I am only sharing here what I want to share. Please don't flood me with messages or comments asking questions or offering advice. Thank you in advance.
Back in March of this year I almost died. I remained close to dying for several weeks, but I ended up pulling through. My wife was by my side through it all, but about a month after my long stay in the hospital she had to travel for work.
My sister and my niece came to help me out, staggering their visits so that they could cover the entire week my wife was gone.
This would have been really good for me had I been healthy, but being in the position I was it was kind of everything. My sister and I had time to get to know each other again (long story I don’t want to elaborate on now) and I got to spend quality time with my niece, who turned me into a mere satellite in her galaxy the moment she was born.
It was good and necessary for my sister and I to reconnect. I still felt small in her presence, like the little sister I will always be, but I also had a chance to stand up for myself in a way that I never could when we were younger: the thing that scared her most, that broke her heart every day I could save her from.
But I chose not to because I love her, and I don’t want to lie to her.
Anyway, I suppose I shouldn’t dwell on these small points so that I can just get on this with this message:
There really was no better time to be alive than the time I’ve been alive.
Yes, I watched the tumbling of our democracy. I saw the planes hit the towers, and I cried helplessly as I witnessed the so-called PATRIOT Act be enacted.
But I also married my wife.
I was here when the state stripped protections (dozens of times) for low income people to access healthcare, but I was also there when people stood up and fought against stripping what access they did have.
I watched the Pride Fair turn from a counter cultural event that our lives literally depended on to a family friendly event that is just another summer festival families can enjoy together.
When I was sixteen my mom forced me to see a therapist and start taking pills. When my niece was sixteen she just went by herself to a therapist and had my mom sign a paper.
She had no shame.
There was no stigma.
When we’re together as family- five generations of us, we talk openly about anxiety and depression and failure and suicidal ideations, and I am so happy that the kids have a name for it. For all of it.
All that they’re feeling and experiencing and thinking- it has a name and so it can be stripped its power.
My life would have been a lot different if I had known how to name It.
My life probably wouldn’t be something I was ready to leave behind.
But, my friends, it is.
It’s time.
Obviously a lot is happening right now. You all have to fight like hell to reclaim the right of choice. You all have to go to the ballot box and pray to whatever deity or teacup in the sky you believe in that the pro-democracy folks win. Organize, fight, fight, fight, fucking win.
I won’t be there to cheer you on.
The fight of my life right now is hilariously (to me) simply to stay alive.
But I'm all out of fight.
I left giving nothing except the name of that which killed me, and having that name means the children I love so much won't spend a whole lifetime fighting that off.
At least I hope it will.
You all take good care of yourselves and the world we live in.
I hope you all find comfort and power in your final days.
👍