You Decide

This piece is part of Yellow Scene Magazine’s Opinion section. The views expressed here are those of the author and do not represent a reported news position. At Yellow Scene, opinion pieces speak freely, challenge assumptions, and say the quiet parts out loud.

At my age, running a fool’s errand is foolish. There is scarcely time to run the errands that have good odds for success.

Using my inelegant words to describe the poetic documentary, Come See Me in the Good Light, is like taking up a paint roller to explain Picasso.

The film is a love story, often comic, about the late Colorado Poet Laureate Andrea Gibson (they, them) and their partner Megan Falley as they love and live into death. Gibson had incurable cancer and died in July, a month shy of 50. Much of the film is sited in or near their Longmont home.

The love story is poignant and painful, not unlike other love stories – perhaps like all love stories. The film captures the poignancy and the pain with raw brilliance. Love is complicated, but the film is like a gently boiling pan, the complexity evaporating as death nears. Love is all that’s left when the steam has gone. It is exhausting and exhilarating.

In a January interview, Gibson offered perspective that has stayed with me for days.

“I was known, I think, as a fairly optimistic writer that leaned toward the light,” they said. “But when I got diagnosed with cancer, I just thought, ‘Oh, look at all this that I’ve been missing. There’s so much beauty here.’ I could truly feel every second of the day as this very generous gift. And so it changed my writing.”

I am also a “fairly optimistic writer,” although my prose is a basket of rocks compared to their thimble (a nod to Ms. Falley) of gemstones. I’ve also been diagnosed with cancer, though there too I’m no match.  My prognosis leaves me with years, not seconds, as generous gifts.

I am taken with the idea, from where I don’t recall, that age would be better measured from the end backwards than from the beginning forward. At 49, Gibson was older than I am at 78.

Whether at 49 or 78, the end drawing nigh (ish) invites – requires – one to see beauty. A diminishing remainder of sunsets makes each one slightly more compelling. My wife and I gaze at our wheat grasses in the evening sun with reverence once reserved for drives through Vermont’s Green Mountains in October. (Ok, not quite. Get a grip.) But beauty is as we behold it, even when the field of vision narrows.

I don’t mean this to be as maudlin as it sounds in my mind’s ear, but age leads to reckoning that a great many things may be for the last time. When buying appliances or sturdy boots, that’s a good thing. But when touching loved ones or hearing Bach, the thought of “last time” is unbearable. But thoughts of “last time” also make moments of unspeakable beauty.

There is so much to learn about life in death. I suppose we don’t recognize the lessons because they’re often too late. The documentary’s gift was to give a preview for those open to it. We were.

When living in Vermont we had the great pleasure of acquaintance with the late Grace Paley, a marvelous poet and short story writer. At a reading in a tiny café in rural Vermont, Grace fielded questions from a small audience of aspiring poets and political progressives who just liked being in her feisty presence. One pretentious looking fellow in full flax, goatee and beret, asked Grace what her poem “meant.” She looked piercingly and responded, “I don’t know. You decide.”

There is a lifetime of wisdom in 104 minutes of Come See Me in the Good Light. The film is a poem. Perhaps you’ll find meaning as we did. (Update: This marvelous film received an Oscar nomination in January, 2026.)

Watch the film and you decide.