Many years ago, when I was an active blogger not only did I write, but I occasionally read and found myself in a community of fellow bi/gay married types all on different portions of their journeys and not all having the same destination. As quickly as it all appeared it faded, as seems strangely appropriate for a special moment in time.
There was one person who stood out for me – Spider. He was years ahead of me in the journey and took the time to reach out to me, not to stroke me but to call me out, provide a reality check in what was, and still seems to be, a time of unreality in my life. When I wrote about living in the basement and staying out late – very late (okay, once returning the next morning) he emailed me, not a public flogging but a private moment. He thought 1 AM was fine, enough time for a drink and a grope, but later than that was an insult to the woman who now occupied the master bedroom. Of course he was right.
And then there were the posts that he did, described in a post of mine from four years ago. To me it was monumental; to him not a big deal. He met some homeless guys in his hometown and took them to his home – a sandwich, a shower, and a washing machine. They did not move in but left there refreshed. Many of us were moved and told him so.
Then a period of silence on his blog followed by the news – he had gone to the Doctor with one complaint and discovered that he had others, a sick man at a young age. Occasionally there would be some update but ultimately quiet. I had tried emailing him a few times at the beginning – some moral support but never really had the opportunity to thank him for his efforts; I can be a bit high maintenance yet he was patient in his support and more importantly in his critiques.
Last night I received an email with a link to another blog:
I was sorry to hear of the passing of Brett. Brett was a local blogger (and dear friend) who wrote “Spider’s Web in Thornton Park.” His health had been failing and apparently he fell, hit his head, and a blood clot formed in his brain. I was told the surgery for removing the blood clot was successful, but he never regained consciousness after the surgery.
A sad day indeed.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Out of Words
The writing comes less frequently – easy to blame it on a “lack” – lack of time, lack of angst, lack of words. Time – well that part is true but angst and words: I suspect there is still some left. Maybe there is a feeling that there have been too many words or at least too many of the same ones. I would have thought there would be no new horizons – good and bad – to explore but it seems “plus ca change…” While it could be said the journey started decades ago, and in many ways it did, I am approaching the five year anniversary of the relevant portion so maybe a glance back and look at things today is appropriate.
Glancing back somehow goes to the title of this blog, something which always troubled me – a fleeting idea which somehow stays forever, not unlike our given names. Strangely though it has remained true, I may describe myself in polite conversation as “gay” but have spent enough time in this world to understand that underneath it all there will always be the “bi”. This is not a case of hedging my bets – I am in this new world - all in it appears, but I did enjoy the straight years, the sex with women, the sex with my wife. Which of course brings us to the next part of the name, that first “M” - as in married. Yes, I still am. In part a matter of convenience, a health insurance marriage but in part as a link, a link for both of us. We had the strange event of a twentieth anniversary recently; is it an event or more a nonsequitor? We chose event and had a leisurely two and a half hour dinner. Old friends, a life together but no longer the thought (in my mind) of maybe I’ll get lucky. (The rest of the blog name merits no comment: I am still white and still regret including that initial and am still male, though Carrie would not miss the opportunity to comment on that.)
There is more to be said of the family world but let’s bring in another element. I still have a boyfriend though after three years one might question why Phil has not been elevated: boyfriend seems so temporary, a date that may not make it through the week. This is a tricky subject with many elements, practical and emotional, but one stands out above the rest: Phil is not out to his adult children, nor does it appear to even be in the cards. I have struggled with this – what are my fair expectations, should it (or does it) impact me, does it make a difference? I know the children, they seem to like me, we have broken bread and the daughter warrants a little hug and quick peck on the cheek. My existence and family friendship is not in question.
But as much as I would like to ignore this – such a little thing in another wise good relationship, I no longer can. Strange how something with so little day to day relevance seems to carry so much impact. Of course it is the little things, hearing Phil talk of a trip to Chicago, our trip to Chicago, and not knowing if I was there. If I had pressed the point, an excuse for my being there would have been found, no outing that way, but the fact that one has to consider such geography is strange. The daughter has a wedding date set and I wish her the happiest of weddings – not the time for a family drama, but after that… And of course there is that nice invitation on the parlor table (okay, I don’t have a parlor but it sounds so inviting) with a cute little RSVP card. The day comes with a built in conflict, just the excuse I need. But the card still sits, awaiting my pen.
But let’s get back to the family. I have written of The Trauma, the one next to which being gay and breaking a family asunder pales by, if such a thing is possible: the soon to be ex son-in-law, still in jail, a pedophile, a blot on our landscape. Prior to the wheels coming off last July, things were settling in, Carrie and two children rebuilding, a quiet sort of life but quiet can sometimes be good. Then the arrest, an adult child moving home, a new baby crying for whatever it is they cry for – a bottle, a hug or maybe a diaper. And in a moment the peace shattered.
So you see there are words, many of them, too many for one entry but there you have it, paradise lost.
Glancing back somehow goes to the title of this blog, something which always troubled me – a fleeting idea which somehow stays forever, not unlike our given names. Strangely though it has remained true, I may describe myself in polite conversation as “gay” but have spent enough time in this world to understand that underneath it all there will always be the “bi”. This is not a case of hedging my bets – I am in this new world - all in it appears, but I did enjoy the straight years, the sex with women, the sex with my wife. Which of course brings us to the next part of the name, that first “M” - as in married. Yes, I still am. In part a matter of convenience, a health insurance marriage but in part as a link, a link for both of us. We had the strange event of a twentieth anniversary recently; is it an event or more a nonsequitor? We chose event and had a leisurely two and a half hour dinner. Old friends, a life together but no longer the thought (in my mind) of maybe I’ll get lucky. (The rest of the blog name merits no comment: I am still white and still regret including that initial and am still male, though Carrie would not miss the opportunity to comment on that.)
There is more to be said of the family world but let’s bring in another element. I still have a boyfriend though after three years one might question why Phil has not been elevated: boyfriend seems so temporary, a date that may not make it through the week. This is a tricky subject with many elements, practical and emotional, but one stands out above the rest: Phil is not out to his adult children, nor does it appear to even be in the cards. I have struggled with this – what are my fair expectations, should it (or does it) impact me, does it make a difference? I know the children, they seem to like me, we have broken bread and the daughter warrants a little hug and quick peck on the cheek. My existence and family friendship is not in question.
But as much as I would like to ignore this – such a little thing in another wise good relationship, I no longer can. Strange how something with so little day to day relevance seems to carry so much impact. Of course it is the little things, hearing Phil talk of a trip to Chicago, our trip to Chicago, and not knowing if I was there. If I had pressed the point, an excuse for my being there would have been found, no outing that way, but the fact that one has to consider such geography is strange. The daughter has a wedding date set and I wish her the happiest of weddings – not the time for a family drama, but after that… And of course there is that nice invitation on the parlor table (okay, I don’t have a parlor but it sounds so inviting) with a cute little RSVP card. The day comes with a built in conflict, just the excuse I need. But the card still sits, awaiting my pen.
But let’s get back to the family. I have written of The Trauma, the one next to which being gay and breaking a family asunder pales by, if such a thing is possible: the soon to be ex son-in-law, still in jail, a pedophile, a blot on our landscape. Prior to the wheels coming off last July, things were settling in, Carrie and two children rebuilding, a quiet sort of life but quiet can sometimes be good. Then the arrest, an adult child moving home, a new baby crying for whatever it is they cry for – a bottle, a hug or maybe a diaper. And in a moment the peace shattered.
So you see there are words, many of them, too many for one entry but there you have it, paradise lost.
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