Nothing worth having comes without a price tag. I firmly believe this. I don't really think I'd have chosen any differently in the path my life has taken over the last decade or so, unless it would have been to have started sooner.
Follow my below the Fleur-de-Kos, and I'll elaborate:
This morning, I received a call I've been both expecting and dreading for the last several months. My paternal grandmother, whose mother's maiden name I have taken for my own, passed away last night. I had to get this call from the nursing home, since no one in my alleged family is likely to bother to call me.
I've not actually written about my grandmother here before. Grandma Mary was always one of my favorite relatives while growing up, and became even more so after I started my gender transition in 2001. I've written before (and elsewhere) about how the deaths of both my grandfathers within a short time span in 1998 was one of the pivotal events that precipitated my need to become a more true version of myself. I had felt those two men to be bedrock that I could rely upon, strength to draw from as I was trying to navigate adult life. Losing both of them within just 2 months was difficult. I spiraled into depression, as I had done other times in the past. This time proved to be different. This time, my therapist was able to help me delve just a little deeper, under the surface grief and emotions, to help me uncover the root of my lifelong depression.
My memory is a bit fuzzy now after a full decade has passed. There were other triggering things that happened at the right time, when I was in the right frame of mind, allowing me to have this epiphany. I'll just say that the time was right.
My family had a mix of reactions. Initially, my mom was supportive, and my father uneasy. Then they flip-flopped. Things were at least marginal between us, until I went for my surgery. My sister (and only sibling) had called them and told them what I had done. I had planned to tell them myself, but was going to wait until after the fact, and once I was healed. My father could only grunt over the phone when I called from the Denver airport, where I was waiting for my flight home. That was in August 2005. I think it may have been possible for fences to have been mended, even after that, except for the fact that Rachel died.
Rachel had been a link between me and my own parents. Even they liked her, as did pretty much everyone in my life who actually got to meet her. Grandma Mary loved her. We made it a point to stop in a visit her any chance we got. She would often stumble on my name, correct herself and scold herself for forgetting. She also told me she was quite tickled by my choice of last name.
One of the conversations with her that I will treasure to the end of my days had to do with her relationship with her lifelong Catholic faith, and the church hierarchy. I don't remember exactly what brought it up. I do remember that it was one of the visits that both Rachel and I were there for. I suspect that somehow the subject of church came up. At that time, I was a fairly active Unitarian Universalist, while Rachel was a UU/Pagan. (Since then I've drifted pretty much fully Pagan, with UU friends.) The conversation turned to my feelings about the Catholic church, and my lifelong feeling of discomfort towards it. She said words to the effect that 'it was her church, and the bishop, etc. could go hang.' In more detail, she explained that, to her, the Catholic church should belong to its members, not its leaders, that they where 'a sorry lot.' Perhaps now folks may understand why I revere my Irish roots that came to me entirely through this woman.
I miss her.
She never did learn about my poly life. She met my first (of my current two) spouse before the dementia closed in. I went to see her last spring, and found that she was already long gone. She tried, but was completely unable to recall that I was her eldest grandchild, and certainly had no clue who my second spouse was. I don't know how she would have felt about that. I'd like to think she would have accepted it.
While writing this, I've been waiting all day for my alleged family to call me and let me know about her passing. Not a peep. There is precedent for this news blackout. I've still not heard from them about the traffic accident that claimed the life of my aunt in 2009. Since I started writing, the funeral home has posted an obituary containing the information I need for the service.
Now I must decide:
1. Do I go?
2. Alone?
3. One spouse, or two?
4. Do I extend an olive branch, or just go and remain aloof?
Tue Oct 18, 2011 at 6:25 AM PT: UPDATE: Wow, Community Spotlight! And for the least well-written of my few diaries! I thought I'd put some further info up here in the body of the diary. I've spoken to my cousin; she and her mother have volunteered to both sit with me at the service, and to defend me if needed from folks who might bear ill will towards me. I'm my grandmother's eldest grandchild and will be there with what pride I can muster. One spouse has cleared her schedule, the other is still debating. Service is Friday at 1:30, 5 hours from here.