Picking up the Pieces

It’s been over three years since you left me. Three long years of self-reflection. The first six months were the hardest: full of thoughts of suicide, of self-harm, of self-destructive behavior.

I simply couldn’t see how I could go on without you, or if I even wanted to.

But I muddled through, found a new place to live, made new friends. And stayed on my meds. I finally put the pieces of my shattered life together again.

Until Last Week

When you told me you were seeing someone new. I congratulated you, and even meant it. But I was glad we were talking by text, and that you couldn’t see my facial expressions.

As we talked, I realized that I had been holding out hope that we would someday be together again. I mean, that’s what you once promised me, wasn’t it? That you always wanted me in your life?

But I finally realized that what I was still hoping would happen wasn’t going to.

And I finally had to accept that fact.

And I have. Yesterday, for the very lasting time, I cried and mourned the death of Us. The unit we had become.

This morning I determined that no matter what the future brings, you’ll always have a place in my heart.

And I’ve also determined that no matter what happens in my life, I will never again love someone who doesn’t love me as much as I love them.

Happy Father’s Day?

Today is Father’s Day, with all of the commercial hoopla that usually accompanies American holidays. Love your father? Prove it by spending money. Publish your advertising saying “Happy Father’s Day! Come spend money with us!”

Here’s the thing: for many of us, there is no “happy” in Father’s Day. I lost my father when he died a year and a half ago. But in a larger sense, I had lost him several years before that, when I was outed to him as being transgender. This turned out to be a larger truth than his parochial worldview could encompass, and he cut off all contact with me. That was his interpretation of Biblical scripture: no matter what Jesus said about love, my father decided instead to follow a vaguely-worded Old Testament verse and disowning me completely.

But the time came when he reached out to me in an attempt at reconciliation. We spoke for over an hour on thee telephone, and concluded by saying we loved each other. That was our last time: he died four days later.

The Point?

If there’s a point to all of this, I think it’s this: don’t give up on love. Don’t give up on your parents, don’t give up on your children. And don’t base your acceptance of each other on the words of primitive sheepherders who thought everything they couldn’t explain was attributable to gods.

Remember, these people didn’t even know where the sun went at night.