For Jenny

Last week was not a good one, for several reasons.  It was my birthday, for one.  However, the day before that, on the night of September 12, I received word that Jennifer Jensen died that morning.

"JJ" April 2010

I don't know if Jenny (JJ) was out to her family, so out of respect for her privacy, I must keep certain personal details vague.

I met JJ at my first Renaissance meeting/ Angela's Laptop Lounge in December 2008.  I was a mess- no makeup, rumpled outfit, bad shoes, and a cheap Halloween wig.  Despite my trollish appearance, Jenny was warm and welcoming, as were most of the people that night.

After the Renaissance meeting, everyone went over to Shangri-La for Angela's Laptop Lounge, the twice monthly transgender inclusive party.  At dinner, I sat next to JJ, and we talked.

I don't remember what we talked about, but she remembered me the next month and we talked some more.  I told her that I'd gotten a room at Motel 6 so I could change into/out of Sophie stuff, and she replied she did the same.  It made sense that we pool our resources, so for over a year, we split the cost of a motel room- usually the Motel 6.  After a month or two, we started having lunch before changing at a restaurant near the motel.  Jen Lehman soon joined us, and three of us became a small group.  For me, it was lunch, go get my makeup done by Amanda Richards, then meet them at the Renaissance meeting.  

Those first months of going out were frightening, but JJ was a calming influence.  She was that way for everyone.  I discovered that this was due to her high stress occupation during which she had to keep a cool head- a career she enjoyed since the 1970s until her recent retirement.  

Keystone 2010

Jenny wasn't "out" to her work colleagues (and again, possibly not to family), so secrecy was a must.  During our lunches we would ponder ways to keep our secrets hidden.  Eventually, I came out to my Wife, then to the world, and Jenny was so supportive.

After she retired, Jenny moved back to her home state, so I rarely saw her except at the Keystone Conference.  There she volunteered her time and expertise to the conference and her presence there will be sorely missed.  JJ helped run the Debutante program for new attendees in addition to originating and continuing to run the popular Friday night Bingo Spectacular.  She and Amanda Richards would wear outlandish costumes and gave away great prizes to winners and those who answered transgender trivia.  

JJ was an incredible person.  She gave of herself without thought of reward or seeking laurels.  She helped because she could, and because she wanted to.  She was an amazing person and an amazing friend.

May the four winds blow you safely home, Jenny.  I will miss you and try to live up to your example.

Has it been Ten?

I still write to Lisa Empanada.  Not as often as I used to, but I still do.  Yes, I know she won't read it, but it helps me sort my thoughts sometimes.

For those who don't know, I write about Lisa often, but THIS is as good a starting point as any.

I hate this time of year, as the anniversaries come one after the other.  Being thrown out, SEC, birthday, Lisa's suicide, funeral.  This year it's a bit rougher.

This year it's 10.

Ten years since I was thrown out.  Ten years since I last spoke to Lisa.  Ten years since she died, and everyone endured her funeral.  Is it even possible that ten years have passed?  I'm much older now than she ever lived to be.  (Yes that's grammar error.  Live with it.)

Why do I still write about her?  Why do I still talk about her?  Only a small group of people have even heard of Lisa Empanada these days, compared to when she died, when she was relatively well known.  After all, the transgender community has a high attrition rate, what with murders and suicides and such.  Why do I still have a small urn of her ashes displayed next to her picture and one of her wigs?  Isn't that creepy?  Is this an obsession?

In the end, after all this time, aside from her family, who really gives a flying f*ck about Lisa Empanada?

I do.

She was my dearest friend (aside from my Wife).  She's not the only dear friend I've lost in my life, God knows, and not even the only suicide, but she was the closest.  Lisa exists now only in yellowing pictures, pixels, and memories.  Her voice is only remembered by a few, as she rarely recorded it.  But I remember her.  And I don't want that memory to die.

Lisa's story should be one of happiness and triumph, and, to a certain point it is.  Her wife and children for the most part were supportive.  She volunteered her time and love to the transgender community, and was an amazing ambassador.  BUT...

Then she killed herself.  All that life, that love, that strength... gone.  Died in the back of a dirty painter's van.  Alone.  The way she wanted it.  Then, burned to ashes, again as she wanted it.  Some of the ashes were spread at certain places.  Some were given to close friends.  Most are inurned in her old bedroom.  The urn is purple: her favorite color.   

So, now she's been gone for a decade.

As I said above, in the past ten years, many of my friends died.  Some were quite close.  One was very recent.  I've written about a few of them in this blog.  I also lost many (almost all) of my old friends when I transitioned in 2014.  I'm used to losing people, especially as I get older.  When I leave a job, I want to keep in touch with people, but the ties that bind fade with time.  People that once were family to me are now echoes on the internet.  Maybe an occasional phone call.  "We must get together sometime."  I'm used to being isolated, as I had few friends growing up, and in reality, I'm really socially awkward.  Anyone who knows me knows that I'm prone to saying the wrong things or committing faux pas at alarming rates.  I never learned what it meant to be among people.  That's the price of a lonely childhood.

Taken the day before she died

However, that also means that I treasure the friends that I have, and especially the ones I keep.  They are all that keeps me alive.  They remind me that maybe my life ripples beyond what little I perceive.  My closest friends, well I hope they know what they mean to me.  Linda has been my roomie for almost ten years and hasn't run away screaming.  Ally has also been here for me for ten years.  Other friends stayed despite my transition, some of whom I've known most of my life.  That word "friend" is one I don't use lightly- but I mean it when I use it.

Why do I still write about Lisa Empanada?  Because she was dear to me.  She was my friend, and I WANT people to remember her.  I want her memory to survive as long as it can- far longer than she did in my life.

Lisa was special, and I loved her.  

I miss you, Lisa, and I always will.