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September 1 will mark the first anniversary of my dear friend Amelia Coffman’s death. I am commemorating this bittersweet occasion by reflecting on what her death has taught me about life.
In telling her story, I hope to honor the lasting impact she made on me and so many others during her relatively short life.
Amelia and I first met in grad school when we were both going for our Ph.D.s. She was the kind of friend you could tell anything to because she made you feel truly seen, validated, and connected. She was also uncensored when it came to revealing aspects of herself. She wore her tender heart unapologetically on her sleeve. In an age rife with superficial politeness, our conversations felt refreshingly real, rejuvenating, completely accepting, and thoroughly authentic.
In her early 20s, Amelia faced a lot of emotional pain and self-loathing. She was an aspiring professional ballerina who developed a severe eating disorder. Because of her perfectionistic tendencies, she was plagued by her perception that she would never be good enough.
After a lot of therapy, soul-searching, self-reflection, and healing, she fully recovered and developed a passion for taking what she learned to help others. In graduate school, she became empowered not only to study eating disorder resilience and recovery but also to become a motivational speaker and an advocate for those suffering in silence from eating disorders. It was also during this time in her life that she found love. After having faced so much adversity early on, she seemed ecstatic to have found her true calling and was blissfully happy in her personal life.
Then, she started experiencing a series of major health and personal setbacks. She was perplexed when her body began to reject everything. She went in and out of hospitals for years with more questions than answers. Her disease was often misdiagnosed as a side effect of her eating disorder. EpiPens, feeding tubes, IVs, doctors, nurses, and debilitating pain became a way of life.
At one point, she went through intensive rehabilitation after losing her ability to walk. She was eventually diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease—eosinophilic granulomatosis with polyangiitis (EGPA)—which inflames small blood vessels and can cause severe organ or tissue damage; this disease in combination with a tragic flood of her apartment nearly took everything from her.
In May of last year, she called to inform me she was ceasing all life-sustaining treatments. Although her body was broken, her spirit was unbreakable. She no longer wanted to be chained to a hospital bed. She was going to dare to live, even if it killed her. She was at complete and utter peace with her decision.
According to the hedonic adaptation theory1, people typically return to their baseline levels of happiness following tremendously positive or negative life events. In Amelia’s case, she walked the fine line of doubling down on optimism and pragmatism at the same time. There were moments before her next relapse when she felt so hopeful about her future.
She packed up all her earthly possessions and hit the road. With only her dog Lulu as her companion, she drove to national parks and lived out of her car. She expressed the awe of a child at the simple pleasures of being surrounded by nature. She loved the serenity, and it healed her soul if not her body.
She spoke of the beautiful sunsets, the gurgling of brooks, the freshness of the air, and the rustling of leaves when a moose came by. She never dwelled on the fact that her disease had ravaged her body and robbed her of her finances, and simply, more time.
Amelia went into palliative care towards the end of summer of last year and passed away peacefully in a small cabin overlooking the Rocky Mountains—just a few days after her 39th birthday. In the face of death, she taught me so many important lessons about life.
Life Lessons
First and foremost, she taught me to not be afraid to live. Life is too short to be handcuffed to unhappiness. She was fiercely intentional, deliberate, and mindful about living out her last days on her own terms—a lone, wounded warrior in the untamed wilderness.
Conversely, Amelia taught me not to fear mortality. It was not that she had resigned herself to death but rather she would often recant one of her favorite quotes from the series, New Amsterdam, “The only way to beat death…is life.” She did not regret a single sunset or mountain.
She also taught me to ask for what I want and need from people, especially during difficult times when people are unsure of what to do. The day she entered hospice, she requested her friends and family flood her room with colorful flowers, so she could focus on the brightness while she was alive, rather than reserve them for her death.
She choreographed her "Celebration of Life" to a tee, choosing the church, the pastor, the music, and the booths to display her art so that those left behind would not be left guessing how best to pay tribute to her.
Finally, she taught me it is not only important but absolutely necessary to grieve a great loss. Grief is the natural consequence of having loved someone or something fervently and with your whole heart; in truth, this type of unfettered love is the only thing that makes life worth living. In one of her last Instagram posts, she featured the following quote from writer Martín Pretchel, “Grief is praise because it is the natural way love honors what it misses”2—overlaying a picture she took of the Royal Gorge in Colorado.
In her final days, she naturally questioned whether her life had meaning. She posted a pensive, melancholic poem to YouTube and wrote on her website that depending on who you asked, she was either a “complete failure or one of the most inspirational and resilient people you’ll ever meet."
To me, she was without question the latter. Witnessing her approach to death was a magnificent, exquisite, gut-wrenching, raw, and completely life-altering experience for me. I am so honored she chose to take me along on a small part of her journey. As for her legacy? I know that I, and so many others, whose lives she touched, will carry her honest, audacious, beautiful, and resilient spirit in their hearts forever.
References
1. Diener, E., Lucas, R. E., & Scollon, C. N. (2006). Beyond the hedonic treadmill: Revising the adaptation theory of well-being. American Psychologist, 61(4), 305–314. https://doi-org.ezproxy.lib.uh.edu/10.1037/0003-066X.61.4.305
2. Prechtel, M. (2015). The smell of rain on dust: Grief and praise. North Atlantic Books.
