I recently lost my mother after taking care of her for many years. My father died almost a decade ago. But this is not a sob story, it’s a journey of discovery I found mirrored on television. The Big Bang Theory has been a favorite of mine since it premiered (as a chemist, I appreciate it having actual science jokes), and over the past seven seasons, I have grown with the characters. The series improved and matured when it added female scientists Bernadette Rostenkowski and Amy Farrah Fowler to the main cast, demonstrating that geeks and other intelligent people are not all extras from Revenge of the Nerds. Particularly helped by the addition of these characters was Howard Wolowitz. Played by Simon Helberg, Howard has developed the most out of all the characters over the series’ run, going from a wannabe pick-up artist mamma’s boy to a caring and supportive husband to Bernadette. He even became an astronaut, but he never fully stopped being a mamma’s boy.
Late last year, Carol Ann Susi, the actress who voiced Howard’s stereotypically-Jewish mother Debbie Wolowitz, passed away. On the show, Mrs. Wolowitz went to Florida to visit relatives and passed away in her sleep. The next several episodes after this incident show Howard dealing with the death of his mother, transporting her remains home and sorting through her possessions. Instead of only playing the expected sitcom tropes about loss, Howard actively pays tribute to his mother, and confesses how many of his quirks stem from his love for his mother. Surprisingly, rather than mining this for easy comedy, Howard has the support of his wife and group of friends in this hardship. This is one of the most realistic depictions of the grieving process I have seen on TV, especially for an extremely popular sitcom. Although the character’s problems are wrapped up in twenty minutes and the situations presented can be corny, the small moments and details within these episodes spotlight why The Big Bang Theory is one of the most popular programs on TV. It is funny and heartwarming.
Howard understands that the best way to honor his mother’s memory is to respect it in his actions. He feels guilty over not taking his mother to the airport before her trip to Florida, and when the freezer stops working, he hosts a feast of his mother’s last homemade cuisine for his friends. Mrs. Wolowitz made a lasting impression on his friends, an impressive tribute to the character. One by one, they each tell humorous stories about her, with everyone having kind words. What struck me was that no one talks about how Mrs. Wolowitz lived a good life or is in a better place. When I lost my mother, I had to repeat those words back to people time after time to prevent myself from crying, but I did not believe it. I hate those phrases, because sometimes they just are not true. Some people live an okay life, or could have been prevented from dying young. Maybe eating and screaming less could have given them a couple more years. But that line of thinking can lead to craziness; we cannot change the past. Instead we process our loss, doing our best to tidy any mess left behind. I am still cleaning up my mother’s house, and every little thing reminds me of her. The same is true of Howard. For him, it’s a drawer of ketchup packets his mother kept because, “who pays for free ketchup?”; nobody throws out perfectly good ketchup packets. For me it was a tote bag of toilet paper—my mother knew that a situation could quickly escalate into an emergency without toilet paper. That bag is now in my car, under the back seats.
Too often television shows exploit death, using it for a very special episode and then forgetting about it by the next week. Other times, the characters harden themselves against pain and loss until they break. Neither approach is taken on The Big Bang Theory; Howard is actually able to reveal his feelings about his loss in a supportive environment. He is not made fun of or told to be quiet; he is allowed to grieve in a healthy way. No matter how many jokes have been made about Howard and his mother, no one doubts his love for her and how hard he will take her death. She’d always been there for him, and when his father left them, Howard took responsibility for her care. In a number of episodes, whenever the jokes were increasingly made at his expense, he would bring up how he had done his best as a child to help his mother in any way, prompting an “awww” from the audience.
To actively be there and take care of a parent, especially by oneself, can be exhausting. I had to make many sacrifices just to be there for my mother, and I am sure Howard did as well. He is a textbook example of delayed adolescence, and I must be too. Both of us are socially awkward and can act immaturely, but this makes sense; we stopped living our own lives as children, we had others who needed us more. I have realized that I have spent these past almost ten years (wow, it is scary to admit that) in a prison, or better yet, in suspension. Social interactions were not seen as important and it was easier to read or watch television than hang out with friends. Emergencies could happen at any time, in any interval, and school and work were the only reasons to go out. Taking on such responsibility at a young age changes how “acting your age” is perceived. Howard had only his mother as his family, so he had to be the man of the house. He had to act like the parent in the relationship, as I did. Innocence is lost when the weight of the world is upon your shoulders. We both had adult decisions to make as children, and were stuck in the same roles afterward.
Chuck Lorre, creator of the Big Bang Theory and Mom, has managed repeatedly to bring laughter to addiction and loss. He manages to not shy away from adult problems and how, over time, they can be viewed as humorous. I will continue to deal with my mother’s death, and tune in to watch how Howard deals with his.
