11.25.10 Editor’s Desk

I’ve thought a lot about life and the impact we leave on others lately. Sitting and sleeping in a cold, very white, and way-too-cold hospital waiting room will do that.

About two weeks ago my partner got the phone call we all know will come, but we hope never does. His father was on the other end of that connection to report that his mother was in the hospital, battling for her life and hanging on to her existence with the help of a ventilator and a feeding tube.

After speaking with a sister who lives back in their rural hometown of Louisiana, we decided it was time to make the 14-hour drive from Florida to be with the family. Of course, this meant I would meet parts of his family I’d heard stories about, but had never seen in the flesh.

I also knew that these same people had heard about their relative’s “friend,” and that an already difficult family situation could see the addition of added stress—namely me. I wanted to go support my partner during a difficult time, but I also had to remember my role as an official—yet unrecognized—member of the family. It’s a tricky role to play.

While we watched my mother-in-law deteriorate in the ICU, I met siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins and concerned members of her church. My father-in-law would introduce his family—mainly his children—to these church members and then he’d get to me.

“…And that’s Steve,” was all he would say, while I shook hands and looked into eyes that seemed to say, “Oh, you’re the one we’ve heard about.”

I love the man who is my partner’s father and he has always welcomed me into his home. But I had only met one of my partner’s three siblings before—and the other two had not expressed much interest in meeting me in the past. In fact, I recall my potential presence at their parents’ anniversary celebration causing some drama about six years ago. I opted to watch TV in the hotel room that trip.

I’ve grown close to this family and I really do see them as my own. As the days turned into nights—and eventually a full weekend—at the hospital, I connected with my brother-and-sister-in-law. We talked about family, friends, college and work. But mostly, our conversation focused on their mother.

One evening my partner and I invited his two sisters to join us for dinner away from the hospital. While we sat in the bar at Chili’s, I had a chance to tell both of his siblings my experiences with their mom, her willingness to accept her son’s sexuality and her attention to making sure I was always comfortable and at home.

By the time we finished our margaritas and wrapped up our dinner, we discussed relationships of all kinds, the future and even kids. I had finally won the second sister over! A day or so later I met her husband—I had met the other’s husband years ago and he’s not exactly a fan—and he and I hit it off very well. I felt like I had gained new members of my family.

Sadly, my partner’s mother passed away on Monday, Nov. 15. She was officially diagnosed with ARDS—Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome—and she never came out of sedation.

Family friends and extended relatives greeted me as one of the family and the young—and admittedly very cute—Baptist preacher who oversaw the services was warm, friendly and encouraging. He told me to let my partner grieve and to simply provide an ear and a shoulder for him and for all members of the family.

“This church,” he said with his bright smile, “is growing and learning to be more accepting—but we still have a ways to go.”

While I grieved with the family in the hospital and in the small church where she was memorialized and buried, I realized that her passing was also her final gift to my partner, her family—and to me.

Her final days on the planet brought her entire family together for a chance to socialize, share and to form bonds that feel as though they could last a lifetime. And for that, I can’t thank her enough.