A Funeral and Driven by Love
Hail May, full of grace, the Lord isn't with you
My wife lost her father, my father-in-law, in Dec 2020, pre-Covid vaccine. He had been ill for years due to various chemical exposures—in particular being drenched in benzene for way too many hours— while being a fire fighter. I was still in city college working my way towards being a scientist, in the midst of chemistry classes, when his health really started to take a turn, negatively impacting his ability to work. My wife remembers more details, as she usually does; all I remember is thinking that the benzene incident was very likely related to his sudden declining health, and began researching. I sent my father-in-law my research, and it helped him leverage getting substantial compensation from CAL FIRE for his healthcare. Something like that.
A stroke is what finally stole him from our lives. Because neither he nor my wife and I had Covid, the hospital allowed us to be with him when they turned off life support, his unconscious body gasping for air until it couldn’t anymore and died. Instant, intense grief followed. My heart physically hurt. I slept in his jacket for months. The crispy Christmas tree never came down until we moved months later. But the worst part was the isolation. A funeral was never planned. We weren’t in control of my father-in-law’s estate or ashes. We were too heartbroken to care, one of our only pillars of love and support was gone forever. Mine and my mourning wife’s existence revolved around crying, eating cheese pizza, numbing the pain, and our cat who was the only living creature we got physical solace and comfort from during this time. So instead we bought a memorial bench with a serene view of nature. A plaque is inscribed with, “Dad, Friend, Humble Hero. F******* Funny And Kind. Love You And Miss You So Much.”
2021, a year after her father’s death, my wife would come out to me as a woman. She had been forced by her maternal family and society to be male-presenting up until that moment. Her father never knew he had a daughter.
2023 my wife and I would be sitting on her father’s memorial bench celebrating our 17 year wedding anniversary, and I would make a speech about how much I love her. I would bend down on one knee like she had done when we were college kids, and I’d ask her to marry me (renew our vows), throwing the best damn queer wedding of our dreams. She said yes and young people cheered for us as they drove by.
As wonderful as that bench is, it doesn’t make up for the absent funeral. I went to a funeral last week for a family member, and it made me realize what we were deprived when grieving my father-in-law’s death. Shared grief is the only comfort when life turns cruel and steals your loved one. Ritual. Ceremony. A final, certain “Good Bye.” Outpouring of love from others in pain. A coming together of people who don’t get along, but you show up because you’re not there for confrontations; you’re there to comfort those suffering the most. You’re there because you need to say goodbye too. You’re there to love and be held by love when life turns to death.
I have a different aunt who lived on the East Coast. She married and they had two children, two of my cousins. In 2021, I believe, my cousin months older than me suddenly died. She was the only family member on my father’s side that I even talked to. We had plans to talk again. I’m not even sure if it was a full year or two later, but my cousin’s sibling about the same age as my younger brother also suddenly died. His grief for his sister was too overwhelming. And not too much later, their parents, my aunt and her husband, were also dead, their home burned down to cinders with only the chimney standing. It was only recently that a ceremony was held for our deceased family members, from what I understand, no invitation extended to us West Coast folk.
Generations of kids running away from their families, some crossing borders and oceans to do so, has led to my disjointed families. Has led to an absence of funerals. Has led to loneliness and wondering of what family, and hence, community, really are? I grew up in a military household and so our community was fluid, moving every three years, playing with other military kids whose parents were also off in war or polishing guns. My mom finding support with other wives of military men.
But the military does not know how to love. The military does not want its kids being queer and trans. The military needs you to believe in God, giving divine meaning to their violence. The military needs you to believe in America, also divine so never wrong. The military and the Catholic church share a lot of similarities, and funny enough both sides of my family are Catholic too. I could replace the word “military” in this paragraph with “Catholic” and it would be pretty accurate. It would be my truth.
I share all of this as context for the poem I wrote late at night after attending the funeral last week. I shared it already with the cousin I reference in the poem, and he felt it. He understood. He appreciated me sharing my truth. A deeper love for my cousin developed.
Emotions jagged exhausted eyes document create before obsidian sharp edges dull Love drives me into church where their holy man praises a pregnant teen for being obedient blessing her reproductive womb for forging a messiah weaponized against us scythe of colonialism war racism misogyny homophobia transphobia queerphobia science-phobia sacrificing our bodies even in death Love drove me here to sit in the wooden pew hailing Mary, over and over and over again Covid and souls being comparable because neither can be seen except COVID-19, a virus, can be microscopically seen I believe Covid exists I believe my soul isn't a soul but rather random chaos emergent consciousness meaningless except for the meaning I bestow Love for my family in their most painful of hours drove me into this church weeping at the pink casket rose gold fixtures Mexicans converted to Americans colonial Catholicism condemning trans lesbians gays bisexuals queers Hail May, full of grace, the Lord isn't with you yet you recite his prayers can't purge those prayers from my psyche Blessed art thou who are driven by love to comfort to cry to console cousin of mine My love for you runneth me into this church to give you all the big warm hugs I promised Driven by love pouring forth into your shattered heart shocked heart too early to stitch hug heart fragments together Driven by love