Journal: A funeral

I had not wanted to attend. When I had heard the news that my Mom-mom (yes, even at this age, I still referred to her as such) has moved on, I knew I didn't want to attend. For years, I had been writing her, reconnecting on a level that I only knew how...writing. But I was never honest with her about who I was and where I was going and doing with my life.

Then she was dead.

Forget all the 'she's in a better place' stuff, I already knew that and it wasn't a concern. But when a man comes out of a closet, he has to turn his back part way on parts of his past. It's not his choice. There are just those in the family who the mere sentence, "I am gay" will not suffice. The explanation has to be longer and deeper. And for my grandparents, that would have been the case. So with every letter about tales of my students and the adventures of my dog, there was nothing about the love of my life and the family I had created and worked so hard to maintain. The smiles on my face were strangely false.

So when she died, Lord help me, my heart snapped in two. I couldn't go but had to. The letters did foster a connection that I could not deny, no matter how false.

But I had to go. Unlike my brother, I could handle this. He had completely dissolved at the whole event and so I knew that I had to go, a representative of my grandmother's oldest son. It was eerie too. Talk about burying the past. People kept mentioning how I looked like my long past father. They spoke to my mother about things I'm sure she's buried for different reasons.

And I realized it was good to be there.

Just two months prior, I had flown out to New York and noticed how much of my past was still there. To go was something of a gift for my partner, he could experience the world that made my character. But what I didn't think would happen was how it inspired me to reconnect with my history once more. And now, with Mom-mom's moving on, I had opened a door.

And I could handle it.

I didn't want to, but I could. And I can.

I do miss her, even if the letters missed the truth. But as I sit here writing about it, I realize, I never did lie, either.

It was her birthday this weekend. I wonder what she did.

God, that felt good to get out.