Never Can Say Good-bye...

I barely know what to say, and I am certain that many, many others will say it far more eloquently.  I knew this day was coming, but it still feels like I’ve been kicked in the gut.
 
Pat is gone.  Never again will her larger-than-life persona (and earrings) grace the Square.  There is no one left with the long, deep ties to the Butchers, the Wicks, and the Beales. 

No more angry confrontations, snide exchanges, or odd, humanizing, tender moments with Janine.  Who will take the edge off of my favorite villainess?  Who will remind us that Janine was once a small, fearful, abandoned, troubled child who has grown into the fearful, abandoned woman we currently see on our screens?

Ian’s last positive connection to his mother Kathy and father Pete has been snapped.  No one is left who can, with one raised, cynical brow, reduce Ian to an apology or an acknowledgement of wrongdoing.     There is no one left who knows his awful, tawdry, marital history, but still remains a reminder of his parents and grandmother. 

Peggy’s best frenemy has breathed her last breath.  There is no one who can treat Phil like the stunted bully he is the majority of the time with the weight of his mother’s friendship as protection from retribution.

Patrick’s playmate has put down her toys for the last time.  When Pat and Patrick were together, they made me think of them as their younger selves, free from responsibility and full of joyful abandon.  Their playfulness and naughtiness made me smile.  I loved seeing “older” characters who had not lost their ability to get randy or their lust for life and love and sex.

There is no brassy broad who can fill the Vic with her personality and history just by strolling through the door.  There is not one person who deserves the respect, simply for survival, as much as Pat did.  Her character was unique.  She was not a “saint” like Dot, who, though lovable, is a bit brittle in her outlook and judgments. 

Pat was earthy and real.  She was relatable and raw.  She lived her life, gathering up strangers under her wings like Denise and her girls, and seamlessly made them a part of her family. 

I feel like I knew Pat, but she was still a bit of a mystery.   Her early life was awful, yet she persevered and created a life and a family against all odds.   Watching the sad, painful discovery of her sister Joan’s demise only deepened my desire to get beneath Pat’s surface;  only deepened my desire to hope for a happy life for Pat.

She wove just about every Eastenders character into her own history like a lovely, comfortable, homemade quilt.  And she will forever sleep peacefully beneath it.

I feel like there was so, so much more story for Pat.  The possibilities were endless.  But I suppose this is why her passing hurts as deeply as it does, because it reminds me of a real life loss.  There is never a “good” time to say good-bye to an old friend, and every person has years of potential story in their lives, no matter their age.
 
Walford has truly lost something special with Pat’s passing.  It almost feels like the soul of the show has evaporated.

There is no one like “Fat Pat.” 

And there never will be.

Finally, I would like to say “Thank you” to Pam St Clement and Eastenders for sharing Pat with me over the last 25 years.  You will never know how much anger, frustration, and joy your character has provided to me.  I am eternally grateful.

RIP, Pat.