Number 60

Autumn in New England (part III)

Isn't it interesting that I initially thought I could put down all my thoughts about this trip in one post? I suppose I could have, but who wants to read a single blog entry that's as long as War and Peace? In any event, I'm in another coffee shop (The Coffee Hag in Mankato, MN)(my home turf), where I am planning (hoping?), to finish my account of my recent trip to New England.

Somewhere on my drive east, probably Pennsylvania, I decided to leave some of Rebecca's ashes on the grounds of the three hospitals where she had had spent most of her working life. In each of these places, she had touched hundreds, if not thousands, of people with her unique brand of humanitarian professionalism. With her, you couldn't separate the two. It was her calling card. She strove to work collaboratively with the M.D.s and other healthcare professionals using the most up-to-date scientific standards. At the same time, she never forgot the humanity of her patients. Time and time again she extended herself beyond what most others would do, to ensure that patients and their families were cared for properly. Most of us, in our lives, will encounter different situations that need attention and think "yeah, but somebody else will take care of that," and walk on by. That response was not in her DNA. If she encountered something that needed to be done or someone that needed to be looked after, she did it.

On Monday morning, October 7, I stopped at the Dartmouth-Hitchcock hospital. After a brief walk around (it was raining!), I reminded Rebecca of all the lives she had touched in that place, and let her ashes go with the wind.

The next stop for me was East Andover, NH. My sister-in-law Sarah, and her husband Chuck live there. Prior to my arrival, this was the visit that filled me with the most apprehension. You see, when I met Rebecca, I was immediately and enthusiastically welcomed into her family. For the next 20+ years, Ousley family gatherings were an important part of our life together. After her death, two events left me feeling unsure of whether or not I still belonged in the family. The first was my relationship with Cindy. The second was the discovery of my gender dysphoria and my decision to transition. I personally struggled a great deal with these two things - specifically in terms of what they may, or may not have suggested about my relationship with Rebecca. My anxiety about all of this was manifested in thoughts that her family no longer wanted anything to do with me. That by making the choices I had made, I had somehow 'disrespected' Rebecca in some unforgivable way. I had finally made my own peace regarding these feelings, but still didn't know if I would be welcomed by members of her family.

Three days later, after many tears, runny noses, and soiled tissues, I left their home secure in the knowledge that I was still a welcome member of the Ousley family. Sarah, who had been as devastated as anyone over Rebecca's passing, and I had many wonderful talks about Rebecca. They weren't all easy, as the wounds of her passing still possess the ability to cause great pain, but they were cathartic, I think, for both of us.

On Tuesday morning, October 8, Chuck, Sarah, and I arrived at the top of Mount Kersarge in central New Hampshire. We drove most of the way, and then climbed the last 1/2 mile. At least that's what the trail sign said. Chuck was sure that the mountain had gotten much taller since the last time he had walked that trail, some 20 years earlier! Rebecca loved the New Hampshire outdoors, and much of her recreational time when she lived there was spent hiking, biking, and skiing; so it seemed appropriate to leave some of her ashes in the New Hampshire wilderness. There was a stiff breeze blowing that Tuesday morning, so all I had to do was to hold up my hand, and let the wind take her ashes.

I left for Maine on Thursday, October 10. On my way I stopped in Concord, NH, to have a meal with Moira. Rebecca and I had met her when we all lived in the same (sub-divided) house in New Haven, CT. Moira is the oldest friend that Rebecca and I had in common. She has a wit as dry as the desert, and while I couldn't practice my skills with sarcasm around Rebecca, Moira and I could have a "dueling banjos" type of competition in this regard. She usually won. What most people don't know is that she actually has a huge heart, and an acute sense of looking out for society's underdogs.

When Rebecca died, I had her address book and phone (with its many contacts). I knew there were many people that I should have reached out to with news of her passing, but that was much too painful to contemplate in the immediate aftermath. By the time I began to consider doing so, I had lost the address book and forgotten her phone's password. I didn't really matter, though, because I still really didn't want to tackle notifying her old friends. Well, except for one or two people. Moira was one of them, but I now lacked the necessary information to reach out to her. Oh well... one more friendship lost to the passage of time.

Except I ended up not settling for that ending. When I started planning my trip, I did my best to find Moira. Thankfully, unless you're a hermit, the internet makes it relatively simple. I reached out, and she quickly responded with enthusiasm. We shared some life updates, and made our lunch plans. As lunch wound down, we wished we had more time. But she had a hair appointment that she considered more important than a long, lost friend, so we went our separate ways. (love you, Moira!) One more old friendship dusted off and re-established.

(to be continued)(and completed next time)(I promise)