Dear Rebecca,
Next Tuesday, September 3rd, will be the 25th anniversary of our marriage. Of course, you're not here for us to celebrate together, but I don't hold that against you. You would be here if you could.
I miss you, but I think you probably already know that. I think about you everyday, and often wonder what you think of everything that's happened over the last 3 1/2 years. When you first went away it was hard even to breathe. I would go from hour to hour wondering what was next; and thinking about the next day, let alone the future, felt like a joke being played on me by the cosmos.
I did my best to be there for the girls, but that was so hard when I was barely there for myself. You'll have to ask them yourself how I did. They're far too kind and loving to actually tell me the truth. It feels as though I've let them down in so many situations that you would have handled with ease. I relied on your wisdom and guidance as often as possible. Thankfully, you had enough time with Emma and Grace to instill in them your resiliency and heart so that they were able to overcome my fumbling attempts to get things right.
You would be so proud of them. They both fill my heart with a love beyond measure (as I am sure they would yours). They are both spreading their wings and learning to fly without any nest in sight. I see you in them constantly. In each of their faces, and in each of their souls. They are our greatest legacy.
I struggled with moving on for a long while. At first it seemed like betrayal; that somehow I was being disloyal just for being here. Slowly, though, I realized that I had no choice but to move forward. The vicissitudes of time demanded it. The decision that left me with was deciding what moving forward was going to look like. Once again, I turned to you for guidance; and, once again, you showed me the way.
I started making decisions about my future, and I always considered what your point of view might have been. At first it was easy. When I made the decision to start getting regular exercise, I could almost hear you say, "Finally!"( Later, I amended that rather caustic response to a more benign "Good for you, Honey.") But when I met Cindy, and then later, when I made the decision to transition, I struggled mightily with thoughts that I was betraying you and our love for one another.
In the end it was simple: You loved me. In that moment, I realized that you wanted for my life to be happy and peaceful. If that meant being with Cindy and becoming a woman, so be it. That realization made all the difference. It's an amazing thing to come to the realization that our love for each other didn't die on February 14, 2016. It is still alive, perhaps a little tarnished and dented after 25 years, but what things aren't after that much time. It still has meaning. It still has power. It still means everything to me.
My life is good now. In Cindy, I have a person I love. My transition has filled me with a tranquility and peace of mind that I never had before. There have been many other positive changes in my life as well - I'm sure you would approve of the kitchen and our bedroom! (I'm less sure what your opinion of Max the Wonder Dog would be.) What hasn't changed is the love the two of us felt for one another as we said our vows in front of our family and friends all the way back on September 3, 1994. Oh, how beautiful you were that day!
I love you forever.
Wednesday, August 28, 2019
Wednesday, August 21, 2019
Number 54
"Diet?" Did Someone Say "Diet?"
It's been awhile, I know. In the first place I had to get my diatribe about the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame out of my system. In the second place I took some time to focus my writing energy on reaching out to individual friends and family. In the last place, by the time I accomplished the first two things, I had so much I wanted to blog about that I got stuck because I didn't no where to start. "Pick one, Nora,"
I said to myself, "and get going." So that's what I'm doing.
To the shock of exactly zero people, I make the following admission. I am a political liberal. Who knew, right? When it comes to social issues, I am a fierce ally to the many different groups of people whom those with privilege and power continue to marginalize. Heck, as a trans woman, the current president is actively trying to legislate me out of existence. The fucker.
But I'm not here to write about my political leanings today.
Just after the latest bloodletting in El Paso and Dayton, I took to FB and wrote the following: "I'm trying to diet using just thoughts and prayers. So far I've gained 10 pounds." I thought this was a most excellent example of the literary technique known as 'sarcasm' to describe the blathering inanity of politicians who offer "thoughts and prayers" after each mass shooting, but nothing else. Many, in fact, do their damnedest to prevent anything constructive from being done.
But I'm not here to write about my support of various gun control measures.
I received a fair number of responses to that post, but what was fascinating was that three women, from three different parts of my life, interpreted my comment literally. No shade on them - my wit tends to be rather dry, and I've been told by others that they don't always know if I'm being serious or not. Picking up sarcasm is even trickier when it's written.
In any event, these ladies offered my support with my dieting, that weight loss was a daunting and tricky proposition. One of them "welcomed me to the club, " because, as a newly minted female, I now got to experience the trials and travails of weight loss. I marveled about this apparently ubiquitous, socialized pressure to not appear over-weight which led three different, intelligent women to immediately assume that my comment, which actually had nothing to do with weight loss, was about weight loss.
As my transition continues, and I feel more and more at home with my female identity, my feelings about many things have shifted subtly. Sex discrimination is an example. Before, when I identified as a male, I certainly objected to it and knew that it was wrong and detestable. It made me angry. Now, while sex discrimination still conjures up all the same old feelings, an extra feeling of personal affront has been added to the mix. "How dare these things happen to us!" as opposed to "How dare these things happen to them!" if you will.
It was both powerful and unsettling feeling to be confronted by the various stigmas that women in our culture face when it comes to our physical appearance. They're bullshit, of course, these messages that women are bombarded with on the daily. Too fat, too skinny, too much make-up, not enough make-up, blah, blah, blah. I'm fortunate that I'm already 53. As a middle-aged woman, the 'Rules of Appearance" aren't quite as strict. I'm also lucky that I didn't grow up having all this shit about 'proper appearance' shoved down my throat when I was younger. But I sure as heck had a personal encounter with it the other day, and that was enough to know it sucks.
It's been awhile, I know. In the first place I had to get my diatribe about the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame out of my system. In the second place I took some time to focus my writing energy on reaching out to individual friends and family. In the last place, by the time I accomplished the first two things, I had so much I wanted to blog about that I got stuck because I didn't no where to start. "Pick one, Nora,"
I said to myself, "and get going." So that's what I'm doing.
To the shock of exactly zero people, I make the following admission. I am a political liberal. Who knew, right? When it comes to social issues, I am a fierce ally to the many different groups of people whom those with privilege and power continue to marginalize. Heck, as a trans woman, the current president is actively trying to legislate me out of existence. The fucker.
But I'm not here to write about my political leanings today.
Just after the latest bloodletting in El Paso and Dayton, I took to FB and wrote the following: "I'm trying to diet using just thoughts and prayers. So far I've gained 10 pounds." I thought this was a most excellent example of the literary technique known as 'sarcasm' to describe the blathering inanity of politicians who offer "thoughts and prayers" after each mass shooting, but nothing else. Many, in fact, do their damnedest to prevent anything constructive from being done.
But I'm not here to write about my support of various gun control measures.
I received a fair number of responses to that post, but what was fascinating was that three women, from three different parts of my life, interpreted my comment literally. No shade on them - my wit tends to be rather dry, and I've been told by others that they don't always know if I'm being serious or not. Picking up sarcasm is even trickier when it's written.
In any event, these ladies offered my support with my dieting, that weight loss was a daunting and tricky proposition. One of them "welcomed me to the club, " because, as a newly minted female, I now got to experience the trials and travails of weight loss. I marveled about this apparently ubiquitous, socialized pressure to not appear over-weight which led three different, intelligent women to immediately assume that my comment, which actually had nothing to do with weight loss, was about weight loss.
As my transition continues, and I feel more and more at home with my female identity, my feelings about many things have shifted subtly. Sex discrimination is an example. Before, when I identified as a male, I certainly objected to it and knew that it was wrong and detestable. It made me angry. Now, while sex discrimination still conjures up all the same old feelings, an extra feeling of personal affront has been added to the mix. "How dare these things happen to us!" as opposed to "How dare these things happen to them!" if you will.
It was both powerful and unsettling feeling to be confronted by the various stigmas that women in our culture face when it comes to our physical appearance. They're bullshit, of course, these messages that women are bombarded with on the daily. Too fat, too skinny, too much make-up, not enough make-up, blah, blah, blah. I'm fortunate that I'm already 53. As a middle-aged woman, the 'Rules of Appearance" aren't quite as strict. I'm also lucky that I didn't grow up having all this shit about 'proper appearance' shoved down my throat when I was younger. But I sure as heck had a personal encounter with it the other day, and that was enough to know it sucks.
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