love letter

For Andrea Gibson, life was a poem—a beautifully complex spectrum of gender, time, and life itself. Gibson (who used they/them pronouns) was a poet, an activist, a filmmaker, a friend—but most of all—an inspiration to anyone on this planet who dares to push back against the societal constructs which are woven into us at such an early age.

Comedian Tig Notaro sat down with them for Interview Magazine in which Gibson shone through as being equally thoughtful and hilarious. After describing themselves as "gender queer," they elaborated: "It just means that I don’t necessarily identify within a gender binary. I’ve never in my life really felt like a woman and I’ve certainly never felt like a man. I look at gender on a spectrum and I feel somewhere on that spectrum that’s not landing on either side of that."

Their work encouraged many, and in 2023, Colorado Governor Jared Polis awarded Gibson Colorado's Poet Laureate. That same year, Gibson shared the poem inspired by their grandmother, Love Letter from the Afterlife, which they had written to comfort those who were grieving. To try to find a semblance of beauty in the pain of loss and to reassure all of us facing mortality that there is… more.

For the past four years, Gibson has battled ovarian cancer, and much of that fight was captured in the upcoming documentary (co-produced by Notaro) Come See Me in the Good Light. Heartbreakingly, Gibson lost the battle just this week. Exemplifying the love that surrounded them, their death announcement read in part: “Andrea Gibson died in their home (in Boulder, Colorado) surrounded by their wife, Meg, four ex-girlfriends, their mother and father, dozens of friends, and their three beloved dogs.”

But Gibson, ever the romantic, wanted their beloved Megan Falley, to personally and intimately receive the words of the poem. And in a final television interview—just months before they passed—Gibson read it to her.

Andrea Gibson reads their poem. www.youtube.com

“My love, I was so wrong. Dying is the opposite of leaving. When I left my body, I did not go away. That portal of light was not a portal to elsewhere, but a portal to here. I am more here than I ever was before. I am more with you than I ever could have imagined. So close you look past me when wondering where I am.

It’s OK. I know that to be human is to be farsighted. But feel me now, walking the chambers of your heart, pressing my palms to the soft walls of your living. Why did no one tell us that to die is to be reincarnated in those we love while they are still alive? Ask me the altitude of heaven, and I will answer, “How tall are you?” In my back pocket is a love note with every word you wish you’d said. At night I sit ecstatic at the loom weaving forgiveness into our worldly regrets. All day I listen to the radio of your memories.

Yes, I know every secret you thought too dark to tell me, and love you more for everything you feared might make me love you less. When you cry, I guide your tears toward the garden of kisses I once planted on your cheek, so you know they are all perennials. Forgive me, for not being able to weep with you. One day you will understand. One day you will know why I read the poetry of your grief to those waiting to be born, and they are all the more excited.

There is nothing I want for now that we are so close I open the curtain of your eyelids with my own smile every morning. I wish you could see the beauty your spirit is right now making of your pain, your deep-seated fears playing musical chairs, laughing about how real they are not. My love, I want to sing it through the rafters of your bones, Dying is the opposite of leaving. I want to echo it through the corridor of your temples, I am more with you than I ever was before.

Do you understand? It was me who beckoned the stranger who caught you in her arms when you forgot not to order for two at the coffee shop. It was me who was up all night gathering sunflowers into your chest the last day you feared you would never again wake up feeling lighthearted. I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise it’s the truth. I promise one day you will say it too— I can’t believe I ever thought I could lose you.”

The comment section on YouTube reflects some of the better parts of humanity, which Gibson no doubt inspired. One person writes, "I see the news that someone I never met in person has died, and it knocks the breath out of me and leaves me weeping. Your light, your depth, your words have touched my soul. Your poetry has been the portal to a connection to you that makes our never having met in person meaningless. I love you, Andrea. Thank you for everything."