Embracing all of Sandy's worlds

I have always been freaked out about mixing worlds. I know that who I am with one group of friends or family members may seem very different from who I am elsewhere. And I have never had a single core group that I hung with; I've always attached myself to multiple communities. But for the most part, they've all known about each other.

Sandy didn't put such an emphasis on keeping worlds separate; she just did it instinctively, on auto-pilot. And in her case, her worlds didn't know about each other. I could psychoanalyze why she kept each group isolated from the others, but ultimately, it doesn't matter. She lived her life that way for decades, and it gave her a sense of security.

We were a little nervous about mixing worlds the first time
my mom met her parents, in Port Angeles in 2003.
But everyone got along just fine.

As she was dying, many of those worlds came together. People who knew little or nothing about each other's existence - and importance - in Sandy's life spent many hours together, based at the hospice, experiencing the trauma and tedium that was her dying process. Sandy was a little alarmed to realize so many people were talking across the boundaries she'd carefully maintained, but I assured her, and others assured her, that it was a positive thing. And, really, she no longer had anything to lose. She wanted the people she loved around her, and there was only so much space and so much time, so they were going to be there together.

It was a good lesson for me, too, to have a little faith in the people I love and their ability to see what I see in them when they get to know each other.

The experience at the hospice and later at her memorial also showed me clearly how integrated our lives were. With the exception of a couple of friends from Sandy's life before we got together, I had an existing relationship with each of the people who were getting to know each other. I knew her family very well, and her closest friends, local and distant fans, work friends, caregivers, grad school buddies, and the other people who populated her life. It was important to her that I know them, as a way of knowing her.

We'd officially been together nine days when Sandy wanted me to join her in Port Angeles for a large family Christmas gathering. I thought I'd rather meet people in smaller groups, especially her mom. And we'd been together nine days. . .  though we'd known each other for nearly six years, we didn't know how we were together as a couple yet. But that enthusiasm for bringing me into the center of her life touched me deeply then, and continued to mean a great deal to me throughout our relationship.

Now, because she integrated me so fully in her life, I have my own relationships with the people who were important to her. They're my family, too, whether they were her blood relatives or chosen family. And it's a little startling to me whenever anyone seems surprised that I'm in touch with people from other areas of Sandy's life. From my vantage point, I could see all the facets of Sandy's world, and I strived to support her in all of them. In going through her things, I've yet to find any surprises, any signs of a part of herself that she didn't share with me.

Sandy pulled me into just about every corner of her world for nearly sixteen years. I'm grateful for the relationships I have with all these people who I've come to love, especially now that they also help me keep Sandy's memory alive.