A soft thank you to Andrea Gibson

8/13/75 – 7/14/25

Andrea Gibson, photo courtesy Them.us

I don’t know if you knew Andrea Gibson. I’ll be honest, I really didn’t. Yes, I read their stack. Yes, I fawned over their tiny nugget words of gorgeous wisdom. Yes, I wanted to be like them in spirit and action. Yes, they were part of my community.

But no, they didn’t know my name, I don’t think they knew my publication existed, we never talked or shared words. So explain to me why I’m feeling the loss and grief of Andrea so deeply?

There’s another essay I’ve been working on that I meant to publish this week. That didn’t happen. News of Andrea’s death came early, what felt like suddenly, even unexpectedly, which is silly. I knew they had terminal cancer. I knew this day would come. I went on writing like there would always be another tomorrow to think about those things or to reach out with a thank you for their words. And then—BAM. Gone.

I tried to ignore it. Why should their death matter to me? Why should I feel anything about it at all? I’m no one to them. I’m not involved. It’s not personal, and yet somehow it is. Maybe you’ve felt this, too? Maybe you also read Andrea’s words and felt connected and loved and seen at some point, and yeah, this is a huge loss for all of us to bear right now. Things really sunk in for me last night when I read the words of Andrea’s partner, Meg. You can read them here (bring a tissue, friend).

Andrea Gibson 8/13/75 – 7/14/25

I sat on my couch in the sweltering summer heat reading Meg’s words, my kids playing and arguing in the background, the dog pacing and ready for his evening walk, and I had to put my phone down to keep myself from crying right then and there. I wasn’t ready to face that grief. I didn’t understand why I was carrying grief at all.

I look at images of Andrea and feel a yank of recognition deep in my viscera, a pounding in my veins, as though some part of me is staring back from those photos. That part of them—of me—is worth loving and knowing and holding onto. And it’s not the painful parts I often think need that loving, it’s the joyful parts, the parts softened and grieving which need the grief to soften them further. This person, this artist, this poet, this body of flesh and bone that could not go on made a difference in the hearts and memories of so many people, and they remind me and restore in me that hope remains, that hope persists, and that there are people like Andrea lighting the arduous path to get to that hope.

To quote Meg from the post linked above…

One of the last things they said before dying was, “I fucking loved my life.”

Even writing it now brings tears into my eyes and a hitch in my breath. Cuz yeah, me too, friend. Me too.

Life is full of pain and joy and so many things that feel important and impossible and unreachable and fleeting, and I’m grateful to feel all of them at every chance I get. It wasn’t always like this. I didn’t always want to live like I do now, so maybe I’m grieving those years I lost pre-transition, those times when the best parts of me were tucked away even from myself.

I could quote a thousand things from Andrea that would feel like the right thing to say, but instead I’m going to make a hard turn and do something else. I’m sharing someone else’s words in honor of Andrea so that I can make sense of my own feelings about them, about why Andrea was and is important to me. And they might never know that I’ll carry these emotions around with me for the rest of my time on this earth, but I’ll know, and I’ll know it’s because of the ways in which Andrea touched us all, connected us in mysterious ways, and left a trail of love and wonder for us to follow.

---

We've been held together by a tiny thread
Fortunate futures unraveling
Like it or not, I get lost, you were right
I see a strange apparition, we follow behind
Taking us over by a generous light
I get lost, I get lost, you and I

We're always held together by tiny little threads
And I think I love you the most when you're unraveling
Always held together by tiny little threads
And I think I love you the most when you're unraveling

I'm a pendulum swinging, I'm a flickering live wire
Blinded by reason when I'm a moth on fire
Like Icarus dreaming, don't follow behind
Like it or not, I get lost, you were right

And we're always held together by tiny little threads
And I think I love you the most when you're unraveling
Always held together by tiny little threads
And I think I love you the most when you′re unraveling

Your trans friend,

Robin