Last week, I got the news that Ken had died. I have mentioned him previously. He was incredible. He was my first personal connection to that odd myth in the midwest called the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence…
He is also the one I mentioned that brought out my guilt. My guilt of surviving. Ken had cancer. And the treatments failed. The cancer grow and spread every time. Forgive me, I do not recall any specifics. Which kind, how long, what treatments…
I had made myself available to both his care-giver and one of his two boys. I wanted to visit him and spend some time with this man while the opportunity still lingered. I was not given the chance. It is disturbing how easy it becomes to let them go before they leave. This is three now. Maybe more, I am sure of it.
His memorial is tomorrow morning. I don’t think I will be there. The only reason I even know is because of Todd. I am not even on the email lists anymore. I did I not know that? I will have my own note of passing for Ken. It will be okay. And his pack will have their memorial as they set it to be.
Now I sit here, sobbing, not for Ken, but for others dealing with harsher cancers and harsher treatment than I ever faced for my hugely aggressive and violent cancer. I don’t know how to speak to people about this. Well, how to speak to folks with cancer. I know how to speak to those that don’t have it. Like aways, speak the truth and make them nervous. I always do that. My signature thing I guess.
I feel so disconnected here. Funny, to feel so emotional dead in a place called the Heartland… I think without knowing it, the people here are awful. They go about their lives dismissing and mistreating everyone that doesn’t fit their definition of acceptable, never realizing that no one fits the definition they set.
I feel disassociated and set adrift. I feel powerless to achieve anything but breathing. And that is close to all I manage. I crave to connect to those with whom I can feel united. To those to whom I can add my voice, making it powerful and whole and purposeful. I am sad here not because I am single, not because I am alone, but because I am not wanted, not empowered. This is an evil place, this Heartland. A place where hateful people make law and action based on hypocrisy and corrupt intent.
Of course I digress. It is what I do. I have no focus, no direction, just talent, not even all that raw. Lots of talent. I want that talent to have purpose. To make a difference. I have no idea how to do that. My parents have wanted nothing but their children to be happy. How could they have ever thought they could empower a gay, HIV+, post cancer man with the tools he needs to be happy. They are brilliant people in their own way, but they do not often leave their boxes.
Perhaps I have never accomplished much, because I never left my family. They are loving enough to hang around, but they are not enough to teach me to fight the way I will need to fight. Their love and caring are making me ineffective. I feel it on a daily basis. Perhaps I never really connected to anyone here because I still have my family. Perhaps that notion of queers getting two families is wrong. Perhaps we still only get one, but we have to choose which… It is a curious thought. I think I am ready. Ready to tell my biological family that I love them, but it is not enough.
It is not enough to have their love, but wonder if they ever defend their son when a member of their church talks hate. Tell them it is not enough to have their love if their bridge partners don’t even no their son is gay. This is how the hate spreads… The moderate folks in between never think anything effects them directly, so they never speak up against hate. Perhaps my abandonment of my family may show them they do have something to lose by not fighting this fight. Perhaps, I can make an activist mother. She has the brain and the mouth. My dad has all the passion needed for the emotional side of the battle…
I don’t know how to attach myself to a queer family without first cutting the umbilical cord…
gryphon's hole 