Why Did It Take Andrea Gibson’s Death for My Life To Be Illuminated by Their Presence?
“I love daydreaming about the pep talks butterflies give to depressed caterpillars”
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Early last week, my world changed. I found Andrea Gibson, and then I lost them.
A river of grief filled my online spaces. As I scrolled through, I saw tributary after tributary flowing into the main body of water, meandering its way to the open sea. Into a united ocean of grief.
I watched as this river of grief widened, overflowing with the outpouring of love and the pain of loss, expressed by all who had been touched by the words of Andrea Gibson.
Who is Andrea Gibson, I wondered? And how have I not heard of them?
And then I found their Substack Things that don’t suck. And their Instagram account.
I alternated between reading Andrea’s words myself and clicking into videos, allowing the magic of their spoken word to penetrate me. And penetrate me they did. Something inside me thawed. The tears fell, slowly at first, in recognition of the poignancy of Andrea’s writing. But as I read more and more, and Andrea moved from stranger to friend, the tears became uncontrollable and full-on sobs. Tears for a life taken too soon.
By the end of my week of deep diving into Andrea’s words, I found myself crying in random places, for reasons I couldn’t articulate.
To be human is to suffer. We all have our stories of suffering, hardship and injustice.
But Andrea reminds us that to be human is also to love and be loved. They remind us that love conquers all. And that, away from all the distractions of modernity, love is all that matters.
Andrea’s life has been full of suffering and yet they choose to see the beauty. They choose to look for the iridescence and glitter of life. They choose to focus on joy. They choose love. In their poem What Love Is Andrea says this.
Everything but ‘I love you’ is small talk.
I read on and discovered my favourite line — so far — of Andrea’s, sitting snug in their relatable, witty, and so deeply human piece called A List of Things I Love.
I love daydreaming about the pep talks butterflies give to depressed caterpillars.
Do you see it too? The hope and optimism infused in their words. The inclusivity. And for fear of repeating myself — the love.
Andrea clearly knows how it feels to be a caterpillar. So do I. Do you? And I hope with all the love being reflected back at them over the years, Andrea recognised themselves as the vibrant butterfly they had become. The vibrant butterfly they always were.
I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that butterflies feel particularly meaningful to me right now. So much so, I wrote a poem a few weeks ago — in my pre-Andrea Gibson days — I wrote this in my head mid-run, when I stopped to watch a cabbage white butterfly dance around me.
A butterfly flutters by, oh how I wish I were she
The true heroine of transcendence
The ultimate symbol of personal growth and change.
While I fight and resist the thermals of life
She waltzes on the gusts.
A butterfly flutters by, oh how I wish I were she.
I’ve also had Tom Odel and AURORA’s song Butterflies circulating my mind. It starts with simple, but heart-awakening piano, then Tom’s voice comes in, “When you touch me, I feel butterflies, I’m going to love you till the day I die.” I’ve been thirsty for this song each day, needing to listen to it to feel quenched.
Out of curiosity, I wondered what the symbolism of butterflies is, so I looked it up. Butterflies represent transformation, rebirth, and personal growth. They are a symbol of the soul’s journey towards enlightenment and higher consciousness.
Specifically, to my own cabbage white butterfly. An article on the symbolism of butterflies in The Centre of Excellence said this:
White butterflies are often associated with purity, peace, and spiritual awakening. Seeing a white butterfly could indicate that you are entering a phase of spiritual growth or that a sense of calm and clarity is on the horizon.
And honestly, I think reading and listening to Andrea’s words is giving me exactly that — spiritual growth.
It’s not often someone’s words touch me so profoundly. It’s rare to find a poet whose words I want to feast upon, ignoring all other sustenance. And while I am delighted to have found them, I can’t help but feel a bit cheated that it took their dying for me to be aware of them.
And even in their death, they are spreading love.
Megan Falley — Andrea’s wife — wrote this exceptionally moving piece. And what empathy, even when lost in the seas of her grief, Meg thinks of all those who have also loved and lost. Her words wrap their way around our hearts and hold us in a healing hug.
Death will come to us all. Not only will it affect each of us directly, but we will be on the periphery of it time and again. There is no escaping. I can’t help but feel I’ve learned two important lessons from Andrea this week.
How to live and how to die.
And one thing is for sure: I want my life to be filled with more of Andrea’s words. I’m eagerly anticipating the arrival of my copy of You Better Be Lightening.
They also have a book from 2018 called Lord of the Butterflies, which is calling me. It’s described perfectly on Goodreads as having “imagery heavy enough to sink the heart, while giving the body wings to soar.”
Perhaps that’s precisely it, in the numbness of these crazy times, Andrea’s words remind us how to feel.
Now, please don’t allow this travesty to happen to me again. I don’t want to discover exceptional writers, thinkers, and poets upon their death. Tell me whose work touches you. Who do I need in my life now?
Thanks for reading
xDo you have a favourite piece of writing by Andrea? I’d love to hear about it. Please share this in the comments.
You may also enjoy my other Substack Life Without Children, a place for readers and writers of life without children, whether by choice or circumstance.
I love butterflies - so beautiful, fragile and temporary - like so much of what is good in life.
In May, one of my favorite online artists passed away at the age of 33. Having followed her cancer journey since the beginning (a little over a year), I felt shredded when she passed. And two months later, Andrea. My heart is in pieces.