Reading Amy Krouse Rosenthal Posthumously
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.
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