I am, frankly, surprised how hard David Rakoff’s death is affecting me today. I’ve been a fan of his work on This American Life, and love his charming, witty stories, as much for the content as his delivery. I’ve fallen off listening to This American Life as a regular practice lately. Just simple, embarrassing neglect really.
I hadn’t really realized how ill David was. Last week, I listened to the audio of the live This American Life episode that he participated in. The story he told, “Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board”, was about his illness and what changes in life it brings, the things he misses doing. And then, suddenly, he dances, one last time, on stage. It was sweet and moving all at once and I found myself tearing up.
A week later, he’s gone. 47 years old. Cancer. And even the thought of watching the video version of David Rakoff dancing brings me to tears.
I think I figured out a big part of why I’m hit so hard by his passing. It occurred to me when I was reading this beautiful post “On Already Missing The Angry Passionate Writing of David Rakoff” by Linda Holmes. As Linda wrote:
”…like David Rakoff, you can also be genuine and enraged and passionate about the whole of humanity, even when (especially when) it disappoints and maddens and angers you.”
In mourning, I acknowledge I have a deep, abiding love of people like that, who are funny and passionate and all those things. I find myself drawn to people like that in my life, and admire those who are capable of being all those things. I aspire to be all those things. And David managed to do all that and for that. I thank him for making me pay closer attention to that part of myself. I will miss him terribly.
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