I have blogged about death before. When Philip Seymour Hoffman died (here is that post), and when I came across a man on the highway who was hit by a truck minutes ago and died (here is that post), and when I was hit by a truck and didn’t die but woke up in the hospital with a bloody face and half of my body bruised black (here is THAT post).
Joan Rivers died 2 days ago, and multiple tweets about it made me look her up. Yes, I have heard her name. No, I didn’t really know who she was. It took for her to die, for me to discover her. Her biting wit, which I immediately fell in love with, and her heritage. Turns out, she was born to Russian parents. I was wondering what was so appealing to me in her humor. It’s the sharp unapologetic truth and the stabbing hilariousness and the bitter charm that I have in my blood, yet am still afraid to let go. Thank you, Joan, for showing me that I can. You told me that I can say what I think, through comedy. What would I have done without you dying? You can punch me in the face from comedic heaven for saying this, because you must be the queen of it now. I’m convinced of it.