An era ended at our house last Friday.
The final episode of Monk premiered. I watched it with my wife and our younger son. Our older one, also a Monk fan, was involved in an event at his school. He’ll have to catch the final episode on re-run.
For eight years, we’ve watched this show. It started with me, because I like the quirky detective genre. I love Sherlock Homes and Hercule Poirot, so I gravitated to Monk. My wife started soon after and then my kids got into it, too. My 7-year old would scream with delight when it was time for the show to come on. “Monky-Monk,” he always called the main character.
For eight years, if we were home on Friday night, we watched. (The show is older than my younger son.) We always knew what the final episode would come down to…Monk finding his wife’s killer. We also knew it had to end After eight years, the writers seemed to be running out of ideas. Shows in the last season were nowhere near as crisp as they had been in the earlier years. Had the writing been like this at the outset, the show would have never survived. However, we stayed with it through the last season, like an old friend that had given us many pleasant memories.
I did wonder how the final episode would end. I was convinced he would die. Sherlock Holmes ended his career by falling off a high cliff ledge with his greatest opponent, Professor Moriarty. Hercule Poirot died of natural causes, but with his dying breaths convinced his greatest opponent to take his own life. It seemed appropriate for Monk that he would pass at the end, as the search for his wife’s killer had sustained his for twelve years. Instead, Monk was poisoned, survived, and given a new reason to go on living.
I’m sure we’ll find something else to do on our Friday nights. (My older son is already counting down the days until he starts driving and he’s not even a teenager yet.) But, we will miss the quirky detective who brought so much enjoyment into our lives.