One thing about a death in your family, is how it brings out so many people and family you haven’t seen in years. I’m spending the spending the next couple of days seeing family and people connected to my family that I have not seen in years (Is that an awkward statement?). Obviously, I’m hearing all about people’s families and where they live who they are what they do, etc.etc. There are old emotions involved, old hurts exposed and, yet, happiness in seeing people that you have missed. Seeing my grandparents’ home, which I haven’t visited in almost a year (sadly) is also brining back a ton of childhood memories.
My estranged spouse has also called and asked if she could attend these things with me. I’m not a cold, mean, bitch, so I agreed – she has connections here anyways. But, the entire time I’m with her, I am hearing all about the different family members of mine that she hates and can’t stand. She has always felt that I never had her side about things that she has been offended about. She has some validity in some of her complaints, but all I can think is, “How, during this time – someone’s funeral – can you honestly make this about you?” I let the thought go, because I don’t want to argue, and I feel like I am already moving on. But I also noticed that I was beginning to get upset with some of my family members, just because she was upset with them. Sometimes, I hate that about myself – I adopt someone else’s feelings about things instead of just sticking to my own. Sigh…
I sat with my grandfather yesterday. We had dinner and I was listening to him and my mother talk about different things. As I sat and watched him and listened, I was hit with profound respect, as I recalled a conversation I had with one of my aunts earlier in the day. She had mentioned that he had told her, “I don’t want to live alone, I’ve lived in this house for 55 years with her…”. Of course, he was referring to my grandma. My heart was breaking for him. Since my grandparents come from what’s been called “The Greatest Generation”, you can imagine his resilience as a man from that time. I don’t think I have ever seen this man in a vulnerable state.
My mom and I were walking around this house. At one time it was a dinky little, one bedroom farm house. My grandfather had turned into a phenomenal house. He built a garage, turned the house into a four bedroom house. He turned an old dirt cellar into warm basement. and inviting house. They had expanded this house to accommodate their four daughter’s families during great holiday dinners. My mom was pointing out different places in the house where such and such item used to be. We walked through different rooms, remembering different things. We came across an old trunk in their storage room – the room I remember filled with tons of mason jars from when my grandmother did some canning. The storage room I was terrified of when I was a little boy (or was I little girl?). The old trunk was full of photo albums, thousands of old photographs were in there and I wanted to dig into it, but my mom stopped me and expressed my grandpa didn’t want anyone going through anything until after the funeral. I respected that…he probably needed to put some closure on things.
We wrapped up the evening, and my mom had expressed that they made me a pallbearer for the funeral. I became instantly aware that my mom didn’t know I was wearing panties at the moment. I have been wearing them more and more lately, as I begin to accept what I think is my true self. I began to feel guilty, like this is not what people should expect from me. They all think of me as the first grandson and not a granddaughter. I look at all my grandfather had done for my grandmother and I knew I could never be the man he was, and I knew I felt more feminine then masculine, and my guilt pushed into me like a fury.
Later, last night, as I sat down and checked emails I had an email from a guy I had been talking to hear and there for about the last month (I know, I know…I’ve kept it a secret and haven’t told anyone about him). When I separated from my wife, I made the decision that it was okay to begin meeting people. Granted, I haven’t met anyone yet, but have one personal’s ad online and receive a few emails from time to time. Nothing has struck me as worth-while yet; mostly, because a lot of the guys are looking for hook-ups and I don’t want a hook-up. But last night, the email I received asked me, “Are you looking for a boyfriend?”
I don’t know that there is the right chemistry with this guy, but the question was real. I am feeling overwhelmed with all of the emotions of this week, overwhelmed with trying positivity on my persona, overwhelmed with the path I’m taking towards divorce, overwhelmed with my grandmother’s death, and overwhelmed with accepting Stephanie (although I love her more and more each day). So I replied to him and told him, “I’m not so sure, I’m the girl for you. And I have so much going on right now with this funeral.” He replied, quickly and told me, “Fuck off, faggot bitch!” Obviously, I made the correct decision.
Sometimes, I just don’t have answers, and I need to live today for today and be available to the people that care…right now, that’s my family. And I’m changing for the better – I went for a walk, last night.