Men of the Skull Interlude X: Goodbye

 

Interlude X: Goodbye 

Friday, September 20, 2013  Russia: Coast Guard Boards Greenpeace Ship in Arctic

The body was in drab.  It was Tom dressed in a suit.  The shirt was purple, as that was Lisa's favorite color.  I knew that under his shirt was an Underarmor constriction shirt to hide Lisa's breasts.  His black hair was slicked back and his hands were folded over his abdomen.  He was heavily made up.  In the hairline I could see why.  The skin was hot pink (a side effect of carbon monoxide poisoning.)  I looked at the face for a moment, and I could see Lisa's feminine features.  This... guy... whom I never met, was indeed Lisa.  

Tom.  An army veteran.  A contractor.  A former male exotic dancer called “Lance.”  Tried desperately to fight against an inborn torment.  As do I.

 

What can I say?

Lisa Empanada was gone.

 

Lisa was a Sister to me.  She was close as blood.  Closer.  We talked about everything and anything.  We explored the darkness that I knew, and that eventually took her.

We laughed.  Oh, how we laughed.

And we cried.

Lisa, to the world, was about happiness.  She had endless compassion.  Full of love.

Some would say it was love that caused her to do what she did.  They would be wrong.

Lisa was no stranger to Love.  When she passed, the internet became a tidal wave of love for her.  People related stories.  Wrote poems.  Quoted songs.  If Lisa saw it all, she would roll her eyes, blush,  and laugh.

Lisa was loved because she loved.  She loved everyone.  But the love her life was her wife, Sandy.  They are truly soulmates.  

And Lisa left her behind.

She planned her death.  Meticulously.

On Monday September 16, the sun rose on Lisa's last day here on earth.  She left work at noon, and her foreman said she had a strange and sad look to her face.  The last person that we know saw her alive was a neighbor who saw her cleaning out the back of a Painting van.  The same van that she used to attempt suicide months ago.  The one with the gas powered compressor in the back.  She never cleaned out that van.  See, she wasn't the tidiest person.

She left a couple of things in the house for Sandy, including a short message, written with lipstick on a mirror.  Sandy showed me the mirror.  The message. 

From there, the details are known only to Lisa and God.  

So what can I say?

 

Lisa's last phone call was just after 10 AM to the foreman of the job she was working.  It lasted under two minutes.  She said "I'll be back to stain the stairs."

  

Sandy spoke to the man who found Lisa's body.  She told me what he said.  The van was there at 3 PM. ( Last prior sighting was 11:30 AM.)  The man saw it pull up and park across the road from his house, but this was not unusual.  The next morning, the van was still there, so he went over to look in it.  He looked in the front window and saw what he thought was a Hispanic sleeping in the back.  He went to the rear doors and opened one.  Lisa's foot flopped out lifelessly.  The man called the police.

 

Lisa was found with the pink stuffed animal, Mudsey, under one arm.  Keys were in the other hand.  Between that arm and her chest, facing out, was the wedding picture.  It slid there after she died.  The necklace and wedding ring were on her.  Tina's makeup bag was next to her.  In the bag was her carry letter and her driver's license.  The machine was NOT running, as it automatically shuts off after 4 hours.  

            The police who moved everything to the front seat to remove the body.  Lisa died with representations of her loved ones with her.  Since the estimated time of death was somewhere between 6 and 9 PM, and the van was parked there at 3, what did Lisa do before starting the compressor?  My educated guess is that it took maybe ten or fifteen minutes for the van to fill with the poison gas.  From there, it would take ten minutes for her to die, quietly.  She just fell asleep and left this world.  

 

I like to think those hours were filled with Lisa fighting for possession of Tom, trying to stop what was happening.  Maybe she sat crying in the van.  Maybe my estimate is all wrong, and it took her hours to die.

 In any case, Sandy didn't go upstairs to see the note left for her until 9 that night.  By the time the search began, Lisa was already gone.

 

The person driving the van was Tom.  Tom was Lisa's birth name, and Tom was a tortured soul.  He drove the van to a different part of the city, miles away.  Maybe he went elsewhere first.  No one knows when he parked the van.  Tom brought with him something to represent each of his children, his "carry letter" stating Lisa was Transgender, and his drivers license.  He brought a framed wedding picture.  These items he laid on the front seat in plain sight.  A necklace with LISA in script letters that Sandy gave him.

And he brought a pillow.  Sometime during that day or night, he started the compressor, lay his head on the pillow, and waited for the carbon monoxide to do its work.  Which it did.

It did.

And Lisa died.  Tom took her from us.

Sandy returned home from work, saw what was left for her, and started calling around, and texting people.  She called the police and filed a missing person's report.  

 

The message written in lipstick on the mirror: “Truly Madly Deeply.”

 

Their wedding song.  Her promise to Sandy.  Broken.

 

Tuesday September 17, 2013.  Lisa and Sandy's Eighth Wedding Anniversary.

 

I woke early that day.  4 AM.  And I saw messages from several people asking if I'd heard from Lisa.  I hadn't, which was unusual.  In fact, my last message from her was Saturday early morning, September 14, at 12:44 AM.  She wished me a happy belated birthday, as well as something else, which I will not write here.  That one is just for me.

It was odd I hadn't heard from her for a couple of days.  I wondered if I'd pissed her off.  But she had pushed me away.  As she had with everyone over the previous week, one by one.  She had her plan, and wasn't going to be deterred.  Not this time.

I contacted Sandy, offered to help.  She said it wasn't necessary- that the police were on it.

At 1 PM, I received the text that I expected and dreaded from Sandy.  And with it, I left work and headed south toward Baltimore at high speed.

"They found Lisa in Essex.  She's gone."

And with that, my life changed.

My Sister was gone.

From the funeral

I read once that people who attempt suicide have three things in common, and that all three need to be present: “Thwarted belongingness" or feeling alone; "Perceived Burdensomeness" or feeling like a burden; and "Capability for Suicide" or I am not afraid to die.

Lisa and I talked a lot as we moved forward through our lives.  She would come up to Pennsylvania for transgender events.  We would hug and laugh when we were together.  It wasn't until later that we cried.

And when she suddenly stopped her Facebook account in the spring, we spoke for hours as she fought the Darkness.  She was suicidal.  She had a plan and wasn't going to be turned from it.  She attempted suicide, but her daughter found her in time.  

She got help.  And with Sandy's love, we thought she turned everything around.  But it was a lie.

She was not afraid to die.  Nor was I.  And we understood each other.

 

She went full time as a woman, except for work.  There was a party for her thrown by her family.  I was honored to attend.  An Affirmation Party.  On her 52^nd birthday.

Lisa was angelic and happy.

After her party, I wrote her a letter that came to me in a dream.  I sent it to her via FB message.  And she wrote back.

I can't comment other to say...thank you so much. I am crying but I don't know if I am happy or sad. I feel pain for what could have been and for what I might have done to you and others, yet those missteps brought me to a real life dream come true. Yet still those feelings, that pain, so familiar to both of us is haunting. Thank you Sophie! 

She used what I wrote as a part of what would be the finest thing I ever read from her.  And the most horrific.  But I'll get to that in a moment.  

Then we discussed my transition plan, and she wrote this:

It is a sometimes seemingly horrendous journey. Thankfully we don't have to do it alone. Take my hand.......

I am so thankful that you extended yours 

 

And so I did.  We would transition together.  Sisters.  A promise of shared experiences. Never alone.

 

So what can I say? 

We all thought the darkness was gone.  It wasn't.

No.  It never left her.  And she knew we were all watching, so she hid it from all of us.  

 

After her April attempt, Lisa told me many times that I saved her life.  I didn't.  And I have found myself thinking about that.  Was that a waste of time?  And it struck me.  No.  It wasn't.  It bought us all five extra months of Lisa.

We all had five months more of her in our lives.  Her smile.  Her words.  I personally had one of the most moving and affirming experiences of my life thanks to her party.

Right now, I'd give everything but my wife and daughter to speak to Lisa for just a minute.  To hold her close and feel her tears.  But we had five months of "borrowed time" already.

Lisa broke all her promises.  She promised we would transition together.  She promised to call me before the Darkness took her.  She didn't.  And she's gone.

 

Friday, September 20, 2013   Joseph N Zannino Funeral Home,  Baltimore, MD.

There was to be no funeral.  Lisa didn't want one.  Yet two viewings were scheduled.  The first was 3-5 PM and the second was 7-9.  Unannounced was another viewing for family only from 2-3 PM.

 

I walked slowly up the stone steps to the door of the funeral home.  Inside the light seemed dim compared to the brilliant sunlight outside.  To the left of the small foyer was a small guest book, which I signed.  Once past the foyer, I saw my friend Hayden, dressed all in black (which actually wasn't unusual for him.)  He pulled me aside and said "Sandy wants you to have this."  

He gave me the Four-leaf Clover necklace that I had sent to Lisa a lifetime ago (was it only a couple of months?)   I looked at the small silver charm and necklace in my hand, and my eyes began to mist.

 

There were maybe sixty people there, mostly family.  I saw few people I knew and spoke to them briefly, with my back to the casket.  Then I turned to face it.  

 

I knelt at the provided kneeling thing, and said a prayer for Lisa.  I then looked into the lifeless face... and bitched her out for over a minute, crying the whole time.  "You were supposed to call when you felt this way.  Now look at you- decaying in men's clothing!"  I then stood and headed out the door, all but bawling.  

 

Funeral Home that night

There was a break for dinner. I was sitting on the curb when they told me.  A mess.

 

When everyone returned from dinner, the funeral home was packed!  So many people!  So many transpeople had come out to pay tribute and say goodbye to Lisa.  Maybe 120 people, mostly us.

 

I re-entered and went back to the casket, where I waited in line for my turn.  The room was stifling hot- packed with people.  My personal Hell.  Eventually it was my turn.  I knelt again, and said another prayer for Lisa.  I then quietly caught her up with events in my life, as I used to when she was alive.  Again, I cried the whole time.  This time I reached out and touched her arm.  Stone cold.

 

After I hugged Sandy again, I went to the back of the room.  Someone had made a book of pictures of Lisa and her writings.  I was told I was "all over the book."  And I was.  In it were several pictures of Lisa and I together.  Also there was the piece I wrote for her, as well as her description of receiving the necklace I gave her.  The necklace that was then zipped into an inner compartment in my purse.

 

Soon a priest appeared.  He was older, Italian, and spoke with an accent.  He summoned "immediate family only" to the front of the room.  So it family in the front, transgender people in the back.  I stood next to my friend Cecilia from Harrisburg.  Many of us looked at each other in confusion.  Why was there a priest there?  Lisa was anti-religion!  I found out later that Sandy asked him there for her comfort, as she was Catholic.

 

The priest started by referring to "Brother Tommy" and led everyone in prayer.  Then he started in with "everyone knew about Tommy's identity issues" and kept on going.  "The pope has ordered we clergy to be tolerant of these poor misguided individuals" and "God will forgive them anyway," Cecilia and I held hands, both of us squeezing very hard.  All of us were so incredibly angry!  This... person... was not only insulting the deceased but also insulting over two thirds of the people in the room!  I had a clear line of sight to his face and glared at him angrily.  My eyes never leaving his face.  I was so pissed off!

 

The priest finished with a prayer, and left quickly.  He was a busy man.    

 

Lisa’s daughter, Kay then stepped to the spot he had vacated and introduced herself.  She spoke of how she was Lisa's daughter, and how so many of us never met Tommy, only Lisa, and continued from there to paint a loving portrait of the Lisa we all knew.  She always referred to Lisa, not Tom, and to her as "my mom."

 

She redeemed the service in all of our eyes.  And I told her so. 

After Kay finished, there was another line to visit the coffin, and I joined it.  Eventually it was my turn.  The moment I dreaded was here- the moment I prayed would never, ever come.  It was time to say goodbye to one of my best friends.  To my "transition buddy."  To my Sister.  

 

To Lisa.

 

I saw her last at the Southern Comfort conference in Atlanta.  I cried on her shoulder for an eternity.  The last thing she told me was that only by being whole... by being Sophie, could I be the best possible parent to my daughter.  She urged me to be the best parent to my daughter that I could.  When we hugged goodnight, she held me firmer and longer than ever before.  I thought it was because I was upset. 

I know now she was saying Goodbye.

I never said goodbye to her.  Tom deprived me of that.

All we have left are memories and questions for which we will never know the answers.  What were her last thoughts on Earth as she drifted off to that final sleep?  Was she smiling and at peace, like she wrote before?  Or did she cry, knowing who and what she was leaving behind?  

We know the last thing she heard- the sputtering rumble of a gas-powered compressor that was her chosen method.

Now we are all without her.  And there is pain.  Why did she do it?  She told us all.

She felt she was hurting Sandy.  And she couldn't stand it.  A burden.

Yes, Tom died of Carbon Monoxide poisoning.  That's a medical fact.  But Love was not the true reason Tom did this.

No.

Tom died because he was transgender.  And that fact led him to his death.  As sure I am of my daughter's love.  Being trans, Lisa believed she no longer belonged.  To Sandy.  To anyone.

Tom died, taking Lisa with him.  Taking my Sister.  My dear friend.  

And I cried for days.

 

I again knelt and offered one last prayer in her presence.  I then looked into her pale, dead face and told her how I loved her, and how I would carry her in my heart all the days of my life.  That I would live by her example of welcoming everyone, and of loving all.  I placed one of my business cards in the crook of her left arm, on the back of which I had written "Goodbye Lisa.  I will always love and miss you."  I then said that to her as I held her lifeless right arm.  I then said goodbye, crying like I'd never cried before or since.  I turned my back on the coffin, on Lisa, and left the funeral home.  Now I had to do the impossible: go on with my life without her.

 

She was cremated the next morning.  All the beauty that was Lisa.  Her smile, her eyes, were now ash.  

 

From the funeral, the family and a few transpeople went to Lisa’s favorite bar, which was close to where she lived.  After a drink, I walked to Lisa and Sandy's house.  Sandy had asked me to come over.  Upon arrival, I sat with Sandy and her daughter Tina.  We sat and spoke quietly about some private things.  I looked over at a table and again saw the wedding picture that Lisa had with her in that horrible van.  It smelled of fumes.  Still does.

 

Sandy and Tina told me some private things that made me cry again, but I also smiled through my tears.  She then led me downstairs to the basement, where, hanging everywhere were Lisa's things.  And she pointed out several full suitcases- all full.  Lisa was quite the shopper!  As she and I were the same size, Sandy started stuffing a bag with dresses and tops.  She tossed in six wigs, two of which had never been worn.  She then disappeared around a corner and said "wait here a sec."  

 

She returned holding a white floral dress: the one Lisa wore to her Affirmation Party.  Sandy said "you should have this."

 

I said "I... I am not worthy of this."

 

Sandy said "I can't think of anyone Lisa would've wanted to have it more than you."

 

I took the dress and looked at it.  I then placed it in the bag.  I still have never worn it.  It hangs empty in my closet.

 

We spoke for a little while longer, and then hugged.  I took my leave, and placed the bag in my car. 

 

At 1:30 AM, we were in the driveway of the house where I was staying.  I went inside and removed my black dress- the dress I was wearing the night I met Lisa.  I never wore that dress again.  I pulled off my wig and collapsed into bed without removing my makeup and slept a dreamless sleep.

  

 

Over the years, I’ve looked for a silver lining to all this. 

 

I previously mentioned the article on Suicide.  And it fit Lisa to a T.  As it has me a few times in my life.  And survived. 

I was so close to calling out to my Sister "Hey Lisa! Wait up!  Let's explore the Light together!" and following her away.

So what can I say?  I didn’t follow.  I learned that my sisters are there for me.  They've proved it those horrible days.  I know I will never be alone.  And even if they are not, I will always have Lisa in my heart, where I will keep her all the days of my life.

I would transition to the Woman I truly am and carry Lisa with me into the life she denied for herself.

A saying I heard later applies: “I am because she was.” 

 

There have been many ways people have said "Goodbye" over the years.  I could paraphrase Shakespeare.

"Goodnight Sweet Princess.  And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

 

I think it's appropriate to give my sister Lisa the last word.  This is from a piece she posted on Facebook on December 24, 2012 at 8:27 AM. The last line is so appropriate to her memory.  it distills Lisa to her essence.  

Can you take some stuff away from us? We have too much of somethings that no one should have so much of. Could you please stop by on Christmas and take away the doubt. Can you remove the tremendous pain and grief from our shoulders...so many of us are buckling under the weight. Could you take away the nightmares that haunt our waking hours. Can you take away the feeling of loneliness? Can you take away the skepticism that we can ever manage to believe in the magic that moves us?

Santa, can you take away our fears. We have too many of them already. If you can, please do. Because so many of us are trapped by fear and doubt, by regret and a lack of confidence.

If you could just take this stuff away ... or find a way to help us to, I know we can be stronger and soar higher. I know we can be the Angels on Earth we are destined to be.

 

The angel flew and left me here—

As I was destined to be.

Sleep in the Stars, Big Sister

My "Big Sister", mentor, and one of my dearest friends, Mel, died on the morning of March 20, 2026.  She was 67, and been battling early onset Alzheimers.  

With Mel, June 2010

I had been at the Keystone Conference for the day to reconnect with friends.  I came back to State College and went across the street to my local pub to enjoy a glass of wine.  It was a rare moment- I felt content.  I felt I looked good.  

Then I checked my phone.  My email.  

Hi Sophie,

I hope you are well. This is Melissa's son, Mitch again. Unfortunately, I'm writing with some sad news. My father passed away this morning. As you know, she had been sick for a while, so it's in many ways a blessing that she's passed on. 

 And in a moment, I went blank.  I knew this was coming for more than a year.  But I hoped the day would never arrive.  As I was sitting at a semi-crowded bar, face covered in makeup, I fought back tears.  I paid my tab and walked out slowly.  I had to- I was wearing heels for the first time in forever.  Told you I felt good about my look.  I made it to the rainy sidewalk when the tears finally won.  The cliche- crying in the rain.  I could feel Mel's eyeroll from across the veil.  

I finally put up my umbrella and slowly walked back to the apartment.  All I could think about was her laugh.  The spark in her eyes that said "I know so much more than I'm telling you."  The smell of the lasagna she'd make when she invited me to dinner.  The stories she'd tell...

And so I cried.  

I slowly undressed, hung up my dress, tossed the bra onto the dresser...and laid on my bed and let the feelings flow.  "Let them out- there's nothing stopping you now.  You don't have to pretend to be a man anymore" she would tell me.  

After a bit, I emailed the news to he person who "assigned" Mel to me- my former therapist, Dr. Osborne.  As I wrote years ago, when Mel moved to Albany, 

I met Mel in 2009, at Angela's Laptop Lounge.  She came specifically to meet me, she said.  She didn't do many transgender events anymore, as she was pretty much stealth.  That said, she loved Southern Comfort Conference, where she saw many friends (she and I roomed together at my only SCC in 2013.)

 

Dr. Osborne asked her to advise me since, when Mel transitioned, she had two young children.  When I started seeing Dr. Osborne, my daughter was just over a year old. 

She moved to Albany to care for her ailing mother- who was dying from Alzheimers.  Did Mel know then?  When did she find out? 

She left in November of 2018.  Over seven and a half years ago.  I never saw her again.  Now, the next time I see her will be if her funeral is open casket.  Which I doubt.  

Our last drink.  November 2018.  

Oh, we talked of course.  She sent out almost daily commentaries on the news.  Her analysis, especially on financial policy.  You see, she was a gifted financial genius.  Seriously.  She made millions on Wall Street in the 80s.  

Those emails stopped in 2021.  Is that when she learned?  Or is that when she just... couldn't any more.  

The calls became less frequent.  And she didn't return messages.  Did I offend her?  In December 2024, I sent an email.

Hi Mel!

I haven't heard from you in forever, and the # I have goes right to VM.  I'm worried about you.  

Are you still there?

A week later, I received a reply.  

Hi Sophie,

This is ****, Mel's son. I hope you are well. I, unfortunately, have some sad news, and I apologize for not reaching out sooner. 

My dad was diagnosed with early onset dementia this past winter, and it's progressed pretty rapidly since. My sister and I moved her into an assisted living facility in March and into a memory care facility in North Jersey in August. She currently seems to have stabilized a bit and is doing okay with both good days and bad days. 

Unfortunately, one of her symptoms is pretty serious aphasia, and, as you've already experienced, another one of her symptoms is forgetting to charge her phone and generally not understanding how to work it. So in general, she is pretty hard to get a hold of and understand. However, if you want to send her a card, her address is 

*****

I was planning to give her a call tomorrow or Friday, and when I do, I'll be sure to mention that you reached out. I'm sure she'll really appreciate it, and I know I do too! 

I wrote a letter.  Trashed it.  Tried again.  And again.  I needed to tell her how much she meant to me.

January 12, 2025

Dear Mel,

            I’m writing just in case life keeps me from visiting you in NJ.  I’ll get to possible impediments in a bit.  In any case, I feel it’s important to tell you a few things.  Your son Mitch told me of your condition, and that this is the reason you’ve been incommunicado.  I’m so very sorry. 

            What I want to say (and hopefully I’ll see you to tell you personally) is how much you have meant to me all these years.  Without your help, support, and friendship, I literally would not be alive today.  You guided me through countless dark times and helped me celebrate victories.  I love talking about movies and music with you as your taste is impeccable, and you’re one of the few people who enjoy Dylan as much as me. 

            I know you are guarded as to whom you allow into your circle, and I’m honored that you allowed me in.  You’ve introduced me to so many new people and concepts.  I especially treasure the times you made dinner.  I wish I lived closer so we could dine together again. 

All that said, seeing you is a priority.  I want to talk with you again, just hang out, and give you a hug.  You’re one of the most important people I’ve ever had in my life, and I miss you.

As expected, No answer.  I made plans to see her- several times.  Each time life got in the way- usually financially.  

Then, that email.  Friday night.  In the rain.

I could write so much about Mel.  But she was a very private person- life taught her that.  I will say the following.  Mel was a math and financial genius.  She graduated from Boston University and went to work on Wall St. during the 1980s- with ALL that implies.  She worked for some of the most prestigious firms in the world.  She enjoyed weight lifting, music, movies, and cooking. Fine wines and Scotch. Dated beautiful women.  Married.  Two children.  The American Dream.

But...

There was this... problem.  She saw a therapist and said "cure me." There was no cure.  So Mel moved decisively.  Told her wife, divorced her (amicably), went to conferences and learned all she could, met some of the movers and shakers in transgender thought, made friends, and transitioned using the Top doctors in the country at the time.  Spared no expense.  She could easily afford it, even after the divorce.  

At work, She found that no one listened to her any more.  No one took her seriously.  After all, she was just a woman.  Then the firm for which she moved to the Philly area... "went in a different direction."  Her career was over.  Forced early retirement.

A few years later, against her better judgement, she agreed to mentor a scared new parent taking her first steps into her Truth.  Over time, we became friends, for which I'm honored, as she was very choosy about who she "let in."  Through Mel I met people and learned.  I learned through listening, watching, and not listening and paying the price.  

"Enjoy who you are, but never let down your guard."  "Transition should be your last resort- exhaust all other options save death."  "Get FFS (facial feminization surgery) BEFORE you transition and it'll save you a lot of grief." "Whether you think so or not, you will NEVER be prepared for transition, and the changes it will cause in your life.  It can destroy you."  "You don't have to pretend anymore..." 

She was also a huge baseball fan, and rooted for her beloved Yankees.  She told stories of sitting behind Billy Joel at the World Series.  Proof?  He signed her ticket.

Then there was the music.  She loved all kinds of music. Stones.  Who.  And above all, Bob Dylan.  She'd invite me to dinner at her place, and we'd listen to and discuss Bob Dylan records.  "If you're not busy being born, you're busy dying" the man would sing.  "Death to me means nothing as long as I can die fast."

But she didn't  Alzheimers is so cruel.  

Halloween 2010

Time.  I would give years of my life to her if I only could.  But in her case, death was a mercy.  

Mel was there for me when I was thrown out.  She drove me to the appointment to start HRT.  She was there to help me when Lisa died.  The night I sent my "Coming out" announcement we talked and texted extensively.  First day at work as Sophie.  At my "Debutante party." She was always there- without fail.  

But I couldn't be there for her as she faded away.  No one could help her.  But I will be there for her when she is celebrated.  And I will carry her wisdom and love with me the rest of my life.  And I will continue to pass on her wisdom to the "eggs" I mentor.  Like she did with me.  Against her better judgement.

Mel loved quoting authors, so here I quote Keroac from On the Road.  It's fitting.  You see, Mel was one of "the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..."

Sleep well, my dear friend. My Big Sister.  As Bob sang, I'll  "See that [your] grave is kept clean."

SCC, 2013

Lucky?

I was texting with one of my cousins the other night.  She posted the following on fb:

I pointed out that we have family members who are part of the cult.  She said she knew- and that she avoids the topic when possible. 

She wrote:

"Its a very sad time in history. Ive taken a break from my first childhood friend. Not bc of her necessarily, but a mutual childhood friend jumped into a convo. I'd already unfriended this person."

I replied "I guess in some ways I'm lucky. I lost 90% of my friends when I transitioned. So I only lost about a half a dozen over maga."

"Ehhh..as you know, its a personal choice as to who one puts up with.  Are you lucky? That would make a great topic for your blog. I think you are lucky to know you have friends that you can be yourself with. Me.....I have many friends, but very very few know all of me. Make sense?"

"Makes a lot of sense. Am I lucky? I guess in only 2 ways. 1. I know who/what I am. 2. I know who my true friends are"

Is it possible to truly know another person?  Even after decades?

When I transitioned, I figured I knew how my closest friends would react, a good guess about how other friends would react, and an idea what most of my coworkers and others i knew would do.

Coworkers and others?  I figured most of them spot on.  I could always read people.  

Unfortunately, I was right about most of my friends.  But by then, I really didn't have many.  Really never did.  I'm a social misfit at best. I still wonder what it's like to be "normal."

But my closest friends?  People I'd known most of my life?  Several of them surprised me.  A couple of them who are very conservative not only supported me but all these years later are still there.  Has it been smooth?  No- but they're still there.  Conversely, a couple "liberal" friends just disappeared, and, despite me reaching out, we never spoke again.  

Then again, NONE of them knew about what was inside me.  I'd hidden it too well.  Even though everyone knew I was "different" in some way- picked on by the kids growing up, ostracized by most of my "brothers" at Penn State... but the idea of transgender never entered the realm of possibility.  

Either that makes me an amazing actor (and I have no acting awards), or an incredibly proficient liar.  I hate lies.  Yet I'm so good at it.

Only one person, a coworker from Baltimore whom I wasn't that close to, claimed he'd figured it out due to my level of anger at the world.  He'd seen it before in a family member who'd transitioned.  I don't doubt him- he's a pretty sharp guy.  

So, by that logic no one REALLY knew me- until that first Renaissance meeting in December 2008.  And in so many ways I was finally exploring the shadows of something I denied my whole life.  

Eighteen years later, I'm still learning.  

Valentine's Day 2026

So, can one person truly know another?  Even after, say, decades of marriage?

There are a very few people whom I know/knew well enough that we could finish each other's sentences.  And still, they surprised me.  One, with whom I was in a relationship, cheated on me and revealed a side I'd never suspected.  

Another killed herself.  She hid the signs so well.

Two of the biggest scars on my soul.

So, no.  I don't think its possible to truly know another person.  Everyone has secrets.  Everyone lies.  

"Don't tell me you know me When I don't even know myself"  Pete Townsend

I'm still learning.

Be well.  

"What Does It Mean" TDOR 2025 Speech

 I'll be delivering this tonight at Penn State's Transgender Day of Rememberance.  The capitalizations, etc, are for speaking emphasis.

TDOR 2024

What does it mean to be transgender today?

Today we mourn the loss of THREE HUNDRED THIRTY FIVE transgender people worldwide, (pause) FIFTY SIX of whom are in the United States.  Brothers (pause)sisters (pause), sons (pause), daughters (pause)- human beings.

What does that mean?  It means FEAR.

Transgender People today live in fear.

One of our dead committed suicide rather than live in a country with the current Administration, Because they were that afraid of what Could, and probably will happen.

I admit to having considered that option, as well as fleeing to another country.

That's fear.

What does it mean to be transgender today?

It means always being on guard.  

I remember when I first came out that one of my cisgender female friends said. “Now you know what it means to be a woman, you always must be on guard: Always must be aware your surroundings.”

She was absolutely right.  

Always being on guard is subset of fear.

So, what does it mean to be transgender today?

It means LOSS. (pause)

So many of us who have transitioned lost everything:

Jobs, Careers, Family, Friends, Homes, Marriages- (pause)

Everything.

So, transgender also means loss.

But, you know, then there's the most important thing about being transgender right today.

Yes, there is fear.  Yes, there is loss.  

But the primary facet of being transgender today, or any time is  (pause) PEACE.

That component of life that so many people seek?

Many of us find that.  I did.

Did I find happiness?  I get asked that a lot.  

No, (pause) I did not find happiness.  I found peace.

An end to that raging storm of dysphoria that I lived with for almost fifty years.

Peace, and dare I say: HOPE. (pause)

I'm not a big believer in Hope these days, but peace?

That, in the end, is what it must mean to be transgender today.

Now, of course, there will always be fear.  There will always be loss.  

But Peace…(pause)

Maybe If we stand together- cisgender, transgender, LGB, straight, all of us.  (pause)

Together.

Just maybe,

There will be HOPE. 

Hope for a future where we can live without excessive fear and loss. 

A future where we can simply be allowed to live our lives in peace. 

A future when word transgender is just another adjective that applies to the beautiful tapestry of being human.

Tonight, we remember. (pause) Tomorrow… that’s up to those of us who remain. 

 

 

 

What Tom Said

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."  (Jefferson, Thomas, Declaration of Independence, 1776)

MAGA wants to, based solely upon my identity, deprive me of my life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness- preferably in that order.  If they can't kill transgender women, they'll jail us.  If they can't jail us, they'll make our lives miserable.  

 Last Monday

It's Snorton's transnecropolitics writ large.  We have value to MAGA for two things: money makers and as "the enemy."  Fascism requires an enemy to "rescue" the people from.  With MAGA, it's brown people and it's transgender women.  Also, the Enemy is necessary for fundraising.  "Look at these horrible things!  Only WE can save you- if you send money!" 

Will transgender women still be the primary target after (not if) they overturn Obergefell v. Hodges?  

"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness

We fought for these ideals we shouldn't settle for less"

(Miranda, Lin-Manuel, Cabinet Meeting #1, Hamilton, 2015)

Later in that same referenced paragraph, Jefferson writes "That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it..." (ibid.)

The current regime doesn't care about poll results or opinions.  They care about power and money- the more the better.  They also don't care about protests- except for target practice.  

So, what can be done?  Unless the military remembers their oath and disobeys unlawful orders (or removes the problem from office), I don't know.  

Thomas Paine wrote "The cause of America is in a great measure the cause of all mankind" (Common Sense, 1776).

As this country falls into Russia influenced fascism, what can the world do?  No democracy is safe.  None.  Anywhere.

What a time to be alive.  

For Ty

On Wednesday November 6, 2024, Ty Torres died of head trauma after a surfing accident.  He was 55.  He leaves behind his wife, Robin, and his son, Coltrane.

Photo by Dave Sieling

According to a memorial site:

On the morning of November 5th, 2024, Ty Torres went for an early surf session, something he had done countless times before. However, this time, tragedy struck. Witnesses say that after riding a wave, he appeared to lose control and was knocked unconscious after being thrown off his board. Although lifeguards and bystanders rushed to his aid immediately, performing CPR and attempting to revive him, Ty was ultimately declared dead at the scene. The exact cause of death is believed to be related to a head injury sustained during the fall, although authorities are awaiting a full autopsy report to confirm the details.

His obituary.

The memorial is inaccurate.  He was taken to a hospital where he was declared brain dead, and his wife had him disconnected from life support equipment the next morning.  

Ty was a professor, artist, raconteur, polymath, father, brother, husband, and a great man.  He was also my fraternity brother, one of my closest friends from my undergraduate years, and one of the very few who stayed in touch.

1990

Many people are writing tributes to Ty which talk about his recent accomplishments- about the philosophy classes he taught, his art, his love of life, and his expertise at surfing.  Yes, he was an avid expert surfer.  He even appeared on the cover of a surfing magazine in his youth.  You could say he died doing what he loved.  One of his childhood friends wrote on facialbook "...great soul who understood people and found the salient part of every individual on Earth, never passing up a chance to make anyone feel good."  That really sums up Ty perfectly.

I met Ty in the Fall of 1987.  One of our pledges of that time went to high school with him, and invited him to our parties, eventually talking him into pledging as well in the next semester.  Ty had long, flowing black hair and an easy smile.  I'm not much into guys, but he was really good looking.  I knew he could seduce any person he wished.  

But here's the rub- while he KNEW he was hot, It didn't go to his head.  He was genuine, friendly, and CARED about people.  He actually listened.  He was easy to talk to and easy to like.  When he was "rushing," he and I drank together often.  He was amused that I'd never even tried drugs.  He didn't treat me like an outcast- he treated me like a brother: HIS brother.  He always had my back- and I had his.  There was never a doubt.

With Ty 1991

Ty pledged with the Spring 1988 pledge class.  His pledge class had several really good guys in it, but I think Ty was the engine that kept them going.  They became brothers in late April 1988- the week after the annual Toga party.  (They would've gotten in sooner, but we needed pledges to work Toga.)  

Fare you well, fare you well I love you more than words can tell.  (Grateful Dead)

As a brother, Ty was a phenomenon.  You couldn't ask for a better brother.  He was an incredible ambassador for the letters, and his hotness brought MANY women to our events.  

After I graduated, we stayed in touch.  He was kind enough to let me sleep on his couch a couple of times when I visited PSU before he graduated.  Eventually, he was elected vice president of the fraternity.  He also played "Sahntah" at the annual house Christmas gift exchange- which in our house was a great honor bestowed upon a senior.  When Wife and I visited California, we made it a point to visit Ty, his wife, and their newborn son.  He told me I'd gotten fat.  (He wasn't wrong.)

"Sahntah"

Then I transitioned.  Ty was one of the people I told via video (as I didn't have the money to fly out to California.)  He immediately gave his support.  He never dead-named nor misgendered me.  When my fraternity's 125th anniversary weekend came in 2015, Ty talked me into attending, as I wasn't going to do so.  He said he would walk with me to the House from the hotel to support me.  He also told me of pre-event happies in another brother's room.  At the event (which he helped plan and run) he was a dynamo of energy, and made sure to check in with me occasionally to make sure I was ok.  Seeing him, was really the highlight of the trip.  I told him his beard made him look old.  

The last time I saw him alive was last was at a mini-reunion.. 

With Ty 2015

We kept in touch, usually via text or facialbook.  We had fun destroying the arguments of 45 cultists on Ty's fb feed.  We talked baseball and Penn State football.  The last text I sent that he saw was a meme making fun of his Yankees, who had just lost the World Series.  

Then, the day after the election- a chilly, rainy day here in State College- I received a text from my dear friend (and fraternity little sister) Iva disclosing the horrific news.  I was downtown running an errand for work.  I walked back to work, stunned (I must've looked like a zombie.)  Once back at work, I went into the breakroom and broke down sobbing.  One of the undergrads I work with gave me a hug.  But my life and the world had changed.  

Ty was gone.  

I can't imagine how his family felt.  I can't comprehend the magnitude of their loss.  

His vigil

Soon, tributes popped up online- FB, Insta... all social media.  I knew Ty was popular and amazing, but I didn't realize how many lives he'd touched and changed. I shouldn't have been surprised.  People all around the world: former students, classmates from various schools, co-workers... family.  HIS family.  The family he created one smile at a time.  

Such a long long time to be gone and a short time to be there.  (Grateful Dead)

The following night was a candlelight vigil at Salt Creek beach (Dana Point, CA- south of LA) where he surfed, and a shrine created on the large rock that...  I saw pictures of the vigil.  So many people; so many candles; so many lives.

Ty was one of a kind.  He was a beacon of optimism and, yes, kindness.  This world has been around for billions of years, and may be here a lot longer, but I'm blessed to say that not only did I live at the same time as Ty, but I also had the honor of calling him "brother."  The world desperately needs more people like Ty Arthur Torres, but he was one of a kind.  He was one of the finest men I've ever known.

My deepest condolences to Robin, Coltrane, and his extended family.

May the four winds blow you safely home, Ty.  The world is lesser without you in it.