Last Dance

Our friend, Aaron Brisbois, surrendered to his battle with cancer last Wednesday. He fought bravely for years, never letting his beautiful spirit and smile be stifled by the toxic treatments to which his body was subjected in an effort to kill the cancer. It always had the upper hand on his body, but never on his soul.



Aaron was uniquely warm and accepting. We met in college. He was Max’s fraternity brother and he quickly became my friend. We went to many Sigma Nu dances together and at his memorial service Saturday, I flipped through some of the photo albums that held little bits of our history together as college pals and dance partners. We created the “Pet the Kitty,” the “Walk the Dog” and the “Feed the Chicken” dances, which only really caught on for the two of us.


Every time I saw Aaron after college, we danced. Any dinner party quickly turned into a dance party. Before the dishes were cleared from the table, the dance floor was prepared and the music was cranking. I suffered the worst hamstring tear of my life after I refused to be outdone by one of Aaron’s moves.


I dropped into the splits on the hardwood floor at Max and Bob’s in my grand finale and realized instantly that I had done irreparable damage to my leg. But I got up, swilled down a little more vodka cranberry and danced on. If Aaron could dance while a ferocious battle of good and evil waged on in his body (Health versus Cancer) I could dance through the pain in my leg. To this day, I still feel the damage that night did to my left hamstring, but every time it catches or gets tweaked, it reminds me of that night and of my good friend Aaron and it makes me smile.


I got up Saturday morning and drove to the Wellpinit Indian Reservation, to the West End Community Center where Aaron’s services were being held, just about a block away from where his body would be laid to rest. Aaron was very connected to his Native roots and he embodied so many of those beautiful spirit forces that are part his culture.


When I entered the gymnasium, I looked for Max and right away saw him across the room. I had to pause and swallow hard to try to stop the tears. He looked so tired, but at the same time, so strong. In the week prior to Aaron’s passing, he’d been through a lot. To watch Aaron die has been very painful. After he passed, Max was asked to help prepare Aaron’s body and though we talked about that experience, I know that there are no words that can truly capture what that must have been like for him. He said it is something that will be with him forever.


In this year, Max and I have experienced the loss of people that were so dear to us and who wanted nothing more than to be a part of this baby’s life. Though this little girl growing inside of me is lucky to have another angel to watch over her, I feel sad that she will never know our two friends that we have lost. If only they could have stayed just a little longer.


As I made my way across the floor to get to Max, I took in the room and looked for Aaron, too. Part of the Native tradition is that when someone passes, the family and friends stay with the body overnight. Though his casket was right in front of the room, it still didn’t even register in me that he could be in there.


The walls were covered with pictures and posters and letters to Aaron and there were tables full of photo albums, flowers, basketball trophies, plaques and ribbons. The chairs were lined side by side down the length of the gym and in the corner, near his casket, there was a circle of elders and tribe members and drums that were presently silent.


I hugged Max and his hands quickly went to his daughter. We haven’t seen each other in many weeks and his girl is growing at a rapid rate (this girl is, too). We had a moment to catch up and then the service got underway. It began with the circle of drummers pounding out a rhythmic beat on their drums and with the elders and others chanting a song to send Aaron “home.” The girl in my belly responded with kicks and twists as the drums pounded and the women’s high voices rose above the men’s. She was dancing Aaron home, too.


I loved this traditional tribal ritual aspect to the service; so pure and organic. Aaron’s grandmother and other tribe members rose and made their way to his casket. She spoke over his body in her native tongue and then they sang two songs to bless him on his journey.


Native voices singing together are beautiful. Though the song was a sad one, if I closed my eyes, I could picture Aaron smiling and dancing his way home. I pictured it was along a river’s edge, maybe because of a picture I’d seen of him earlier, smiling along a river bank, with beams of sunlight making their way through the pines and casting dancing shadows along the shore to guide him.


There was another element to the service that sadly took away from these beautiful images I was enjoying in my mind’s eye. A local pastor got up and read scripture, very poorly, from the Bible making sure we understood that though Aaron had sinned in his life, God would forgive him.


When I think about the life Aaron led, no where in that thought do I consider him a “sinner” and I wonder if it was this pastor’s way of letting everyone know that though Aaron was gay, he would be okay. Aaron never had an unkind word, would never hurt anyone, and was pure sweetness, really. The minute the pastor stood up, I wanted him to sit down, because obviously he didn’t know Aaron. Both Max and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes and talked about taking the pastor out at the knees on our way back from the gravesite.


Two and a half hours after the ceremony began, it was time to move Aaron’s body to his final resting place. With drums pounding, we lined up to pass by Aaron’s open casket to see him one last time. I have never seen a dead person before and I was a little bit nervous to see Aaron.


Once I got to his side though, it was like looking at a wax shell; like seeing a chrysalis after the butterfly has flown away. Though this was the body that housed Aaron’s spirit while he was here on Earth, there was nothing there in that casket that resembled Aaron and the life he exuded when he was alive.


I’m actually very glad I saw him this way, because it affirmed my belief in the soul and in the cosmic life forces that bind us. Aaron was clearly gone. This was a powerful moment of recognition for me. Souls move in and out of this earthly life and somewhere, Aaron is either watching over us or waiting to be reborn or is just moving through us and around us.


In any case, I felt his presence right there near me and it was almost as if he whispered, “See, I’m out here. That’s not me anymore. Come outside, look up, look around, you’ll see me in everything.”


It’s Memorial Day Weekend. I’m home alone and I’m remembering my friend, Aaron. I’m remembering Josh. I’m remembering my grandparents. I remember them as my friends and family, but I know them all as part of me. Here with me now. Always connected. Always close to my heart.


We will dance again, my friend.