My Second Family

This weekend was Pride weekend in many states across the U.S., and for me that was St. Louis, Missouri. Since graduating high school I've taken on a "never hide" outlook, and become much more outwardly representative of who I am and the things that I believe in, be it LGBTQ rights, women's rights, racism, classism, health care, etc. I am proud of this person, but with it has come some anxiety of what connections I might lose in the process. Amazing people that love me very much could still hold beliefs that would alienate us from each other, especially when the things I mentioned typically aren't trivial opinions.

I love a lot of people, but there are few that have the power to hurt me deeply or create a lasting, un-fillable hole in me. There are many people who might disagree with who I am and my opinions, but few whose disagreement I would seriously care about; but it occurred to me, one Christmas celebration how there are some people who mean so much to me that a disagreement in who I am would send the biggest parts of me - my identity and the ones I love - in opposition to each other. A slight anxiety built as gifts were traded and stolen and laughter filled the air and I wondered if this experience would be different if they knew; but, my "never hide" outlook surpasses any fear I could have. My mother instilled a strong sense of "be who you are, no matter what," so I didn't hide.

So I post statuses on Facebook and write about those beliefs, and stand strong in those opinions and the people who matter most to me didn't pause for a second before supporting me. They never fail to "like" a status and reassure me that I am just as much family to them as they are to me.

I have a best friend that is the best person I have ever met, and she comes with a family that is driven by love for each other and support. They are amazing, resilient people who only do good, and over the last six years have opened their arms to me. I love every single one of them, and their support means more to me than I can express. This thank you is long overdue, but I am never quite sure how to express the gratitude I feel. The truest mark of their greatness as individuals is that when they read this, they probably will think that they don't need to be thanked for viewing the world the way that all people should. I am so lucky to be blessed by the constant support of you guys, and I love you.

Relay for Life, 2012 - In Memory of Aunt Karen

Last night was the annual Relay for Life in our school's fieldhouse. There were members of sororities, fraternities, sports teams, independents, faculty, and town residents walking, laughing, celebrating, donating, and crying. Speeches were made by several students who have battled with cancer or lost somebody to cancer, and there were performances by our a capella and dance groups. I have often had people on here ask about why I don't talk about my dad much, and the most information I ever give is that he has health problems. He explained to me during lunch one day, in one sentence, that cancer is at the root of his disease; but, the word "cancer" is never used around my house. In fact, that's the only time that word has ever been used in relation to him - in that one sentence, on that one day, just between me and him. The truth is, his condition is much more complicated than that. Because of that, when I think of cancer I think of someone else. During the luminaria ceremony last night I couldn't help but think of my Aunt Karen. When I was thirteen I had my Bat Mitzvah in February of 2005, and she was there in full spirit and laughter as she always was. She and her family went back to Canada where they lived, and I didn't see her again until October of that year.

I didn't see all of my family in Canada often after I started middle school. My dad and I often took the seven- to nine-hour up when I was younger, especially when we were moving my grandmother, Nana, and grandfather, Gramps, into nursing homes. I was pretty young when they passed away, but those trips with my dad were always marked by the smile and hug of Aunt Karen when we would finally arrive. I would always beg him to stay in her room at the hotel, and she would help talk him into it. Many of my memories with her consist of doing things that she undoubtedly wouldn't want to do but would for me, and somewhere along the way we'd be crying and could barely breathe from laughing. We went pedal boating in a lake, and she freaked out when we saw a snake in the water. We shattered the glass table on my porch when my ten-year-old mind thought it would be a good idea to try to chip all of the ice off. Whatever we did, we laughed, and when I had to tell my parents about the table she stood next to me like a child my own age as we both smiled guiltily. But, as I grew older and schedules got busier, we only saw my family up there for funerals or weddings. I treasured Thanksgiving, when Karen and her kids, who are all at least 15 years older than me, would come down to the United States; it was the one occasion I could count on to see them. I often forget that I have a big family on my Dad's side; the kind that stands by you because that's what family does. Karen made sure I remembered that.

In September of 2005 my Aunt Karen was diagnosed with colon cancer. I never knew the steps leading up to that, why she went to the doctor's, or anything else. I knew the diagnosis, and that she had to start heavy treatment immediately. Apparently it was in a very late stage, but I didn't understand at the time what that meant. Several weeks later my parents told me she was going to come down to the United States to get treatment at the hospital close to my house because it has a nationally ranked cancer center and overall better care than she was receiving. She had to make the trip quickly, because soon she wouldn't be strong enough to travel. She called me on Tuesday, October 11th from the car on the way to my dad's house. She told me that everything would be fine, and she would see me on Friday when my mom and I went up there, and not to worry because she was going to be okay. I now believe that she knew she wouldn't be okay - she had to have known that - but she wanted me to believe she would be okay. That Friday when I went to the hospital I was in shock. She was unbelievably thin, and her skin and eyes had a yellow hue because the cancer had spread to her liver. She could barely move, and my mother explained to me that she couldn't talk. She wasn't the always-smiling Aunt Karen I had always known. In her eyes I could see a person trapped in a decaying body. But even then I was too young to understand the situation. She passed away three days later, on October 17th, 2005.

I didn't cry until the very end of the funeral when they were loading the casket back into the hearse. I'm not sure I understood that she was gone; and as they took her away I kept a secret with me that I would share for quite some time. That Friday when I saw her for the last time, and doctors and my parents calmly explained to me that she couldn't speak and had trouble moving, she spoke to me. When the doctors and my parents left the room, she told me that she loved me, and to continue to always laugh.

Her absence was felt every day after she passed. My dad changed forever, and the grief consumed him. He lost his sister, and though he has two other siblings, they were the closest. He also lost the last connection to both of his deceased parents. The shared the logistics of moving them into nursing homes when they couldn't care for themselves anymore, the pain of his father reintroducing him to his own brother when the Alzheimers worsened, and the planning of funerals. There is a garden behind my house dedicated to her now, marked by the yellow rose bushes - her favorite flower. For months afterwards I would sit in my room doing homework and hear "Angel"by Sarah McLachlan playing downstairs as my dad watched the funeral procession over, and over again. Every time I hear that song I flashback to the image of her being taken away, and feel the arms of my cousin around me. I remember being the youngest one at her house afterwards as we celebrated her life, and how I sat on the floor lonely because I was still too young to feel part of everybody else. That's when it sank in that she wasn't there, because in those moments she always made me feel like it was cool to be the baby of the family, because that meant I got to hang out with her.

When I think of my high school and college years, and all of the landmarks, I wonder what it would have been like if she were there. I wonder how our relationship would have grown into a more mature friendship, too. She likely would have been the adult I turned to when I couldn't yet turn to my parents. I think about coming out, the college process, high school graduation, the death of my best friend's cousin, and now, finding the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I wonder what she would say if I told her that the love of my life is a woman, and that I wanted her at our wedding. I would love to believe that she would be the same unfailingly supportive role model that she always was to me. Nights like last night make me feel guilty for not being more involved in organizations like Relay for Life. I wrote a few months ago about the "Kony 2012" uproar of activism, and how it made me realize simultaneously how many worthwhile causes there are in the world and how it is impossible for me to donate time, money, and support to all of them. I have dedicated myself primarily to the LGBTQ and animal protection causes,  as well as sexual assault/rape advocacy groups when I can. This semester, through the course I've taken, I've delved heavily into the recognition that we do not live in a post-racist America, as much as they teach that the civil rights battle gained full equality for all races. Maybe I need to be making room for one more cause. Statistics surrounding cancer are astounding, and in any space you will find someone whose life has been harmed by it. Aunt Karen passed away when I was too young to understand much of this, but had she passed away now I would undoubtedly immerse myself into this organization. Being a college student makes it hard to involve yourself in so many causes. I don't have $100 to put towards the four, including this one, causes that lie close to my heart. Maybe involving myself in this one doesn't have to include a personal financial expense. I love working out and running - maybe I could sign up for a run and my donation would come in the form of (hopefully) many of my family and friends supporting me. I miss you, Aunt Karen, and I'm sorry if it feels like I've forgotten what killed you seven years ago. I'm sorry if it feels like I haven't supported you the way that you supported me, but your memory hasn't faded at all, and I hope to make a change in your honor.

For anybody that is still reading, thank you. Even if your identity is hidden behind a tumblr URL, or an anonymous grey face, your support is felt.

Kony 2012 - After those moments of reflecting on your own gratefulness for the life you've been given.

The whole eruption of the Kony 2012 campaign has put a lot of people into a place of deep reflection on their own lives; how am I fortunate in ways I never consider, am I doing enough to give back, and how can I enrich my life by contributing to organizations like these? What upset me most about the campaign is that a huge aspect of it is that nobody, or at least very few people, know about this. The aspect of this whole reflection that came after those initial questions, for me, was that here is another organization putting forth a cause that is incredibly worthy of attention and support. Here are people suffering in ways that most of the world is oblivious too, and they deserve our aid and support. How do I know where to focus my energy and resources and fight, when there are so many important "fights" that I already am aware of let alone the ones that I have clearly lived a good part of my life being unaware of. As of right now I give most of the time and donations a college student can give to organizations that support LGBT equality, environmental and wildlife foundations, and, if I can spare it, support foundations for teen suicide and self harm like To Write Love on Her Arms. Now that already ignores my devotion to women's rights, the battle against rape and sexual assault victims, the right to health care for all within the United States, those in Japan who are still homeless from the tsunami, poverty, racial issues, and religious oppression. This post is not to in any way lessen the importance of the issue that Kony2012 sheds light on; it is an incredibly important issue that has my support and action to both educate and contribute to the resources necessary to combat it. This post is meant to express the overwhelming helplessness I feel in knowing that I, and others, have lived so long without knowing the suffering of these people and acknowledging that, given that fact, there are probably countless other battles to be fought that we don't know about, too; furthermore, it's to express the helplessness I feel even in having three or four serious causes I would like to give to and can't.

Ultimately you can't make an argument for whose plight is worse, who needs your help more, or who needs more resources; you just can't. Is it children who worry about being abducted and forced to kill their parents; is it the partner of a 15 years of a soldier who risked her life for me, and you, and everybody else in this country, who is in a hospital bed alone because her girlfriend isn't legally allowed to see her in states like New Jersey; is it the red pandas being illegally hunted and ruthlessly skinned alive, all for their fur, that don't even have a voice? As I said, everybody can have their priorities, but nobody can deem one inequality worse or moe important than another.

The only conclusion I can come to is to set my feet in to causes that I attach my life to; these are the ones that consume my life because I am an LGBT feminist woman who is simultaneously passionate about the psychology of severely troubled young adults and animals. In addition, when a new cause such as a natural disaster tragedy or as it did tonight with Kony2012, I will do what I think is the right thing and contribute what I can but not sideline the causes to which I dedicate my life. I am coming to the... yes, helpless... conclusion that I can't give my heart to every cause, but I can contribute and say I made a difference without abandoning those organizations that have always had my unwavering support, unconditional dedication, and heart. I can't save the world, but we can.