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I should post about my upcoming event or the inspiration I got from my community of solopreneurs at yesterday’s conference. The truth is, today, the grief I’ve been holding at bay for months won and I blame this orchid.
She opened up a flower today, for the first time in two years. I’d been thinking that I'd failed her somehow, but maybe there’s something a little more magical going on.
Today is the birthday of one of the people I lost this year. Please let me tell you about Andy, the man, who was like an uncle to me, or, as he might say, “more like an aunt.”
Andy and his partner Barry were the first queer people I met. I was six. Growing up in a suburban and conservative-leaning suburb of San Francisco , not a day goes by when I don’t feel grateful that I had the parents I did. We always had people of color, immigrants, and queer folks in our community. I’ve never known any other way.
Andy and Barry brought an entire family of queer elders into my world. None of them had kids, so I was THE kid at these gatherings. I got really good at talking to adults.
At the height of the AIDs crisis, Barry got sick. I witnessed the illness ravaging his body. When he died, I was devastated.
That was the Summer before high school, in the early days of the SF AIDs Walk. I made a t-shirt in memory of Barry and just old enough to take public transportation, got myself to Golden Gate Park.
I walked for Barry. I walked for Andy. I walked for strangers we lost and the ones that were to follow.
Andy spotted my t-shirt in the crowd and came up to me, moved to tears. The grief I’m sitting with now is the hope that he knew how much he moved ME. How much loving him and worrying when the illness might take him, too, fueled the beginnings of Megan the activist and Megan the therapist.
When I graduated college, Andy was one of the six people I could invite. We didn’t have to wear a cap and gown to the ceremony, so I wore a tiara and a ball gown. Andy was Hawaiian, so of course, he brought me an orchid lei. My favorite photo is of me walking across the stage in that getup, doing the royal wave, while Harold Ramis looks on and laughs.
My very Southern grandma was likely beside herself, but Andy, with his giant heart and ability to charm anyone, met her in her moment of apoplexy and softened it. That was his superpower.
I’m so grateful to science for letting me have another 3 decades with this special man. I got to be with him through several relationships, both mine and his. I got to dance with him when he married his last. He ended his time with the love he deserved.
I will continue to advocate for my LGBTQIA siblings. I will continue to fight like hell to push policy and science forward to eradicate this illness. I hope I can carry Andy's legacy of meeting people in their fragility with love and compassion in hopes they are gracefully called in. I think that might be the only way we can get free.
Check on your orchids, Beloveds. Blooms don't last forever.