Grief

A while back I posted about a close friend who was living with metastasized breast cancer. I also discussed the internal struggle I was having with the thought of losing her to this beast while also wanting to support her decision not to seek any western treatment. The last time I saw her alive and conscious was on Thanksgiving.

Rahviance passed away on January 31.

Grief -

Girl, get your life together.

You’re unpredictable and unreliable. You unexpectedly “pop in” at the most inconvenient times, and sometimes you RSVP “Yes!”and then don’t show up at all!

Sometimes your stay is fleeting and sometimes you’re that f*cking guest at a house party that will not take the hint and just leave. Whether you’re about to burst in like a wrecking ball or sandpaper your way in is anyone’s best guess.

Dude, sometimes you stay away for months or even years at a time and just when I think we’ve parted for good, you take on the emotional equivalent of those interactive haunted experiences. Oh please, you know exactly what I’m referencing! You walk through the scene or house or whatever people dressed as dead characters sneak up behind you or jump out at you, hoping to “surprise” the sh*t out of you.

Being around you is often very undesireable.

But sometimes, sometimes there’s this one downright messed up thing you do:

You show up early.

Since I found out that Rahviance’s cancer had metastasized in May of 2023, I made a very conscious effort see her at least every couple months. We spent the past few Halloweens and Thanksgivings together, and I would go to Harlem (where she lived) to spend time with her when I could.

Rahviance did not want to hear any opinions about her treatment choice. She also, however, did not make that choice accepting the alternative if the treatment did not work.

Or at least, she never uttered those words out loud.

When she spoke about her treatment choice she always described herself as “healing” her body, even during times when she could barely walk. She remained unyielding in her convictions that what she was choosing - diet and plant alternatives - would really and truly heal her cancer. Any contrary information, opinions, or scientific research was vehemently rejected.

I didn’t want to waste my limited time with her arguing about different perspectives, so I followed her lead and tried to make our time together as normal as possible. However, in the back of my head I couldn’t not think, at each visit, that it would potentially be the final time I’d see her.

I also couldn’t voice that fear to her so I’d just think it to myself. Every visit felt like I was watching her slowly, but steadily drive toward a cliff and I just had to sit on a bench and watch it happen. Each time I saw her I silently tried to make sure that the last thing we did together or the last thing I said to her was something I could live with in case it actually was the last time.

Inevitably, after each visit on just about every train ride home, grief would creep in and the dam holding back tears immediately gave way. This went on for a year and a half.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to accurately describe the cognitive dissonance that comes with grieving someone while they’re sitting right in front of you.

Fast forward to the last week in January when I went to see her in the hospital. Due to seizures from the lesion that was covering part of her brain, she’d been placed into an induced coma. I cried a lot during my first visit, seeing her in that state with so many tubes connected to her and leads attached to her head to monitor her brain activity.

The person in that hospital bed was not Rahviance. That person was a shell.

At one point the MD on the floor came to check on her. She walked into the room, expecting only Rahviance, but surprise! She also got the bonus of my soaking wet face and half baked attempts at full sentences as I choked out every third word of what I was trying to say.

“Do you need me to move?” as I began to stand up.

“No, no. You’re fine. Are you…”
::pause with uncertainty::
...family or a friend of hers?”

A quick side note here - Um, what’s your relationship? is the reaction I received more often than not when I’d visit her, try to advocate for her or after her passing, arranged her cremation services. The initial confusion and surprise is something I always found interesting.

I realize for legal and/or privacy reasons alone it’s important that I am asked that question. And I get why someone might initially be unsure because (wait for it):

She’s Black and I’m white. (Big news! Tear out the front page!)

*June 2011* This is one of my top three favorite memories with Rahviance. Here in Piazzo de Popolo in Rome, like a bunch of American jackoffs, we mounted the statue. We were so young, stupid and carefree. We’d met only one week prior to this photo, but instantly connected through creativity, design and sense of humor. I can’t *tell* you how much we laughed during this trip.

Rahviance and I never gave a sh*t about who was what color, but as the years went on we also didn’t shy away from talking about racism and how different our life experiences were because of it.

It always confuses me when I hear white people talk about how much “divisiveness” it creates to have these discussions and acknowledge discrepancies in our society, both past and present.

I never felt divided from Rahviance when we would discuss race, or when she’d express frustration about an encounter she had that I couldn’t relate to.

If anything, I felt like the more we talked about it the better I understood what her experience was like, and the better friend and person I could be.

Divisiveness? I sat at her bedside during the final days of her life. I couldn’t have been more connected.

Rahv wasn’t one to open up easily in general let alone to someone white, but when she did I felt like we’d reached a new level of trust and that was something very sacred to me.

I digess.

As best I could I choked out, “She’s my chosen family.”

It took a second to register. She smiled and said, “Okay…” her voice trailing off and eyes darting at the machines, unsure of what she should do next so she left.

After a couple days it became clear that the most humane thing to do was to take Rahviance off all machines except an IV to receive meds, keeping her comfortable until she passed. If not, her “quality of life” would stop at the breathing machine.

I was fortunate in that I was able to see her the night she passed away.

I wrote a letter to her, saying the things I wanted to tell her. In fact, I was actually able to get a few minutes alone with her to read it out loud, an opportunity that most people don’t get with a dying loved one and for that, I will always be grateful.

Before I left the hospital for the final time, I took a minute to say goodbye. I leaned over her bed and pressed my forehead to hers, I whispered what I wanted her to know and kissed her forehead and hand. I cried a little.

I assumed I’d be hysterical on the train ride home, but I wasn’t.

And I haven’t really cried much since.

It feels weird to not have sobbed uncontrollably since it happened. I did so much more crying while she was still alive that most of what I’ve felt since January 31 is just numbness.

I know the early arrival of my grieving process is a means of self-preservation and protection, as if somehow getting ahead of it would make me miss her less when she eventually died.

The jig is up, y’all - it doesn’t!

I’m sure grief will show up again:

When I’m working on a creative project and I really want her feedback
On Thanksgiving
When I eventually get a tattoo in her honor
When I’m scared to pursue something big and could really use her, “That’s not out of your reach” mindset
When I cook something with her around and I take all 17 spices in my kitchen and put them at her place setting because we’d often joke about how flavorless white people make their food (esp those of us with heartburn- forget it!)

Regardless, when grief shows up I suppose I’ll let her stay for a minute. I know it’s just another reminder that Rahviance is still with me.

With heaps of humor, heart and especially gratitude,

Hillary ScottFebruary 13, 2025