Archive of Our Own

I once read that grief is love with nowhere to go. There is some truth in this. It's not easy to sit down and try to write again, especially after so long without picking up a paper or pen.

After everything happened, I stopped being able to write anything, especially jokes. They still come out of my mouth absently sometimes, but creating humor from scratch is something that has simply stopped happening. Somehow it feels strange to create something without her presence, almost like I was cheating on her somehow, but deep down I know she wishes I wouldn't let that part go away, too. She lives in these memories and I need to rescue her laughter and wisdom.

Recently I made a deal with myself that I would try to keep the habit of writing memories for two main reasons. First, to help dealing with loneliness and grief. Second, to register some memories of our life together so that not even time could take away what was left.

That's why I also started writing more often and had this idea of ​​putting together a book of memories, photos and registers of the years we were working together on shows, on Late Night and on some solo projects. Since all the love left inside me doesn't know where to go, this is me trying to put a little of all the love into these words. May it find its way.

Last week marked one year since she left the world. I'm still trying to understand what it's like to live a life without her being here with me. There are days when I still wake up and it takes me a few seconds to remember that the empty bed next to me is a constant now. We've always known that death is something we don't control and there's something natural about that. Everyday things are born and die everywhere. Leaves that fall from trees, water that evaporates, flowers that bloom, rain that falls from the sky. I've been seeking comfort in these subtle changes in life that are somehow beautiful reminders that everything comes back together and that's ok to be this way.

And even though we know that everything ends one day, emotional pain does not follow the rational processing. It's funny today to think about how one of our biggest concerns before getting together was precisely the fact of the age difference and how this attested to an incompatibility in the years of life ahead.

Pratically 40-something years of age gap was something that was constantly remembered. Luckily, loved ones gave us unconditional support and that made all the difference at times when any of us started to spiral into insecurities about this. Of course, some of the media and some conservative groups tried to portray this as something bad (especially since we are two women, and heterosexual couples don't face the same pressure in age-gap relationships), but we remembered that we shouldn't listen to it. Our loved ones would always be here for us. The two of us would always be here for each other, as well.

And it was like that for 25 beautiful years. Today it seems silly to think that we worried about the possibility of not having as much time together, but we wouldn't have imagined that we would still enjoy 25 incredible years together. After so long struggling with our feelings and fears, we finally got together, we traveled to beautiful places, we spent countless nights at home watching TV or reading books together, writing, creating materials, cooking vegan dinners, having mind blowing sex, laughing, crying, hugging, loving deeply. Some fights and disagreements as well, oh yes. But we always knew how to go through it. We were so lucky to share the same space and time. 25 happiest years.

But then, the news of the illness caught us completely off guard. There was a tumor in her uterus that always kept coming back, and after so many proceedings there wasn't much we could do. The cancer started to spread fast. Really fast. It was two years of a lot of struggle and challenges, but she was bravely courageous in every part of the treatment. Humor never left her side even for a moment, even when she cried and felt all the weight of reality. I also struggled as well. It's curious how there is grief before the grief itself, when you know you need to prepare yourself and are already suffering in advance for the possibility. It's a very strange limbo to be in.

Our family was incredibly loving and present during all the process and especially after. DJ, Aidan and their son (an adult now, as Luna as well), Kiki, Nina, Jimmy, Kayla, Ruby, Marcus, Damien and other dear friends we've made over the years were always there, even though life has taken each of them on different paths. They took turns keeping me company whenever possible, even though most of the time I wanted to be alone processing all these confusing feelings of loss and love.

Now, her ashes are lovingly stored in an beautiful urn in our living room, with her name engraved in my handwriting:

Ava Vance Daniels.

My dear Ava. Funny how life is. I tried to prepare her for so long for the possibility that she would have to deal with my loss at some point, that neither of us remembered that life doesn't follow rules. I myself didn't consider the possibility that I could go through the grief of losing her. Not in a million years. I'm the oldest, but there's no right order. And her dying before me was like a hard punch into my stomach. It took me practically seventy years to find her, I was able to love her for amost twenty five and I don't regret anything. In fact, my only regret is having tried to postpone our story for longer than necessary. What a privilege it was to see her turn into such a wonderful adult woman.

At that time, I used to assume that I had already lived everything I had to live and learned all of life's lessons. What a fool. In some ways it seems like it was only after meeting Ava that I started to truly live and got to know sides of myself that I had never allowed to come to surface before. With her I learned to have the courage to be who I am and to speak my truth. With Ava, I got to finally know love - gentle, honest, intense, complex, real, pure love.

But every time the pain tries to get bigger than me, I try to remember that maybe it was better that way. Having to leave this world knowing that I would leave behind an Ava in her fifty-something years old and with so much pain ahead of her lifetime is something that would deeply haunt me. She left this world first, but I won't be long, too. I'm over 95 years old now, and I trust nature will be kind to me when the time is right. I know that soon I will be again with my dear Ava, the love of my life, the first and only woman I ever loved, and we will have all the time in eternity to be together. I know this, because I feel her every day here with me. Not even in life did she let me forget her constant presence, much less now. She never left my side, even when I tried to push her away. Her laugh is still on the walls of this house, in my heart, my memory and in these words, that will never fade away.

“You taught me the courage of stars before you left
How light carries on endlessly, even after death
With shortness of breath
You explained the infinite
And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist

I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again
I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen
I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time
That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes

I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again
I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen
I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time
That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes

With shortness of breath
I'll try to explain the infinite
And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist

With shortness of breath
I'll try to explain the infinite
And how rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist”

Saturn, by Sleeping at Last