Left Behind

I had another post written for this week.  It was all prepped to go, but then something happened.  My great-grandmother died.  In the car to Chicago, I went to check Facebook and my cousin had posted something about it.  I’m still really pissed that I found out that way.  Anyway, I’m going to talk about that instead.  I hope you don’t mind.

It’s not like she was young.  She was 104 1/2 years old.  She lived a very long and full life.  It’s also not that I’m not sad.  I’m extraordinarily sad.   I’m all torn up for various reasons that I’m not about to talk about with people I don’t know.  What gets me is that, while I’m here feeling all these inside feelings on the outside, the one I wasn’t expecting is relief.   She lived this full life and now gets to go on the next great adventure, yet I’m the one with the weight off my shoulders.  I loved my great-grandmother, and now I never have to break her heart.  I never have to come out to her.

I really wish that I could’ve been honest with her, as I wish to be honest with the people in my family who aren’t my parents (who already know).  I wish things would’ve been okay.  It would not have been okay.  She would not have understood.   There was no way.   The memory that keeps playing is me at nine years old and her talking to me about some woman being with another woman.  She thought it was gross.   She didn’t understand.  I didn’t get why this was a big deal.  It was two people doing what they wanted to.  It didn’t affect us, so why should we even care?   She tried explaining it to me.  I think she mentioned Jesus.  I still thought it was fine.  Looking back, this makes perfect sense.  I would come to my senses one day, but she would stick with the ways she always had.  This is how it was meant to be.  It meant things were as they should be.  It also means it would not be okay.

Things were never bad.  She loved me.  I loved her.  Sometimes, though, love isn’t enough.  I’m proud of who I am.  I’m proud of my life and the people I care about and what I stand for.  Sometimes pride isn’t enough.  I work hard and educate myself and my family is proud of who I am, but they don’t know this part of me.   Sometimes you have to accept that coming out will not make things better, not for you, not for them, not for anybody.

I am all about coming out.   Anyone who has ever met me, family excluded, knows this.  Anyone who has ever read this knows that.  People will not change how they feel about GLBT people unless they know that they know one.  Still, there are times where it isn’t safe.  There are times where it is too risky.  There are times where something is more important.   In my family, there are a lot of awesome people but also a lot of screw ups.   The fact that I’ve never done or sold drugs, been to prison, had a kid, stolen from my parents or grandparents, and the fact that I finished college and am in grad school makes me a bit of a golden child.  I hate to say it, but I like being this.  I like that people in my family don’t have anything to hold against me.  It’s the one stable thing I’ve got going in my family.  The idea that I could lose all that over who I want to be with scares me.  It may sound selfish, but we all need approval.  I need approval.  I need my family to love me.   I don’t want to risk that.  Sure, things could be fine, but if they aren’t, who do I have left?

You can call me a hypocrite.  You can call me a coward.  I feel like a coward.  Still, at least I’m honest.  I know what I can handle.   The image of this woman who had lived through so much, who had so much insight and life, rejecting me kills me.  I am not proud of my hiding, but I’d rather she be proud of me than me be proud of myself.  I’m not some stupid nine-year old kid anymore.  It matters more now.  For the members of my family left behind, it will continue to matter.  I may be a coward and a hypocrite, but I am loved.

This is the second time a relative has died since I came out.  I was relieved the first time, too, although it wasn’t the same.  The first time it was my grandmother.  I didn’t like her.  She ignored me most of the time.  She was an evangelical pastor, and I joked that I would come out to her if I could, but it might kill her.  That joke isn’t funny anymore.  I didn’t want things to be like that again.  I wanted the next time to be different.  Clearly, it isn’t.  I didn’t come out to any living family members then, either.  I had a girlfriend then, and she knew what was happening, but I didn’t want anyone to know about her, about the person comforting me.  I don’t want them to know this time, either.  Sure, I’d like to be able to force the words out.  I’ve tried, but I can’t bring myself to do it.  I’m paralyzed.  Hopefully, someday, someone will let me know that it’s okay, that they know.  Maybe someone will free me.  I’m not holding my breath.

I’m lucky.  I’m afraid of losing love.   Others are afraid of losing their homes, their financial support, their lives.   They have so much more to lose.  That’s why coming out is an important personal choice.  People have so much to lose, and we should not judge those who choose self-preservation over openness. If they do not do harm, we should not harm them.  We should try to listen, to understand.  We should try to support.

Rest in peace, great-grandmother.  You are now in heaven, where you know all.   I have no secrets from you anymore.  I hope you love me still.

Thanks for listening, guys.

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