His cancer diagnosis may mean death is near, but he’ll still miss Nora but knows she must move on and follow her heart. Some could argue she’s dead before the scene is over, but even then the mystery allows doubt. In a sense, Matt is the most direct waiting lover as a brother standing by the shore watching his sister disappear into the unknown.
I choose to believe that even if Nora has died that she has her own parallel universe akin to Kevin. In her final monologue, she reveals that she traveled to her hometown in hopes of meeting her family. It’s a long journey that takes months and by the time she “returns” to the present it’s been years of trying to rebuild the machine.
However, what makes the moment profound is a reality that I’ve come to accept in my own life. As much as I want to know what “the one that got away” is up to, I recognize that prodding into their life may be rude and invasive. They have moved on and are probably happy. Unlike my hypothetical, Nora gets to see her family having aged and found their own happiness without her. While some could argue it’s a tragic tale, the reality is that it closes a mystery that I’ve had in my personal life. Maybe we don’t want to re-enter their lives. Maybe we just want to know everyone is fine. For as much as Nora wants to reach out and say something, she accepts the truth and experiences something she’s struggled to the whole series: closure.
For me, closure is something that The Leftovers struggled with for its entire run. It’s more of a feature than a bug because The Departure wasn’t a convenient moment. It was violent and mind-shattering. There’s no confirmation if everyone who disappeared actually are gone, or if some people just went into hiding. Having that small confirmation allows an awareness that hopefully things will be okay.
For Nora, that’s her arc concluding. After Kevin admits that he lied to Nora in hopes of not having their past ruin a future, Nora’s choice to be vulnerable reflects her own closure. These are two characters who have struggled to connect with each other for so long that a lengthy conversation becomes the crux of the whole series. People mistake The Leftovers as depressing when it is anything but. There may be suicide and loss, but it’s about searching for hope in the wake of tragedy. For a series that taunts a natural disaster for over half of its final season’s run, it’s amazing that it was never about biblical catastrophe. It was simply about sitting down to listen.
Nora concludes by saying, “I’m here.” For the last time, Lindelof and Perrotta cut to an exterior shot filling in symbolism of what appears to be a house that finally feels full. The viewer never actually learns if this works and they rekindle a lost love. Maybe Kevin returns home and never sees her again. Even then, having this be the end point is perfect. Both needed it in order to cure the pain that’s existed in their heart. The mystery of how we treat others is more important than whether the world is out to kill us. Maybe it will take some time for Kevin’s relief to fully settle in, but one can hope the road ahead is one of peace from two adults who have ruminated long enough on their mistakes to have learned and become better people.
Ultimately, this is how I wish every story in the waiting lover trope would end. I think to the more spiritual-minded, this comes in prayer during their funeral where a family member or friend says that they’re reunited in heaven. It’s the place of ultimate metaphorical peace.It’s the atonement that each have likely been searching for. I know that I have. I’m sure Nora and Kevin have as well. Still, to have it happen within one’s lifetime is a greater miracle.
For everything that these two have endured, they still have each other. The world may have taken a lot from them, but they are still here. They have each other. They have spent so much time worrying about what was gone that they haven’t considered what’s there to rebuild and continue. It may never stop hurting. Memories of those long gone deserve to be remembered. It’s okay to be the waiting lover, but it’s also important to live a life that matters and have your own achievements. When you die, will you be more than the person who stood at the shore looking out at the sea? If nothing else, you will hopefully have a story to share when they return. Hopefully they’ll be impressed with what you’ve done. Sure, Nora has become a hermit and Kevin is still a police officer, but they have found something that is meaningful to them on a personal level that’s too invisible for anyone else to understand. Thanks to Lindelof and Perrotta, we get enough of a glimpse into a hypothetical where we can see it as clear as day.
Which is why I find it ridiculous that people get hung up on whether Kevin believes Nora’s story. It feels too removed from the emotional center that has developed in that scene. It’s not about logic. It’s about finding a story that gives us comfort and makes us appreciate life more. Kevin’s actor Justin Theroux admitted (then regretted) that he thought that he wasn’t convinced of her story. With that said, I do believe that she died and came back to life much like Kevin. It has a symmetry that makes them very unique lovers. Despite their cognitive struggles and familial disconnect, they are worthy of acceptance. We may meet a lot of people throughout our lives and hopefully more than one will change us, but it’s important to hold onto those who fill your life with thought. It’s the reason to get up in the morning and look for answers, even if there isn’t really one.
Now that’s a beautiful way to go.
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