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Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
Wednesday 08/18/2004
F*ck quotes
In the last entry I wrote that there was a family issue that needed to be dealt with. The issue was that my father-in-law died. The details don’t matter, but his death does. It took us by surprise, even though in truth it shouldn’t have, although no matter how poor someone’s health may be, when they are loved, death is always a shock.
If I could have my way, he’d still be here and this entry would be nothing more than a tardy account of John and I seeing and enjoying Garden State a few weeks ago. It would also have included a couple of amusing anecdotes from a family reunion of John’s. But I can’t have my way.
It was strange, the timing with the family reunion. Saturday we in a local regional park, sharing stories and trying to eat without being bothered by hornets, Sunday we were standing in front of a hospital, dreading to go in, because seeing would confirm what the doctors had already said, that he had passed on.
Saturday John gave the nephews a joke book he had found earlier that week. Among the terrible puns and knock-knock jokes, were instructions for somewhat mean spirited phone pranks that we warned the kids never to do. When the phone call came Sunday morning, I thought about the book and wished that we were the victims of a horrible prank call, but it was real.
All of this has been real, even though we don’t want it to be. When arrangements were made for the chapel, there was an initial worry that the funeral would seem empty, since the building was relatively large, but it ended up being filled beyond capacity. A testament to how well liked, loved, and respected John’s father was to both his family and the community.
I was a pallbearer, and afterwards a friend said that it must have been an awesome experience. Not awesome as in valley speak, but in a more literal manner of awe inspiring. Helping to lay someone to rest should be. I wish I could say that it was, but my thoughts were far more pedestrian, concentrating on where I was walking, trying not to think too much about the heavy weight of the casket, and in truth, just trying not to think.
The ceremony went well and was soothing, although there is still pain and sorrow. There is also some anger. Normally a father-in-law’s death is covered by bereavement leave, but I wasn’t eligible because in the eyes of the state John’s dad and I are nothing to each other. He is not my father-in-law, but rather a “father-in-law.” Something not real, but fake, pretend.
I took time off for the services, but not bereavement leave, because that is special, reserved only for “real families.”
John and I are also officially nothing to each other. We are also officially not real. If he dies I still wouldn’t be eligible for bereavement leave, although the branch of the government I work for is considered liberal in that if I provided enough supporting documents, I’d be allowed to use up to three days of my vacation or sick time to deal with the total destruction of my life.
If the man I’ve spent the past fourteen years with, the man I love, the man I am all but married to except for a piece of paper and the civil rights associated with it died, I am “allowed” to take off a few days of vacation.
Fuck “allowed.”
John’s father was not my “father-in-law,” with quotes to indicate a game of pretend, he was my father-in-law. More so, in his eyes, I was his son. He saw me not as an outsider, but as a true part of the family. If I was his son, as much as his own sons by blood, then he was, is my own father, as much as my own father by blood.
I hope that he is happy and no longer in pain.
He will be missed.
-nico