There's no easy way to say this. Andrea has died.
She died on Wednesday, February 28th.
I've been grieving for days.
I've known Andrea, had her as a part of my life, for about 15 years now. We met, first online, through live journal, and then in person, for the first time, at the Fetish Flea.
I love Andrea. Not loved, but love. She was among the people I am closest to on this planet. I consider her family.
Andrea and I have been one another's cheerleader and support for ages. She was an utterly amazing human being. Here's a description of herself she wrote for her Kensho Kitten blog.
That was Andrea. She loved Hello Kitty, unicorns, the color pink, and talking about farting and pooping and coming. (Not all at the same time, although in retrospect the idea and the conversation about such would have made her roar with laughter.)
I could (and have, and likely will again) go on about Andrea for hours and hours. I'm sure there will be more posts about her. I just went back and even made a Special Andrea Tag for my blog, to make it easier for you (and me) to find these posts again.
She occupies a very special place in my life and heart. I have been grateful for her before, and will continue to be.
In the course of my grief, I've been sort of binging on her. Going back through old photos, old texts, listening to her appearances on the Big Little Podcast. Just positively guzzling her digital self down, in big chugs.
That was when I stumbled across something of a gift that Andrea made for me, with me.
We did an episode of the podcast that was a personal interview with Frankie and Andrea, all about them, their love, their history. During the interview, one of the more odd subjects that came up was how they both were these hard-charging, grizzled long distance travelers.
On the regular, it's nothing for him to get in the car and drive 15 hours straight someplace. Andrea used to take 19 hour long bus rides from Massachusetts to Michigan to visit with him. And they both did those things regularly to come visit me, here in Virginia. Often during these travels, they'd listen to episodes of the podcast.
Frankie joked on the show about how he'd be listening to Spacey and me on the show, and then the phone would ring and it would be me, and how weird and meta it was. Plus, how when he'd be listening, he'd often respond to the podcast as if he were a part of the conversation in progress. Andrea added that she did that too, and because she knew my humor so well, she could predict the things I'd say next, and how good it felt to be included, even though I didn't know it was happening.
Then, at 1:00:38 I observed how it was both sweet and creepy, because I could see people doing the same with the podcast for me, long after I was dead.
When I heard that, this morning I broke out in tears. I wailed. I tortured myself with it.
Then, I stopped. Because I knew just what Andrea would have to say to me about this self-torment, "So, how's that working for you?"
I laughed, a little at first, and then a whole bunch.
There you are, Andrea. Right where you've always been. I love you.