First—just like Amy—I used to think the word was a typo; it should be post-humorously, meaning death is beyond humor. There is no more laughter.
You see Amy died earlier this year. March to be exact. A crappy month is the crappiest of years. Years we will come to think of as post-humorously.
Which makes reading her wit and zest for life and love all the more bittersweet. Every word, every reflection is now colored with this knowledge: she writes no more.
I dwell in this tension—I wish I’d known her when alive. Glad I hadn’t known her, as the idea of losing her would be overwhelming, especially in last days of winter in a hard, hard year.
Then came the viral of viralist: her piece in The New Yorker announcing 1) she was dying, 2) she hadn’t passed yet, 3) why I might like to date her husband.
If you haven’t read this essay then what rock have you been hiding under. You must be the last person on earth not to have read it. The world cried reading it and cried again days later when it was announced that the viral of viralist authors:
Amy Krouse Rosenthal Dead at 51 of Ovarian Cancer
Which makes reading Encyclopediaof an Ordinary Life a surreal experience. If I had read it in 2004 when it first released or even during the Obama years I would have said, Yes this is how the world works. I’m inspired! We’re all on the road together.
But reading it now, ¾ of the way through 2017, on this side of a shit tipping point I feel 1) terrible I never personally met her, 2) wish her family peace, 3) wish us all peace, 4) wish—if ever there was a chance for this world that Amy would see it and come back and whisper it into my ear.