Would you?

Christ of Saint John of the Cross

Here's an open letter to SSM and SL that is 20+ years in the making.

Dear SSM and SL,

How are you? Long time no talk.

I was writing in regards to a meeting we had a little over 20 years ago. It was when I left the convent and we just had a face-to-face to kind of wrap things up, I suppose. Oh my, did I leave that meeting angry. But, I drove off in my brand new VW Jetta, my freedom mobile, you might say.

The thing is, I did leave that meeting angry, but then went on with the rest of my life. I didn't realize just how much things said in that meeting really cut me to pieces. Shamed me is probably a good way to put it. But, the other day, I saw a picture of you, SSM, at a fundraising event for the community that was posted on social media. I did not expect to have such a visceral response. It was like I was punched in the gut and blown away at the sight of you. Bam! I was back in that meeting in that room with the crucifix on the wall and the two of you on one side of table facing me.

I don't think, or at least I hope, you didn't intend to shame me.

Mental health crises are real. The struggle people like me go through are not choices. In my case, my mom stepped in to get me truly life saving care from a psychiatrist because of the deep depression and anxiety I was experiencing while in the convent. Part of that care was to leave. I told you I was leaving. And, right now I remembered another thing that pained me. It seems my leaving was not communicated to others as it should have been. As I was packing, the other postulant came at me because she did not know about the situation. She proceeded to tell me I was in the wrong for just getting my stuff and going. She was not told that I was coming to do that. She and I already had our struggles, so this just added to that whole experience.   

Back to mental health and suffering now. Being told that your own suffering is not real suffering because real suffering was what Christ experienced on the cross. Here's the thing, though. From what the story says, Christ chose to suffer. The details about what crucifixion entails are horrifying, I will admit. That is some hardcore pain and anguish. But he did choose it. I did not choose to have major depressive disorder or anxiety. 

Let me ask you this, would you:

• Tell someone who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer to look at the cross and see what true suffering is?
• Ask a child who is in the foster system after surviving the terrible abuse inflicted upon them by the parent(s) who should have loved and protected them to look at the cross and see what true suffering is?
• Say to a legal citizen of this country who was "deported" to a prison and torn from their family to look at the cross and see what true suffering is?

I'm working on not to "should" myself anymore. I'm trying not to tell myself that I "should" be over things. It is time that I stop minimizing my experiences with my mental health because someone else has great suffering. 

I'm trying recognized that one's suffering isn't negated because another has it worse. That game serves no one well. My hope is that you try not to play that game, too.

With the sincerity I am able to offer at this time,

Meg

Our Father

This post's theme has been sitting in my drafts for months. 

I was thinking about my dad. It's not something unlike me to do. This whole grieving process is really something. You never know when a happy or sad memory will hit. It can be such a little thing that triggers it. Or, it's day on a calendar that marks some significant time in your life together. 

I lost my father. 

My four siblings lost their father.

We all lost the man who fathered the five of us.

However, when I think about it, we all lost a different dad. Each of us had our own relationships with him. Our memories and experiences differ. 

I read something one of my older brothers wrote about memories of things he got to do in his childhood with our father. It really struck me. It was sweet. It was his dad. They had their things. Things I didn't share in.

My childhood with my dad didn't involve days at the then Cleveland Indians' games. I went to evening Mass with my dad and would get a sucker from the corner drug store on our walk home. He would lie on the couch and watch public television. I would climb up and lie on his belly and watch Julia Child cook something neither of us would ever make. I would hang out with my dad on Saturday afternoons after my morning class at The Cleveland Museum of Natural History. Before heading home, we'd make a stop at Lakeview Cemetery to visit my grandparents' and other family members' graves. Then we'd stop at Hough Bakery where I would get a Lady Lock. 

When I was older, he gave me his copy of The Catcher in the Rye from his teenage years when it first was published. He said that he thought I'd like it. How did he know? Also, I became his date to see A Christmas Carol at Cleveland's Playhouse Square. We did this a few years in a row. Then we went on to get tickets for a partial season to see the world renowned Cleveland Orchestra at beautiful Severance Hall. We even got to experience the performance of my dreams when we had tickets for Carl Orff's Carmina Burana.  (My dad had the 1975 album that was a recording of the Cleveland Orchestra at Severance Hall in 1974. When I was little, the album art shocked and horrified me.)

Those experiences were with my dad.

I disagree with agreeing to disagree

I’m tired. I’m tired of so many things. The one thing that has really gotten to me the last 8 years or so is being told that differing opinions don’t mean we can no longer be friends and it is childish to think it does.

We are not talking about simple differences in opinions. We are talking about ideologies that impact actual human lives. These are things that are classifying some as lesser. The thinking that rights should be taken away because they shouldn’t have been granted in the first place is not simply an opinion.

Saying that Teddy’s Guncle shouldn’t have a legally, valid marriage to her wife with all the benefits that entails is not the same as saying that Coke is better than Pepsi (even though Coke really is better). Actively working to have it invalidated is not an agree-to-disagree situation for her or those of us who support her.

I had breast reduction surgery because I could longer deal with the physical issues having extremely large breasts caused. But, there was an internal aspect, too. I couldn’t live how I wanted, be who I wanted. This was fine. No one protested my right to the procedure. I wasn't told that God made me to have huge boobs and I need to live with 

Somehow, people see trans and non-binary persons as going through a phase; freaks; mentally ill; whatever other things they come up with to minimize their reality. Gender affirming care is necessary. If Conner’s step-sibling has top surgery so they are free to feel their authentic self, who did they hurt? They aren’t pushing an agenda that everyone should be breastless and should be non-binary. There is a sense of peace and pride that shows in their pictures now.

Folks who go crazy about pretty much anyone in the "alphabet [used in a derogatory way]" community, claim pretty much any one part of the LGBTA+ community is living unnatural lifestyles. I'm not painting with a broad brush here, but many of the folks with this thinking tend to be Trump supporters. Speaking of painting, these people need to look to their orange leader and recognize that he is being unnatural. Also, the amount of plastic surgeries and fillers and botox in his posse, are also not natural. So, they can have procedures that are not natural to make themselves feel better about themselves, I guess. But, the people who want to be their authentic selves, should not even think about having procedures done.

I want Teddy to have the rights to gender affirming care, if that is were his life path leads. Thinking he should not have those rights is not a little difference of opinion in our family. If you can't accept Teddy's authentic self and feel his rights should be stripped from him, then that's not a vibe our family wants to have around.

Then there is the desire for Gilead. Women around the country are having their bodily autonomy limited bit by bit, state by state. I'm almost 50 and do not have a uterus, so I know I won't be wearing red. But, we aren't Christian, so I'm not entirely sure where Shawn and I will fit. Conner, will end-up in red and I'm not sure where Teddy will go.

In all seriousness, the extreme ideas about women's rights are insane. Vance thinks childless women are a lesser class, yet is anti-IVF according to his voting record and things he has said. So, if you are childless, but don't want to be, then you're screwed. And, stepparenting does not count toward having a child. 

Women are dying because procedures are being made illegal that previously were life saving for an expectant woman. Some laws are so confusing that medical providers aren't even sure what they can and cannot do without risk of criminal charges. Carrying a dead baby to term seems cruel, not to mention dangerous.Touting something about "post-birth abortions" to make people think people are deciding they don't want to be a parent after having gone through an entire pregnancy is beyond ridiculous. The very idea of women being put at risk of death because of an ideology claiming to be "pro-life" is contrary to how my mind works. Women being allowed a chance to live shouldn't be minimized as one's opinion rather than a human right. 

I can agree to split a pizza with you on which your half has anchovies and my half has ham and pineapple. You can wash it down with a Pepsi while I drink my ice cold, Coca-Cola. But, if the conversation turns toward calling for the removal of rights for women, minorities, and LGBTQ+ individuals, I'm going to have to pay my half of the bill and walk away.

In a World

You know when you see a movie trailer and it starts with, "In a World" being said in a dramatic voice?  It's not usually the kind of thing said before a rom-com. So, if 2020 was to be a movie trailer, it would most certainly start with "In a World."

In a world where a president fails his country by not addressing the heads up on a virus, over 180,000 people have died.   

In a world where a president contradicts all the safety precautions to help lower the spread of the virus, six million cases have been reported.

In a world where a president "doesn't see" a report that Russia was paying bounties to the Taliban to kill American troops, American troops were killed.

In a world where a president says there were good people on both sides of an alt-right rally, the floodgates of racism burst open.

In a world where cops and racist civilians are killing POC, Black Lives Matter.

In a world of all these things, stress, anxiety, and depression can really take over. It seems hopeless.

But, in a world where a stepdaughter is pregnant, a baby boy will be born, and hope and love will rise.

TSK...The Black kids have the worst lunches

I've been watching interviews of Cori Bush lately. She's a nurse, single mother, ordained pastor and community activist. She just won the Democratic party's primary for US Congress in Missouri's 1st District. It's a huge win. 

Her interviews point out aspects of poverty. She talks about her own experiences with poverty. This is the topic of her platform. She talks about the cycle of poverty and how it is so difficult break from it. At one point she talked about food insecurity. As I listened, I thought of an experience from my college days.

One summer when I was in college, I worked for a summer day camp. No big deal, nothing fancy. It was part of the city's recreation department's summer programming. I like to think the director was ignorant, but I think she may actually have been racist. 

Some days we went next door to the city's pool. As the kids would get ready, I would help them with sunscreen. This included the African-American kids. In a snippy way, she asked me why I was doing that? I told her the kids still need protection from the sun. They can get sunburn, it may just take longer, but it can still happen.

Then, there was the time she made a snide comment about the differences in the lunches the African-American kids brought and the lunches the white kids brought. She thought it was terrible how unhealthy the African-American kids' lunches were. Therefore, the parenting wasn't as good. She needed to hear about how finances make a difference in groceries. The best options for healthy food cost more. Sugary "juice" drinks are cheaper than real juice. Produce is more expensive than chips. It's unfortunate, but is the reality some people live with. This food issue can lead to poor health, which is just another part of the cycle of poverty Cori Bush has as her campaign platform. 

#BLM

 

Peanuts vs. Jelly Beans

In fall of 1980, I started kindergarten. I was a 5-year-old. It was an election year. The Republican Ronald Reagan was running against the incumbent Democrat Jimmy Carter. Scholastic News had ballots for us to use to vote. They were pictures of each candidate. We had a booth to cast our vote. It was a "brick" cardboard play house. Each of us took a turn to go in and put the picture for our candidate in a box. I don't remember who won and I don't remember who I voted for, perhaps Jimmy Carter. I was 5, what did I know?

Around the time I was casting my vote, Jimmy Carter was signing the Mental Health Systems Act of 1980. The MHSA was to set up grants for community mental health centers. Their was a movement for rehabilitation of people with sever mental illnesses in the 1970s. The focus of the movement and the law were on the same page. So, community health systems worked to coordinate general health care, mental health care, and social support systems. I didn't know this when I voted in kindergarten because...well...remember I was 5-years-old.

Thirteen years later, I was just out of high school. I went on a service trip to the intercity of Cincinnati. It was about 10 days of living above a storefront with a bunch of teenagers and some adult leaders. It was incredibly eyeopening. We did various jobs. I was at a soup kitchen. It was like nothing I ever experienced. We had speakers who worked in different ways with the poor and homeless. We went to hear one person and that's how I learned about the floodgates of mentally ill persons being released from hospitals. A year after Jimmy Carter signed the MHSA into law in 1980, Reagan repealed most of the law. So, mental health care saw major cuts. 

This changed my view for the rest of my time in Cincinnati. There was a park in front of where we stayed. Lots of homeless were there. I talked to one man who was a Vietnam vet. It was obvious he really could have used help. He showed me the scar from his sternum diagonally down his left side around to his back. Much of what he talked about didn't make sense to me. If I knew about PTSD back then, I would guess that was one of his issues.

Many at the soup kitchen were surely suffering from some mental illness or other. One day, a woman came through the line. She was wearing a purple fishnet shirt. That was it for the top. No regular shirt. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't sure where to look. I mean, we talk to those who come through the line. It would be weird if I ignored her. She did the talking and moved on through.

In both kindergarten and the summer after graduating high school I wasn't aware of my mental illnesses. Now, I've been living with it, in good times and bad. So, it is a very important issue for me.

Looking at the two presidents and at an area that is very important to me, I'd like to think I went in that "voting booth" and voted in the interest of my future self. I'd like to think I voted for peanuts vs. jelly beans, that I voted for Jimmy Carter. 

Can’t we all just wear a mask?

I was speaking with someone of the belief that masks don't really do anything and should not be forced upon anyone. The "you do what makes you comfortable and I'll do what makes me comfortable" point of view. There seemed to be the idea that mask wearers were mean toward those choosing not to wear them. They were being picked on by those in masks. I pointed out that it wasn't like the reverse wasn't the case. Right in front of her people were calling mask wearers "assholes" and "sheeple" and whatever else. 

I decided to point out what I see is the importance of wearing a mask. There was an attempt to explain that wearing a mask isn't for your own benefit but for the benefit of others. I said that I wear a mask because my 83-year-old dad who has diabetes and end stage liver failure would die if he was in contact with COVID-19. This wasn't a situation of he could, he would. The response was that she wouldn't be around my 83-year-old dad. I'm not around him, either. He's in Cleveland. This was meant to make a point and I guess I made too much of an assumption about that point being understood.

So, here's the deal. I wear a mask because I have many family and friends who fit into one or more of the risk areas for contracting COVID. They are people with COPD. Some with diabetes. I mentioned end stage liver failure already. There some who are obese (yes, myself included). Someone I know is pregnant and she is in a state that is way out of control with the number of cases and deaths. I know people with asthma. There are people in my life who have an autoimmune disease, such as Sjogren's Syndrome, for example. I know someone with Crohn's Disease who had a proctocolectomy and an ileostomy and now lives with on ostomy bag. I know someone who came through having COVID, but now her lung capacity is not what it was. She now has a difficult time doing the singing she had so enjoyed. 

I don't wear a mask literally for the people I've mentioned. They live all over the place. I'm not in close physical contact with all of them. I wear the mask because those people have health issues that are found in other people all around me. I'm sure the person I talked about in the beginning has people like these in her life. 

I wear a mask; Shawn wears a mask; other people we know wear masks. We all wear them to protect others from ourselves. Why is it so difficult to reciprocate?

Just wear the mask. Wear it without needing a government mandate. I wear mine for you. Can't you wear one for me?....or, if you don't like me, wear it for someone else who needs you to, someone you love.

My independent study is in session and my white ass is in attendance

I know a lot. I did well in school. What do I know the most? That I don’t know a lot. 

With all that has been happening for countless years to People of Color is, for me, something I only know the tip of the iceberg about. For me to know, for me to understand, the onus is on me to learn. I need to read. I need to watch. I need to listen. 

POC have been teaching me for years. Not holding a class and teaching me as their student in a classroom. They have given me every opportunity to read, watch, and listen and it’s up to me to take note. It’s up to me to join their journey, not as a leader, but as a follower as I continue to learn and then side-by-side, perhaps. Moving always while watching and listening. 

Listening is an important word. I use it instead of hearing. Hearing is passive. I can hear things without having to pay attention. When you listen, you are active; you are parsing the words being said. That is important. I can hear “Black Lives Matter” and it’s just three words, three sounds. When I listen to “Black Lives Matter”, I start to think about what that means. And, when I move from listening to learning, I come to understand what is meant by the phrase. Also, I learn just how many don’t understand. 

I’ve also learned that being “color blind” is not what many POC want to be told. When someone says they are “color blind” or “don’t see color,” it can be an attempt at trying to say we are equal; you are just like me. Well, the way of the world right now shows we are not equal, that’s the problem. And, even if we were living under circumstances showing us to be equal, we are not the same. I want my white, freckled skin to be seen just as I want my black freckled friend’s skin to be seen. The array of colors we have all evolved into should be celebrated, not supposedly unseen. 

No boundaries are set where anxiety goes

Things have been all over the place, still, since my last post. Lots of crying, some anger. Down and down with little up.

The other day I was so upset with dealing with passwords I bounced between tears and anger. I actually threw my phone. This, no matter what I'm feeling, has never been a thing. I can't think of a time when I've thrown something in anger.

Today, serious emotional hot messiness. I cried about going to the bank. This is something I do every week (going to the bank, not the crying about it). There is a branch that is more practical for me to go to than the one I already use. It is so dumb to cry over, but it was really stressing me out. Shawn was telling me just to keep going where I go. That it isn't so far that going to the other matters so much. It isn't worth the anxiety. He's right, but I want to be a grown-up. I want to not have these feelings of panic and stress over something that any normal person does everyday.

I've also been dealing with anxiety over things much larger than my small bubble of life. In my white, middle-aged woman life, I can go out with very little worries about my safety. It gets to be too much when I see vile treatment toward minorities. I feel like I should watch the videos. That I should see what happened because what happened was too much to be ignored. But, I also know the limits of my emotional and mental tolerance...

I woke up to the Christian Cooper/Amy Cooper video. The WHITE woman was in the wrong. The BLACK man felt the need to record the incident. This woman is a terrible person. She knew the power she has over a black man. The way she made the call and the escalation and exaggeration in that call should make all people angry. As a white woman, I need to look at this woman's behavior so as not to be complacent, to never let it happen in front of me. In this story, Christian Cooper is the very lucky survivor of what could possibly have been much worse. 

There are the other racist actions...much worse results, but the racism is still racism. The names people should know are Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd. Racism buried them and many more. So many names should be listed here. These are the most recent in the news cycle that I get my news from. I can't imagine a life in which I have to fear the things that killed each of these people. My heart goes out to all of those who have lost people to the overwhelming evil that is racism.

Shawn wrote a great reflection on racism that I wanted to share:

"The word "racist" has done a lot of harm to white people.

No, not because it's hurtful or inaccurate or undeserved. It's harmed us because it lets us off the hook.

Most white people think of "racist" as a binary. Either you are one or you're not. That makes it really easy for us to form a very clear picture of what a racist is -- a Klan member, a Nazi, someone who uses racial slurs, etc. -- and proudly proclaim that we are not that. Who, me? I can't be a racist; I never use the "n" word!

Having absolved ourselves, we dust our hands and feel good about being so woke. There's no need for self reflection, no need for personal growth. We aren't that bad thing, so let's think about something more pleasant.

The problem is, no one is 100% free of racial biases (or gender, sexuality, class, or any other kind of bias). Biases are hammered into us from the day we're born by our friends and family, pop culture, religion, politicians, society itself. We spend our whole lives marinating in a soup of biases, some fairly benign, some decidedly not. So how could we avoid picking some of them up?

It's not enough to simply be "not racist". We have to do more; we have to dig deeper. We have to examine our biases honestly and work to educate ourselves. Because what is bias but applied ignorance? The only way to unlearn a bad lesson is to learn a good one. And there are plenty of good lessons out there, for those who are willing to learn.

Am I a racist? I try not to be, but it's a work in progress."

So, my anxiety knows no boundaries. Personal to worldwide issues, I will always find stressors. I'll have to figure some things out, but as Shawn says, "...it's a work in progress."

Just wear it

There are so many things going on right now. Things that are divisive. A different view on the handling of matters related to COVID. I have changed the way I do my job. My therapist and I have appointments over the phone. It seems like forever ago that we had an in office visit and who knows when we'll go back to them. I don't mind these things if they are going to keep Shawn, me and others safe.

Our life has changed in other ways. We were kind of homebodies before all of this, me more so than Shawn. It is kind of funny to me that being someone who stays home a lot was different when it was my choice, but when it had become a government order, I was a little annoyed. With all of this, we go out in public the least amount necessary and when we're out, it is for the shortest time needed to get things done. We wear our masks. Do I find them comfortable? No. But, I wear a mask to protect others from the chance I am infected. I wish those who don't wear them had the same consideration for us. 

This train

Sometimes the train of thought I travel is so odd. 

Yesterday, Shawn was talking about Trump. For some reason, I started to think about the way he sways back and forth when someone is talking. I have the sense that he is completely distracted as he does it. Someone else is speaking and he just doesn't give a shit.

After playing out that visual, my train moved on to the next stop. I started to think about the movement of someone holding a baby or small child. It's not the same as Trump's movement, but it has a certain rhythm. It's also contagious. I've caught myself doing it when being around the person who is actually holding the child.

Leaving the station now to make the next stop.

As I thought about the baby holding movement, it reminded me of a time years ago. When I was going through all the convent stuff and thinking about that life, I was at mass. There was a woman holding her baby and doing the baby sway. I caught myself moving, too. Then it was time to sit and I kept watching her. My thoughts moved to how to continue with my life's path, I was consciously choosing to never have children. Convent life meant never being called, "Mama".

Making way to the railroad switch. 

A thought about a swaying baby which turned to a thought about swaying with a baby, moves childlessness.

As we know, if you've been around to read some posts, the convent thing didn't play out. So, I no longer had to choose not to have a child. I could happily make that choice. Well, I could choose to try to get pregnant. But, infertility meant never being called, "Mama".

Mourning the dead in the age of COVID

The other day I had a terrible night of very little sleep, dry heaving, and overall anxiety. I asked Shawn to drive me to the office so I could get mail and other work to bring home. We drove by a cemetery. It had COVID testing signs. I couldn't help but think it seemed so morbid, but at the same time I understood how convenient it really is as far as the long stretches of road.

When we made our way back, there were groups of people on the sidewalk along the fence outside the cemetery. I thought that perhaps they were there for testing. I thought that would be odd as far as distancing and the tendency to have people drive through to get tested.

As we got closer, I could see a tent with a casket ready to be lowered into the grave. There were six people seated in chairs well spaced apart. There was a minister of some sort standing at the casket. Then, we made the connection that all of the people were there for the graveside service. All of these people with no way to celebrate the life and mourn the loss with a gathering of family and friends other than at a distance, along a fence.

On this topic, my dad's cousin lost his sister-in-law the other day. His wife had to deal with not being able to hold a traditional funeral. She worked with her minister to do a tele-service. A conference call, basically. That has to be so difficult.

Even as a person who practices no religion, who is an atheist, I can acknowledge mourning the dead in some form or another. Celebrating a life and mourning a death is simply a part of our lives as human beings. Hopefully, soon, life will get back to a place in which people can honor the dead in they way they find best.

Connect the dots

This is going to start off a little weird, like not 100% fitting to the post as a whole.

When I was little, like early elementary school, I was pretty familiar with funerals. My dad's aunts and uncles had started to die. I remember his grandmother dying. She lived in a nursing home a good drive away. She had broken her hip and then developed pneumonia. So, I came to associate breaking a hip with dying. I didn't really understand the pneumonia part, but in my mind, the two were connected.

As I grew up, I discovered that a broken hip doesn't cause pneumonia. I started to understand the connection of the broken hip to pneumonia was only that being bed ridden caused fluid to build up. Being as old as my great-grandmother was, all of these things created the perfect storm for her to be unable to combat the pneumonia.

Pneumonia.

Come the late 80s. The AIDs epidemic was making its way through the world. Our little corner of the world was not safe. My dad's cousin was infected, full blown AIDs, not HIV. Then, that word, pneumonia, crept into our vocabulary again. When he passed away, AIDs, itself, was not listed as the cause of death. I learned that his death was from pneumonia. There was no broken hip involved in this case. There was AIDs and the suppression of his immune system. So, it was death by pneumonia due to the immunosuppression from AIDs.

COVID-19

Here we are, 2020 and a pandemic. I know pneumonia has played a part in this. I have a friend who was infected and ended up with pneumonia. She has recovered, thankfully. But, is it really surprising to have pneumonia rear it's ugly face?

I'm going to stop with the pneumonia talk, but not with the cause and effect piece of how health conditions can connect.

Governor Cuomo of New York recently adjusted the number of COVID related deaths causing an increase to the statistics. And.......then comes 45 and his COVID briefing. He gets in his expert over all the things mode and criticizes Cuomo. He implied it was an attempt to make things look worse than they are. Well Dr. 45, MD, shut the fuck up. A patient with COVID can have other health problems arise. So, yes, it is possible to have a fatal heart attack due to COVID. Let real doctors, not lackeys, but real doctors who are fighting along with all other types of medical personnel to educate the masses.

We live in the WTF-iest of times.

PANDEMIC. A board game. A very difficult board game involving viruses; infections; outbreaks; and epidemics. It can make you hate the colors red, yellow, blue, and black. We most definitely lost more games than we won. We failed the world...on a game board. At least for now, it was only on a game board.

COVID-19 has hit the world and hit it hard. It is horrifying. Watching the impact on Italy has been absolutely devastating. Then to see the U.S. in the line of fire from this virus has become heartbreaking. Part of the heartbreak comes from the person in the White House doing the absolute opposite of instilling confidence.

It is crazy the varying degrees of this. I have a friend who was infected. She was on oxygen, but didn't need to be hospitalized. She's on her road to recovery. Then, I have another friend who posted on Facebook a request for her mother-in-law who was diagnosed. The next day, she posted that her mother-in-law had died. Two extremes. That is how fucked up all of this is.

Things this has me thinking about are overwhelming at times. Like, my dad. He's 83 and not a healthy guy, see my posts back in August-October of last year. For him, there would not be a mild case. So I have the thoughts of him dying. I have those thoughts in general, but because of this, I think about it more. Things like, if he were to be infected and pass away, would I be able to travel. Probably not. It's likely that a funeral wouldn't be able to be held. I wouldn't be missing that. But, the idea of this happening and not being able to get to my mom is more than I can handle at times.

It's a strange time of heartbreaking and heartwarming moments existing along side of each other. Videos from medical personnel sharing the horror of their experiences just pains me to watch. The idea that you can drop your loved one at the hospital, not be able to go in with them, and then have them admitted, and possibly even die without you seeing them since the drop-off. Addicts relapsing and, if they do go for help, they, too, are alone. It's a terrible time for loneliness.

But, then there are the heartwarming things. People cheering and making signs outside of medical facilities. In NYC, every evening at 7 pm, the time for shift change at hospitals, New Yorkers cheer and clap and honk and make noise whatever other way they can to show appreciation. Watching the creative ways families and friends find to "be" with each other are great. Zoom probably never expected to have such a boon in business. Videos of families doing things like song and dance performances are blowing up on the internet. Various musicians are doing live mini-concerts on Facebook and/or Instagram Live. Necessity has been said to be the mother of invention many times before and I believe she is proving to be the mother of creativity.

So, stay home. Stay safe. Stay healthy. Save lives.

Simply ordinary

Last night, Shawn and I had our typical Tuesday movie night. As I sat in my reclining seat with my Coke Icee with Shawn at my side watching a movie (about Fox News nonetheless) I couldn’t help to think how lucky we were to be sitting in the theater. We were able to be a captive audience to the world of major motion pictures. Despite the disaster of diplomacy created by the pathetic and unstable 45 who is bringing us to war, we were safe from missile strikes. Our ordinary lives remained ordinary. We weren’t at risk of destruction of our home, loss of friends and family, our lives forever changed by the effects of climate change causing wild fires previously unimaginable.

Here we are today. Shawn, across the hall working in the home office; me, sitting on our bed prepping a deposit surrounded by paperwork from cat and dog adoptions; and, Jarvis at my feet. No smokey air from missiles outside. No smokey air from climate change created wild fires outside. Just birds chirping and cars passing with Jarvis’ occasional growl for our protection from the UPS guy.

We are so fortunate in our ordinariness.

And so...

I woke up around 2:30 this morning. It was all about the puking. It's been a good month or two since my last go 'round with my asshole stomach.

Today is the 5th anniversary of my hysterectomy. I had this thought that my stomach was trying to remind me of the whole disaster which was all my reproductive parts. Well, all except one of my ovaries. Anyway, I don't know that I really believe in something like that, but it did cross my mind.

How has it been 5 years? Each year I want it to get easier and I'm not sure that it does. Maybe it's a little more difficult this year because my remaining ovary is kind of a bitch lately. I've been thinking about having it taken out. Taking it out means instant menopause. Do I want that? I don't know.

On to another year.

#InHerOwnTime

I'm pretty sure I've already touched on this subject, but here we go again. Another woman coming forward to tell her story of sexual assault years after it happened. Questioning why a victim waits to tell their story should be over by now. It's like how the same questions and statements are made after a mass shooting. We need to move beyond these questions each and every time and start to really acknowledge the problem and try to change it.

The latest story in the media is another victim of the President. E. Jean Carroll has come forward several years after her assault to tell her story. Of course the President does his typical denials and slings insults. He attacks her looks as an excuse, claiming she isn't his type. Assault isn't necessarily about attraction, it's about power, and we certainly know how much power tripping he's got going on.

Victims come forward in their own time. They have several reasons for coming in that time. Even if the President wasn't in the Oval Office, his life holds wealth, power, and fame. He had a way of using those thing before being President and of course took them with him into office.

Victims come forward in their own time. Some need time to work through the shame they felt as a result of the assault. Or, the perp was an upstanding member of society who the victim was afraid to name. Maybe they took a payoff and/or signed an NDA and later decided that was the wrong way to go. No matter what, it is always #InHerOwnTime.

Taking America's Pulse

It was three years ago that the mass shooting took place at the LGBTQ nightclub Pulse in Orlando, FL. I'm sure I was aware of it at the time, but because of my well documented memory loss in 2016, I learned about it later.

I don't understand hating someone for loving someone else. I can't imagine not being able to be out in public with Shawn and show some sign of affection. Why not love and let love?

We had far to go in this country when it comes to homophobia, transphobia, and all the other ignorant bigotry before Pulse happened. Now, because MAGA hat wearers and other hate groups have taken a rise, I would feel less safe as a member of the LGBTQ community than ever before. This administration has emboldened so many that by taking America's pulse at this time, you can certainly feel the fear of another Pulse.

Choosing battles

I have these things about social media. One is that I really need to keep myself from reading the comments. Another is that when I read a post from a "friend" I have to make a choice to comment or not to comment. Am I going to change their mind? Is it going to turn into a pissing contest? Lately, I have realized it may be best to "unfriend" and "unfollow". I've always felt weird about doing that.

Tonight, I chose to "unfriend" and "unfollow". I just didn't think commenting was going to make much difference. However, I do feel like I'm a wimp who isn't standing up for something I feel strongly about.

This "friend" posted a link to an article about the first non-binary person coming out and admitting it was a sham. The "friend" said that you had to believe this person's story even if you didn't support the source site/publication. He then went on to bring up James "Buffalo Bill" Gumb from the movie The Silence of the Lambs. He pointed out that "Buffalo Bill" was denied gender reassignment surgery because he was mentally unstable. This was so unbelievably offensive to me. As if "Buffalo Bill" should be the standard to which we hold transgenderism. He said that he wasn't going to argue transgenderism but psychological treatment must be exhausted before any harmful chemicals or surgical procedures be considered.

I started to comment. I started to say that psychological/psychiatric treatment is a part of the process. You have to be cleared for medical procedures. I wanted to school him. I wanted to be an ALLY for my friends. I wimped out, though. I went the simple route of clicking "unfriend" and "unfollow". For this, my trans friends and my friends with trans friends and family members, I wish I would have done better by you.

A Smooth Criminal

I saw a bunch of social media buzz about HBO's Documentary Leaving Neverland. It's about 2 boys, now grown men who have come out with their stories about sexual abuse at the hands of Michael Jackson. I made the mistake, as often happens, of reading the comments. Some of the posts really bothered me so I felt it was a good idea to view the film. And, the comments still bother me.

Late 2017 the #MeToo movement started to erupt. People were feeling free to share their stories. Some stories were shared for those who no longer had their voice. I started to recognize that time doesn't matter. I know someone who was a victim of a sexual assault and went through some major shit trying to recover and reclaim her life. She never reported it. In these last 20-30 years, she has kept his name from being reported. I would never tell her it’s too late. No matter how soon or how far off someone comes to the point of telling their story, it is their truth on their timeline.

An now, to talk about Michael Jackson. I fully believe him to be a sexual abuser. I believe that there are times the abused becomes the abuser and really feel that is what happened here. The pedophile is a groomer and if anyone had the capacity to groom a child it would be the wealthy man-child himself. He seduced the whole family of the guys in the documentary. He was slick, some might say "smooth", and he was protected.

What really sets me off about the comment feeds on all the different social media posts. The idol worship, godlike image with which people paint him is like a level of blindness.

It bothers me that #MeToo was started as a kind of women's movement that took a little time to acknowledge the victimization of males. Out came Anthony Rapp with accusations against Kevin Spacey. Spacey is facing a felony sexual assault charge. This shows the movement knows no boundaries.

If you supported Anita Hill by saying that the time it took her should not be an issue because she had her truth to address; if you say that Dr. Christine Blasey-Ford came out when it was right for her because the truth about Kavanaugh needed to be heard; if you defend any female celebrity or otherwise for finding the strength to speak-out on her terms, her time when she felt safe, her time to be an example to all the other victims becoming survivors, you cannot tell other victims they have a curfew.

I know people who supported the women or women like them that I mentioned above. Those same people don't believe Michael Jackson's accusers and even said it is because they waited too long to report. Fine, don't believe them, support Michael Jackson, but don't use a timeline as your reasoning unless you will recant support of Hill and Blasey-Ford and countless other victims who followed their own timelines.

And, finally, some of you know damn well that if your son or daughter, your brother or sister, your best friend came to you in 10, 15, 20 years with their truth to tell, you will DAMN well support them.