divided in grief 🕊
aka we cry alone
another heavy one. back to heehees, hahas, and shy nigga behavior in october. 4 years ago we lost ryan mccormack. I started to open up last year in this issue but here is my piece about grief and the transformation of my POV since last year. also, I finally spoke to him.
fear of death is a fear of life.
fear of life is a fear of love. fear of love is a fear of connection. and if we aren’t connecting, truly, deeply, wholly…what are we doing. i’ve been afraid of love because i’m afraid of loss. learning to let go has been a lifelong process; in the past 6 years, i’ve lost like 10 people i loved dearly and countless more where the relationship died while we continued. as i sat with that grief, i looked inward at my relationships to, well, everything. my relationship to family, friends, work, religion, race, gender, sexual orientation, life, and ultimately, my relationship to death.
i think it's wild that we don't talk about death. like nigga, you think that this is going to continue forever? it has to end. in my life, i have come up against multiple near-death experiences and i will say the most recent ones did have an air of “finally, i can rest” to them. the reality of the situation is that me and a lot of my peers have come a lot closer to death than a lot of people so some of our jokes can seem a little bit dark. but, are they dark or are they aware of the reality of the world that we live in? millions of people dead across the world due to a pandemic, shootings, needless and senseless, war, genocide, famine, and people can turn a blind eye to the reality that there's not going to be a beautiful season finale for all of us – a lot of us are going to get cancelled mid-season, no storylines wrapped up.
the end can be beautiful. every day ends, every second and every millisecond ends. it isn't that just the death of a moment. the end of a memory. i think what we really mourn is what we should have done, what we could have done, what we had, and we don't focus on what we still have — each other. our memories. our moments. our days together, our seconds together our milliseconds together.
i feel grief is something to be shared, not gatekept, not policed, not to do alone. collective grief can be liberatory — movements have been built on it. but we have been isolated in an incredibly isolating system in an incredibly isolated country for a pandemic and a half (maybe 2 if we count the ooh ooh ahh ahh one and 3 if we count polio). as i get older, i spend less time ruminating on what i had and more time thankful for what i have. i have perspective, i have experience, i have love, i have friends, i have family, i have memories, i have love, i have love, i have love. in an increasingly isolated culture, we need to be together. ego must die. power plays must play out. we need to embrace celebrating what we have and sharing it rather than perpetuating the cycle of sadness, depression, loneliness, and ultimately the loss of time, a very finite resource.
urgency is a tool of capitalism. it’s wild that during a time of great global loss, people still have time to tell you to speed up your grieving process. on top of that, it is wild that there’s an ignorance-fueled, clandestine, and amorphous selection process on what deserves grief, who gets to grieve, and how they get to do it. i tried to speedrun through my grieving process and every single time that i attempted to hustle back to my scheduled life program, already in progress, i had to keep taking mental health hiatuses – coming back over and over and over again, with a diminished audience every time. but as any fan of a tv show knows, you will find die-hard fans, die harder family, ride-or-die friends. and if you’re still rocking with me, understanding how difficult compound grieving is, i see you and appreciate you and everything you’ve given me. just know i cherish what we had and what we have and whether or not we continue, i’m going to keep living in the moment. it’s not a perfect process, it’s not easy, but the old me passed away – rather than grieve what was, i choose to celebrate what is and what will be.
i spent an evening alone. L train. wilson ave. if you know, you know.
the station is directly across from a cemetery and every time the train pulled away from the station, i felt the suction of sound and presence leave the station. there was no place for noise, yelling, cacophony of any kind at the wilson ave station — i never wanted to disrupt the dead. final rest, well earned; who am i to disrespect that?
i’m a rock. i’ve been a rock for many and i’m learning to let them be a rock, stone, way station, shoulder to cry on — really anything — for me as well. a rock on solid ground can stand. might get jostled, might shake but it will stay in one place until an outside force rocks it. and for years, many an outside force (and sometimes inside ones) have pushed, pulled, and eroded the structure of role i played of “the rock.” no dwayne johnson, but you get it. more recently, i felt the ground beneath me disappear; i fell through it for a microeternity only to land in endless water. for me, the water was a soul shaking splash but to the vast ocean, it was only a ripple.
rocks can’t swim. they sink. and with more time, more problems, more grief, more loss, i sunk deeper and deeper until i finally felt the ground around me, the thunk echoing in the deep but not loud enough for anyone to retrieve me. so there i sat, for years, waiting for retrieval. meditating on the world, marinating in the trauma, and letting the monotony of depths be my chosen new home. the water whipped around me, continuing the erosion, but it wasn’t the erosion of the structure of who i was. it was the erosion of the illusion that i was a rock. i am more than that. as that illusion melted away, what remained was smoother, human, vulnerable, patient, and most importantly, drowning. so i swam. and swam and swam. up, up, up, seeking lighter water, searching for the moment i would breach the surface and feel the warmth of the sun, the euphoria of the first breath of fresh air, and the reward to my years of meditation, marination, and monotonous existence.
but it didn’t come quick enough.
i had plenty of time to think as i rose up. life is what we make it. if you think you’re a rock, you’re a rock. if you think you’re water, you’re water. most importantly, if you carry yourself as a rock, people will treat you as a rock. but i’m much more than just one state of matter, state of being. i’ve been a rock. i’ve been stardust. i’ve been water. i’ve been air. i’ve been fire. i’ve been brother, son, uncle, mentor, mentee, leader, follower, writer, dj, teacher, learner, observer, participant, black, african, muslim, straight, queer, and i’ve never been just one of those things. i’ve been. period. and if i can be one of those things, i can be all things. i can be anything.
and with this realization, i finally breached the surface took a deep breath, let the sun bathe me, let endless echo of drowning be replaced with the fill off the offbeat but still rhythmic waves that no longer held me back but held me up. i opened my eyes and-
back at wilson ave. the sound of waves echo faintly but they’re replaced with the sound of an outgoing train — i’m somehow still in the middle of the water and i’m at the station. i want to cry for help but i don’t want to disrespect the dead. all i can do is keep afloat, go in a direction, and hope i find the right place to finally feel solid ground again. so i keep swimming, refusing to let the deep drag me back down. i learn to float when i’m exhausted, to stop fighting the current. i learn that if i can be a rock, i can be a sponge and nothing floats better than a sponge. while i floated, i absorbed water, learned to accept being softer, squishier than i ever let myself be before. along with water, i took in lessons from my own history and others, books, movies, overheard conversations, absorbing as much as i could.
i felt like i swam forever before realizing i wasn’t leaving wilson ave. something needed to be confronted. something needed to be done, to said, to be seen. something. what called me back to this place, on this specific platform, at this specific time of year…then it hit me. so i finally spoke:
ryan mccormack.
i love you, man. i’ve avoided coming back here because i’ve avoided confronting how much i miss you. i’ve avoided chicken parms, i’ve avoided throwing shoes, i’ve avoided king kunta, i’ve avoided laughing so hard i’m shaking. it’s raggedy out here without you. i remember your audition for don’t throw shoes in college— unhinged but undeniably hilarious. but you knew that.
first things first, i’m sorry we failed you. everyone. all of us. you were the brightest light in so many people’s lives and we let it be extinguished — i’m not blaming anyone in particular, but collectively, as a community, we never knew, never made adequate enough space for you to be soft in — space that you made for everyone whose life you touched. we were kindred spirits, i genuinely believe so; whether we had the vocab for or not, we loved community and being in it. you goofy motherfucker, you had a sketch team called ryan live, shit was named after you!! you think i’d be on any team with a white man’s name on it if i didn’t genuinely believe it was in jest and not all of us getting played. i never wanted to be famous i want to be heard and have fun doing it and that’s why i gravitated towards you when i finally started comedy in the city. you were pure, raw, talent and kindness and we were robbed of seeing you bloom.
if i’m being entirely honest — something i always could do with you — i don’t believe the bullshit excuse that when a person takes their own life it’s not our fault. there’s always something environmental that wasn’t adequate. i think that’s why i’ve always wanted it to be me instead — the guilt of including myself in that number who talked more than listened, distracted more than discussed, drank more than divulged. i’ve always wished i’d reached out to you, shared in trauma as much as we shared in laughs; maybe you would’ve felt less alone. truth be told, i was next if i didn’t get help when i did. i fantasize every few months that i was there to pull you back. i still dj these comedy shows and expect you to be in the crowd giving me a goofy ass thumbs up as the 808 goes on. i want to hang out with the ryan live crew but we’re just in different parts of our lives. a natural separation but still it feels fractured — the spectre of your presence still lingers. we all coped differently and while i never loved how some people coped, i loved them in all their complexity. people are in your life for a reason or a season and i wish i had more seasons with you, my g.
i don’t know how i ended up here at this station but as i’ve let go of my kung fu grip on control and floated rather than fighting the waves, i think you brought me here, ryan. i cried for years after you passed, man. not many people know but i left the funeral early because i wanted to punch someone in their chest. it’s still on sight for them but i make allowances because you wouldn’t like that. family’s doing good. i got great friends who know how much i loved you. erin’s making music, marasco out here doing uncut gems in real life. julian is painting. john out here jumping from set to set, working. nick out here improv-in’. lazarus is still hilarious and rubino still joking out here. don’t know what arti’s up to but she knows how to take care of herself. kev, pedro, everyone, we’re making do. i’m doing my thing, riding the wave. i’m moving again rather than staying in one place. but, in my low moments, i still go back and try and bring you to life. i’d do anything to have you, my grandparents, my homies right next to me…but i have to let go. i know it wasn’t in my power. i know i wasn’t there. you aren’t here. i have to keep swimming, keep swinging. the same way i carry my grandma’s tasbih everywhere i go, i carry a piece of you with me every day and wallah, i swear down, i ask myself “what would ryan say here?” when i write so many good, sweet characters.
i can’t keep trying to change the past. it’s locked in time and it happened. but the rest this ridiculous life shit is unwritten. the world will never have another ryan mccormack but i’ll do my best to keep the best parts of you flowing through me. commitment to community, collaboration, and curiosity. uncompetitive. supportive. silly (you would’ve loved silly summer, extremely your shit). kindness. warmth. joy. that stupid ass laugh of yours that would make me crease just because you laughed (sometimes the shit wasn’t funny but you laughed and that was funny enough to me). you were complex, raw, honest, and unfortunately, your time was short on earth. you’re a constant reminder that everyone is fighting their thing, their demon, their past, their present so it costs nothing to accept that and keep going, reaching out with love and not judgment, creating space in a world that continues to try and suppress it. i hate what some people said on your name but hey, trying to keep floating. that’s their journey, their story with you, not mine. you know who i’m talking about.
i feel lighter. i needed to say this all to you, ryan. i’m sorry i avoided it for so long. i was embarrassed, scared, and didn’t allow myself to be free of this. i have a hole in my heart, we all do. whenever you want to talk again, bring me back here.
until next time, buddy.
and like that, i left the station. still floating on, but somehow more buoyant.
a new current is pulling me in. and as i float on in that direction, i thank ryan for the time that he gave me and everyone he loved. i wish he was here to partake in the love that he well deserved but then i remember: he is.
so, forward in love. til next time.
🕊🕊🕊🕊
OH YEAH THAT DIZZY ASS FLOP ASS GOOF ASS QUEEN DIED
KINDA WILD TO BE INSENSITIVE ABOUT GRIEVING IN THE POST ABOUT GRIEVING BUT THINK ABOUT THE COUNTLESS BLACK, BROWN, AND INDIGENOUS PEOPLES ALL AROUND THE WORLD WHO LOST THEIR LIVES IN THE NAME OF THE EMPIRES OF EUROPE HMMMM WHEN DID THEY GET A CHANCE TO GRIEVE MUCH TO THINK ABOUT LMAO YEAH TAKE A SEAT
HERE’S SOME HAHAS
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