What Lies Beneath

So I just finished watching the HBO series Six Feet Under on DVD. For the unaware, this show does not feature a grown-up version of The Breakfast Club’s Anthony Michael Hall, as I mistakenly thought for years. (That’s The Dead Zone.) Instead, it follows the personal and professional lives of the Fisher family in their business as funeral directors in Southern California.

It was this not-so-uplifting premise that heretofore prevented me from taking interest in watching the series. After all, I’ve never been to a funeral (knock on wood), and the mere thought of a show based around a funeral home was downright depressing. But on the confidence of strong recommendations from family and coworkers (many of whom surprised me by saying it was their favorite show), I decided it was time to check it out.

The first episode was the only one I found especially hard to watch because of the mental adjustment I had to make. Around that time I’d enjoyed eating dinner each night to an episode of The Sopranos. As I started to repeat the routine with the first episode of Six Feet Under, I quickly lost my appetite and realized that I’d underestimated the shifting subject matter. Not only did the show unblinkingly and unforgivingly depict people’s deaths in natural and not-so-natural ways, but one of its main focuses was also on homosexual struggles. These major themes made me feel uncomfortable at first, but the show was compelling enough to keep watching.

After a few episodes I adjusted to the nature and content of the show, and it wasn’t long before I was hooked. The characters alive and dead; the keen editing; the dark humor; and the courage to tackle sobering subjects of which many know but few actually face. On the surface, Six Feet Under was dark and deep, but the show wasn’t just about death and dying. In fact, it had everything to do with life and love, family and friends—even if they were far from perfect.

Death? No. In its own unconventional way, Six Feet Under was a celebration of life.

As a buddy warned me, Six Feet Under has several sad and affective moments that at times brought my manhood into question. But in all these moments, nothing compared to what I experienced toward the end of the fifth and final season. With the death of a major character, I felt myself not only sobbing at the unexpected loss, but grieving with the rest of the Fisher family. And with the conclusion of the series looming like a specter, I was also in bereavement for the passing of the show itself, mourning over the loss of characters who’d unknowingly become so real to me.

The show’s tagline states, “Every day above ground is a good one.” And with this thought, the biggest thing I learned from watching Six Feet Under was that in my 27 years of being alive, I’ve never fully appreciated life—mostly because I’ve never had to face its counterpart. And without daily reminders and brushes with danger, it’s easy to forget about the fleeting nature of life, the omnipresence of death, and how everything can change in a second. Even when life is bad, it’s still life...

Nathaniel (deceased): You aren’t even grateful, are you?
David: Grateful? For the worst fucking experience of my life?
Nathaniel: You hang onto your pain like it means something, like it’s worth something. Well let me tell ya, it’s not worth shit. Let it go. Infinite possibilities and all he can do is whine.
David: Well what am I supposed to do?
Nathaniel: What do you think? You can do anything, you lucky bastard—you’re alive! What’s a little pain compared to that?
David: It can’t be that simple.
Nathaniel: What if it is?

Cleverly conceived and artfully executed, Six Feet Under is serial television at its finest. But beyond its entertainment value, the series leaves behind a legacy for anyone who watches it. The next time I drive by a funeral home or eventually lose someone close to me, it will be impossible not to recall Six Feet Under. Even in death, I can’t help but think that Six Feet Under has prepared me for life.