I got up this morning in Brighton and saw the tulips in full bloom in the back garden. They helped a little... I feel sad today, even though I know my sadness is misplaced. A friend in San Francisco is very ill. (Update: My friend passed away April 3)
It's not about me, of course. My sadness is a drop in the ocean compared to the burden borne by her and her family. For the past two years I've followed her progress as she's fought bravely against a serious and determined disease. I've been thrilled by her courage and the love and support given by our close-knit SF community. I love her, and I'm just one of the many.
Several years ago, before she got sick, this wonderful woman helped me during one of the few times in my life when I've experienced true fear. I thought I was going to die, which was ridiculous to everyone but me at the time. My lovely friend helped me past that moment, calming me to the point where I was able to accept whatever fate awaited me. My crisis passed with the calming, but I learned a lesson about acceptance that stays with me to this day, that will make my own eventual passing easier.
I love her.
I appreciate the strength she's shown during the illness and treatment. She's done it for us... for me. We can't bear the thought of her leaving us. I've wanted her to fight - for us, for me - while trying not to begrudge her the calm acceptance she teaches us. Yesterday she was moved into palliative care, a sign that it's time for all of us to look inside and find the place of loving acceptance that celebrates her life without attachment to outcome.
I love her.
None of us are ready for you to go, V... but none of us will blame you if you leave. Where, after all, can you go? You've made too much a difference in our lives, you're planted too deeply in our hearts to ever truly leave us. I'll carry you with me until my last breath, a moment I know will be easier because of what I learned at your feet.
I love you.
Update
Update, April 3: My friend passed away this morning. I'm grateful her suffering is over. Afterwards I mentioned her and the effect it's had on our community to a friend in Brighton. He asked me what I meant by "community", whether I just meant our group of friends. It was hard to explain what happens when hundreds of open-hearted people come together and dance together, hour after hour, intermittently sitting and bonding, weekend after weekend, year after year. Did we ever spend that kind of time with our parents or brothers and sisters? Maybe some of us did, but for many of us the relationships we've formed on the dance floor are the closest of our lives, spread among a community that's too close to be called a "network".
V wasn't someone who stood on the edge of this family... she was in front, dancing with more energy and loving with more acceptance than almost anyone. I might be far away physically but i could never go far enough away to leave her behind.
And I don't think she can go anywhere where she'll leave us behind... but i'll still miss dancing with her. In her physical absence I'll try to internalize the ever-present lesson - this incarnation comes to an end. Today we should all get out in the sunshine.
