Today’s post really doesn’t have anything to do with
cancer, except that when you go through a cancer
journey, death always seems like it's just around the corner. For years after you finish treatment, it
feels like it’s dogging you, hiding in the shadows, waiting until you let down
your guard, to come for you. A fellow
survivor called her post-treatment life ‘the in-between place’ – the time
between when she emerged victorious, and when cancer would inevitably come back
and kill her. And for a cancer survivor,
this is part of what they call the ‘new normal’. It fades over time, but it’s always there –
the shoe that could drop.
This week the shoe dropped on someone else, someone who
wasn’t even ill, someone whom I have loved for many years and whom I will miss
immeasurably.
My friend David was one those people who could light up a
room with his energy. He was silly, he
loved to laugh, but when you needed him, he could be fully present with you -
in the moment with you. I remember
calling him for legal advice when I received my cancer diagnosis (he was with
the EEOC in Phlly at the time) and I said, “I am going to tell you something
shocking, but please, I need clear-headed thinking right now, so can you hear
it, put it aside, and give me some advice?”
So I told him and there was a moment of silence on the other end of the
line and then he said, “I’m so sorry.
What do you need to know?” At the
end of the conversation he said, “Please call me back when you are ready to
talk about the rest of it. I will be
here.”
I met David in college, when we were cast opposite each
other in a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. We had been moving in similar
theatrical circles, but that’s when we bonded, when I fell in love with his
energy, and his wonderful snarkiness. We
got to know each other while we dyed our hair weird colors, smoked cigarettes
out of long elegant holders, and observed (and caused) backstage drama. He was a musical genius, and the life of the
party, and the man who came up with both the theme for ‘No L News Years’ (it’s
a roman numeral thing – I made a bathroom sign that said “Pease, don’t forget
to fush!”) and convinced another friend of ours to sign a legal contract prohibiting
him from playing the song “Disco Duck” for 20 years or so. (Thanks again for that buddy! Sorry, Jay.)
After college, David went to law school (and yes,
occasionally I thought, goofy, snarky David, a lawyer?) but he was brilliant at it, and spent most of his career fighting for equal rights for all of us.
He spent his most recent years championing marriage equality and I was
honored to be a guest at the civil union ceremony where he legally bound his
life to that of his partner Stephan. I
have been to a lot of weddings, but rarely have I felt so much joy at a union. Stephan came into David’s life, smoothing the
rough bits, and amplifying the good bits. I
saw how a person can thrive when he is well-loved, by watching them together.
David passed away last week, after suffering a heart
attack. He was 47 years old. Because he
lived 1,000 miles away and I didn’t see him as often, his passing still doesn’t
seem real to me, although I don’t think I have cried this hard or this much in
long, long time. My heart breaks for
Stephan, for David’s family, for his BFF Naomi, and for our little college
troupe of friends– the loss is incomprehensible and while I expect that we all will heal
over time, the world will not be same without him.
Those of you that know me or that follow my blog know that I
always try to find the lesson or the silver lining in events, having learned by facing my own mortality that I have a choice about how I live, and how I
feel, and how I see the things that happen in my life. This one is tough. There isn’t a silver
lining, but I am holding on to the happy memories of my friend, and I
am so grateful that he passed through my life.
I wish you all had known him.
