Learning To Be Honest To Myself

Funny, how some events, in our lives, whether traumatic or common everyday events, can act as important catalysis for change, whether it is positive or negative, by influencing how we look at the world and ourselves. For me, it was my yearly pilgrimage, to my dad's grave, on the anniversary of his death, which this happened. In the 14 years, since his death, I have missed two yearly visits, for various reasons. Taking time out of my hectic life, to meditate and reflect on things, which I did not realized, needed to be express and acted upon, until then. This is how it happened, on that fateful day, to me.

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Learning To Be Honest With Myself

This is possibly, the hardest and most important lesson, I have learned, as I walk alone, on the often lonely road of self-discovery and healing. The first step, occurred during the summer of 1977, before I quietly buried it, in fear and the wanting to belong with other people of my age group. Emerging from this sordid business, my consciousness had created, for brief periods, only to be buried, again. Until November 15, 2005, when I stood in, an unusually gentle warm rain, looking over my dad's grave maker, in the veterans’ section of the cemetery, in Brampton, Ontario. He served with the Royal Canadian Air Force, during the 1950s and 1960s.While, doing two tours of the Middle East, as a United Nations' peacekeeper, once, in the Gaza Strip and in the Suez Canal, during the early 1960s.

It was the seventh anniversary of his death, as the result of total organ failure, caused by a massive heart attack. The heart attack happened early Friday morning, on November 13, 1998. Durham paramedics had managed to revive dad, but too much time had elapsed. His brain had irreversible damage done. Remember mom, Mr. S and myself, sitting in a small conference room, at the Owen Sound and Regional Hospital. Mr. S, was a long-time friend of dad's, from his days working at Consumers' Gas, as a special gasfitter. The doctor explained, in detail, dad's overall medical condition, and the irreversibility of his brain death.

For the first time, I am sitting down and exploring these events of Saturday, November 14, 1998, which I had shoved aside, because I was needed, to be strong for mom. Many of these experiences are being explored, for the first time, since then.

Without any hesitation, we stated dad's desire, not to be kept alive by artificial means, if his body was brain dead. Don't remember the doctor giving mom, the consent forms to sign, to remove the life-support machines. But, I'll never forget, hold his pale, cold and clammy hands in mine, while watching his shallow laboured breathing. Last time, I held him, before he passed away, 36 hours later, on Sunday, November 15, 1998, as I bid farewell to his physical body, one last time. Having said, my own goodbye to him, on Thursday, November 12, when he phoned me, after my last afternoon shift, for the week. For he was supposed to be, still in the hospital, before undergoing another battery of tests upon his heart, at the University Hospital, in London, Ontario.

Sorry, I have to stop and cry here. For I do miss him, more now than I thought I would. He was my moral compass and the light during my many bouts of depression, since I left home for university and afterwards. The heartache is greater now than eleven years ago. Able to talk to him, about things in my life and be understood which I can't do with my mom. Knowing how she would react negatively to things, while trying to help, thus, worsening the situation, for me. Especially, in my need for solitude, as a healing mechanism, for me.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005, I stood over dad's marker, pouring a plastic bottle of water over his marker, silently sharing my thoughts with his spirit. When I realized, I had something, I needed to tell him, which I have been denying to myself, a need to be honest with myself and start living life for myself, not for others. Until then, I was living my life, as a man, who didn't understand, why I yearn to be a woman, as my mom tried to mold me into a clone of dad, for her. Who is totally comfortable and at ease with the way, I look. As the last drop of water, fell upon the marker, I vowed to myself and his spirit, I would seek out the answers and follow my heart's desire, whatever the cost.

 

Wish, I could say, being honest with myself, doesn't carry any consequences, but I would be lying to myself and you, as my relationship with my mom deteriorated into a toxic mess, without any chance of recovery, for either one of us. Resulting in, a major depressive episode for me that nearly ended with a suicide attempt by me, without the aid of a long distanced friend on July 4 and 5, 2006. As she talked me, off of the “ledge”,and back onto firmer ground, mentally. To which, I owe P., a huge hug that I hope to give her, one day.

Something, many in the Transcommunity, refuse to acknowledge, as they suffer, in silence. Seeking their answers, in the solution of self-medication, with alcohol and illegal drugs, like crack and heroin. Or validating their bodies, using them, in whatever mean possible, to work the streets. Even if, they aren't ready to start their own journey, the services needed to be, in place, now. Not a decade or later, for the need is now.

Thank you, dad, for teaching me, this very important lesson from beyond the grave. Hope, I can do justice, to others, with it.