I've had the words of George Washington's character in Hamilton ringing in my ears this week. Burning into my brain, making my eyes sting with tears...
"Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder."
Andy has died. He has finally succumbed to the cancer that attacked his body for years. He survived well beyond his expected expiration date, but the last couple months the cancer grew with a vengeance. I would read his blog here and there over the course of the last several years - since the breakup in July of 2018, just to keep up on how he was. To bare silent witness to his growth, his failures, his love, and his fears. I had a feeling something was wrong. So I checked it within minutes of him posting on December 10th.
It would be his final post. He died December 12th.
I found out via social media... much as I once feared I would. Exactly as I feared I would, actually. The viewing is Friday, the funeral Saturday. I have been absolutely overwhelmed emotionally. I grieved losing him as a friend back in 2018 once, and his passing has ripped those wounds back open again. They hurt in a different way now, but they still hurt. To torture myself further, I reread through several of our email correspondence. My outpouring of support as I begged him to still be my friend. His actions speaking louder than any of his words ever did. My overwhelming need for his approval/attention was classic of my codependency, and as he gave me a literal laundry list of my "not enough-ness" that gutted me in the moment, I realize now that it was a gift. A shove in the direction of self care that NO man would ever hold that type of power over my feelings of self worth again.
And though it has been a bumpy road, I have stayed true to that lesson. My self worth is NOT dependent on anyone else's opinion of me. I never got the chance to tell him that I had filed for divorce. He would have been proud... but whats more important is that *I'm* proud of taking those steps. I've been doing the hard work and getting things done.
Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder.
I am embracing the living, even as I pursue the path of teaching others to embrace the dying. I am called to be a Persephone, listening to the stories as souls cross from this realm to the next. If reading Andy's story all these years has taught me anything, it's that it isn't about me. None of it was ever about me. It's about listening and bearing witness and being present. These are not easy to do, and they are learned traits. I fail often, but I continue to try. The living is in the trying.
Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder.
Andy's new wife must now learn to navigate life without her partner. Their relationship was so whirlwind that I can only imagine the shock of it suddenly being over for her. Actually, I may have an inkling of what that might feel like, on a much smaller scale. My heart hurts for his little boy, who must now navigate life without his father. Andy loved his child above all else, and I know that his son will grow up knowing just how loved he really was/is. But being a little kid who doesn't really understand in the moment is brutal.
Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder.
Andy is on to his next adventure. The hard part is over for him.
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I told J that a former friend had died. I used gender neutral pronouns when talking about the visitation and funeral, as I didn't want to get into "who this was." I told him that I was nervous and uncomfortable and just feeling "a lot" about it. His recommendation was that if me going would bring comfort to myself or someone else, that I should go. I told him he was right, as he usually is, haha. "The persons brothers might appreciate me stopping in and giving them my condolences. I guess I'm just nervous about going, and worried I'll regret it if I don't." His response stopped me in my mental tracks.
"No harm in going I suppose right? He can't hurt you."
He can't hurt you. It's true. The only one hurting me in this moment, is me. The residual anger and resentment, the fear of not belonging at his visitation, it's all just in my own mind. No one is "doing" anything to me. It's my own self letting those old feelings of upset push forward, instead of allowing the gifts and appreciation rise up. I know it is all part of the grieving process (again) but I also feel more at peace within myself this time around.
He can't hurt me.
Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder.
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