These days I tend to live for the moment. I get on with my job and then enjoy the time I have left to indulge in my hobbies and be with my friends. I try not to worry about the future or politics or other issues going on in the world. I think I said this somewhere else already. Anyhow!
Today is the first anniversary of the death of my father and so I decided to take the day off work to spend time with Mum. A small group of family went to the graveside and we placed a wreath and stood silently for a minute or so.
A couple of days ago, I received news about the death of one of my support and social groups members. I didn’t know her very well but I did speak to her on several occasions and she was a nice person. She had gone through her own trials and tribulations to get where she was, out and proud, full time and so on. She was not as old as me, probably twenty years younger. I was stunned and saddened at her passing. I don’t, at this time know why she died. I may never know and it started me thinking.
What about the people at my group who are closeteers (closet-ears)? Still completely secret from their familes; if no one in their family and friends circles know about them, how will we get word of their demise? They will just disappear and we at the group will know nothing. We won’t be able to mourn or attend any service for them. It’s so sad. I knew about most of the sacrifices and compromises, pain and humiliations that I would endure when I came out. For me it was a price worth paying. The end of life thing? No, I had not really considered it. I know that some of my friends are part timers for lots of reasons; some of them are happy enough with their arrangements and some are not. At least they have someone who knows, a partner or friend, and we at the group would get to hear the news.
Then I went further.
What happens to me when I get to an age when I can’t look after myself? Will I be stuck in an old folks home. Will somebody take the time to put my wig on and pull the odd whisker out my chin? (No luvvies, the hair is not mine. I wish it was.) Will I be left sitting looking like a dishevelled freak for the fun of others?
Perhaps I will go out with a bang and not have to worry about the gradual falling to pieces.
At my funeral service, will the family honour my wishes and remember me by the name that I have now or will they insist on using the name I was born with? Will anyone even bother to attend? I suppose I will be past caring by then.
Oh what a dreadful topic. I’m going to put my head back in the sandpit.