Grief is a dastardly little shit. If you stop and think about it, you may actually experience some level of grief almost every day. It is deeply personal. It is a reflection of shared intimacy. It is a profound emotion. It is the price we pay for love. It reshapes our world in ways we never anticipate. It is the quiet absence that lingers in the corners of everyday life... and it is one of the most complicated yet common of human emotions no one really teaches how to deal with in a way that feels true to each of us. I hope that this brief essay may help those who knew Amber learn to weave these feelings into our days, allowing joy and sorrow to coexist whilst honoring the love that made this grief possible.
I met Amber (of all things) on Twitter, in 2014. Those who believe personal relationships can't truly be formed online can be disproved by the hundreds of us who knew her via these silly little interwebs. Through the years we shared memes, red panda gifs, Disney + passwords, laughter, cat pics, gifts, and tales of life. She gifted embroideries, cross stitches, an intricately pieced together and sewn Sherlock handbag, a custom made Baymax plushie, and so many hand written birthday cards. In turn, I made her silly Doctor Who cross stich pieces, sent random Sherlock themed Etsy gifts, and more cat pics. Her generosity was truly unmatched. I found out years ago she had a folder on her personal laptop of pictures I posted on Twitter of my cats, simply because she loved them. One of the pieces she made was an embroidery of my two now rainbow kitties, wearing helmets and floating in space. She had that gift, to make you laugh unexpectedly over something so adorably absurd. All I need to do is turn to my bookshelf, or wall, or open a storage box, and she is everywhere.
When a friend told me the other day, "Sadness shared is sadness halved", a scene from Fleabag popped into my head while I was struggling with how to say goodbye to Amber in a way that did her justice with care and grace. The main character is talking to her best friend, having just attended her mum's funeral, unsure of how to proceed in a world without her:
"With what?"
To have known Amber was to know someone extraordinary. Her humor, her wisdom, and her unique creative spirit will not likely be something I will find similarly again in this lifetime. She was a soul as vibrant as the threads she wove, a warm and grounding presence whose boundless curiosity and academic brilliance caught the images of our world's hidden wonders. My only wish and deepest sorrow is that I will never be able to meet her in person, and time is something I can never get back to do so. I continue to carry her with me, and I hope you do too... even as some images and memories inevitably become softer at the edges over time, like autumn leaves gently fading into the grass. Loss may change us, but love remains.
Thank you for honoring Amber. I also met her on twitter through a general disability group, then a migraine specific group, then a community of mushing fans. So much of our personalities & experiences overlapped. Amber was kind, funny, and always so thoughtful. I'm so lucky to have known her & called her my friend. I miss her
ReplyDeleteOh Minnesota. A big state. Lots of weather. Amber and I could always relate in our weather misery or celebration. Originally we twittered about Sherlock but once we knew we were both Minnesotans we checked on one another. During the pandemic she needed support and information and I did my best to help by shipping her masks. She was one of the hardest working patients I’ve ever “met” as a nurse. I hope she rests well.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for this beautiful tribute to our beautiful Amber. Your kind words and incite into who our Amber was has touched my heart.
ReplyDelete