Being Wilder

When my son Brad first told me he was taking me to an island for two days when I came to visit in October, I thought he was just kidding around. Even the night before we were scheduled to climb aboard the lobster boat that would take us to the island, I kept expecting Brad to say, "Joke's on you, Mom! Did you seriously think I would spend two days on an island with you?" But when Brad's girlfriend Shelby dropped us off at the dock with our backpacks filled with clothes, sleeping bags and pillows, I realized that my sweet son was indeed taking me to an island ... Hurricane Island. And no, I didn't ask how the island got its name ... of course I didn't ask, I'm terrified of storms. As I'm sure Brad would tell you, however, I did ask a million other questions during our two-day stay on the rocky, wooded chunk of land in the middle of the ocean ... a million questions that he answered patiently, even the ones I asked multiple times.

Brad's reason for going to the island was to do some filming for the Hurricane Island Foundation, a nonprofit science and education foundation based on the island. He explained that we would be meeting up with another young filmmaker who had been awarded a grant to produce a documentary about the work of the foundation. Brad would be filming with his drone while the young man filmed with his regular camera, and later weaving the two together to help tell the story of the foundation and the people who make it up.

I knew there was something special about the young filmmaker the moment he extended his hand to greet me as he introduced himself. The gentleness in his eyes and the softness of his voice drew me in, and I quickly found myself wanting to hear more of this young man's story. I watched as he and Brad scampered across the rocky coastline in search of the perfect shot, and I smiled as they moved through the forest with a confidence I knew I'd never be able to match. The young filmmaker sauntered easily along the path as he chatted with us about the history of the island, his family back on the mainland, his passion for film and his dreams for the future. By the time we headed back to the dining hall for dinner, I knew  ... I knew this kid was the real deal.

There are times in life when someone unexpected comes along ... times when someone comes along who changes you and makes you a better person. Someone like the young filmmaker I met on an island off the coast of Maine. The young man whose kind heart and gentle spirit touched my heart and warmed my soul ... the young man who inspired me to live every moment to the fullest ... the young man who reminded me that it's never too late to follow your dreams. There are times when someone comes along who changes you and makes you a better person than you were before ... someone like a young filmmaker named Wilder. 

But I Was Wrong

Before you read another word of my post this evening, I'd like to remind those of you who've been reading along with me for a while that I rarely write about political topics. The reason I don't write about politics isn't because I don't care about political issues, but rather because I do care ... in fact, I care more than any of you will ever know. I've received thousands of emails over the last months asking me to weigh in on the candidates in our recent presidential election, and I've adamantly refused to do so. But in response to the outcome of the election and the flood of emails I've received over the last couple of days, I have a few thoughts I'd like to share.

I was 10 when I realized I was different than other girls, and I spent the next 42 years of my life trying to hide that realization from my family, from my friends and from myself. My life-saving head doctor would say there are multiple factors that keep gay people like myself desperately locked inside the closet, some of us for a lifetime. But she would also tell you that the most paralyzing of those factors is fear, and believe it or not, that is one thing on which I'm in complete agreement with the good doctor. I was afraid to tell the truth about my sexuality because I was terrified of losing everyone I loved. I was afraid of losing my reputation, my job, my place in the church, sometimes even my life. Those words are filled with irony, by the way, because that same fear pushed me to the point of believing that committing suicide would be better than admitting I was gay. Think about that for a minute ... I was so terrified of letting others know who I really was ... I was so afraid of their judgment and rejection that I was ready to take my own life.

It's been a little more than four years since I came falling out of the closet, and since then I've worked diligently to get past the fear that kept me locked away for more than four decades. And while there were still times when the old terror would wash through me, the fearful days grew less frequent with each passing day. I watched as legislation was passed to protect the rights of the LGBT community, and I thought that hate and prejudice based on race or sexuality or gender or nationality would soon be a thing of the past. But I was wrong. I thought I could finally put my fear to rest and know that I was safe and accepted and cherished for the person I am. But I was wrong. I thought that respect for all people and love would win the long, hard fight for equality. But I was wrong. In the blink of an eye, I now live in a country in which the newly elected President and Vice President have vowed to make eliminating pro-LGBT legislation one of their first orders of business when they take office. In the blink of an eye, the fear that held me captive for so many years is raging within my soul. I truly believed that I would never have to be afraid of being the real me again. But I was wrong.

I wore a bow tie to work today ... a very special orange and blue bow tie given to me by a friend a couple of years ago. I had to stop on my way home from work tonight and put gas in my car. As I was waiting on the tank to fill, a man at the pump next to me said, "Bet you aren't too happy about our new President, are you? He's going to make America great again and put you homo queers back where you belong and the real Americans are going to help him. Your days are numbered, ----." 

I thought the hate was finally ending. But I was wrong. I thought the fear was finally going away. But I was wrong. I still believe I'm right about the most important thing, though ... God's ways are higher than those of any man. Even the President of the United States of America. 

I Wonder Sometimes

There aren't a lot of people on this earth that I'd stand in line for a half-hour to buy a cup of coffee for ... well, outside of my family anyway. That's definitely something my dear old mom passed on to me ... I am not a good waiting in line kind of gal at all. But this morning, not only did I stand in line for 30 full minutes to buy an iced mocha for someone, I did it willingly and with the utmost patience. Why would I wait so long for a coffee, you ask? Because I was taking that iced mocha to my friend who recently returned home after having open heart surgery at Mayo Clinic. Seeing my dear friend Debbie this morning was worth every single minute that I spent waiting in line plus a million more.

As is always the case with true friends, the time flew by as we sat in the living room of the apartment she and her husband moved into a little over a week ago after their house sold while they were still in Minnesota following her surgery. It's more than a wee bit ironic that we both felt the need to downsize at the same time, and it's a whole bunch ironic that both of our houses sold within days of each other. We talked about how scary it is to move from a house to an apartment, about all of the big life changes we're experiencing and about how much emotion is wrapped up in leaving the homes we've lived in for so many years. We talked about washers and dryers and square footage and recovering couch cushions and fixing the cane bottoms of old chairs and floor rugs and dogs being confused by their new places to live and closets and storage space and selling our furniture.

Our conversation this morning, however, included a topic that was far more important and meaningful to both of us than all the ups and downs of downsizing and moving. We talked a lot about friendship ... about the friendship we've shared for more than 20 years. We don't always agree on everything, but we do agree on the most important thing ... we will always be there for each other no matter what. We agreed that we'll never understand how people who've been a huge part of your life can suddenly, without warning, just disappear. Trust me, I know the pain of that kind of loss and it isn't fun. I've experienced that hurt more than once in my life and it isn't fun, friends ... it isn't fun at all.

Even though I know I shouldn't, I wonder sometimes if those friends who decided to pull the plug on the friendship we shared ... or the friendship I thought we shared anyway ... I wonder sometimes if they ever think about me. I wonder if they ever wonder how I am or how my kids and grandkids are. I wonder sometimes if they've ever regretting bailing out on our friendship or if they ever wish they would have done things differently. I wonder sometimes if they ever miss talking to me or laughing with me or going shopping with me ... yeah, yeah, I know ... no one in their right mind would ever miss going shopping with me. And the worst part of wondering all those things is that I even wonder those things at all ... no, wait ... the worst part of wondering all those things is that I still care about people who obviously never wonder those same things about me. 

I got teary this morning as I told my friend how much she means to me ... how very, very, very much her loyalty and unconditional love have meant to me all these years and how very, very, very much they continue to mean to me today. I know I'll never have to wonder anytime about what I mean to her or if she cares about me because I know she'll never walk away ... no matter what, she will never walk away. And you know what? She knows I won't either. 

I know if my sweet friend were sitting here with me tonight, she would tell me to tell you that life is short ... she would tell me to tell you that true friends are hard to find ... she would tell me to tell you that friendship is a precious, precious gift to be appreciated and treasured ... she would tell me to tell you not to ever let it go. I hope I'm half the friend to her that she is to me. I know her ... she'd stand in line for a whole day to get me a soy decaf latte with sugar-free vanilla ... you bet your iced mocha she would ... she surely would.

The Last Halloween

No ghosts or witches knocked on my door Monday evening, but I was visited by several Ninja Turtles, a whole slew of princesses, a gaggle of zombies, a few cheerleaders and a most adorable little teddy bear. I'm pretty sure a couple of the princesses and three or four of the zombies visited my house more than once because I gave out the good stuff ... at least that's what I heard a lot of the kids say as they walked back down my sidewalk. Truth be told, not only did I give away good candy this year, I gave the kiddos an extra big portion. It was, after all, the last Halloween I'll ever spend in the little house I've called home for the past 15 years, and I wanted to go out with a bang.

It's funny how much more meaningful things become when you know it's the last time you'll ever experience them. Even standing in the doorway of your home on Halloween handing out candy to the kids in your neighborhood takes on all new significance. I'm pretty sure I've never gotten teary doing that before, but I surely had to fight those pesky liquid emotions back on Monday evening. Yep, you read that right ... it took everything in me not to bawl my eyes out every single time my doorbell rang, and you can bet that when I finally turned out my porch light and closed the door, I sat in the floor with Ollie in my lap and boo-hooed big time. And yes, I know it's a dumb thing to cry about, but I most certainly did just that.

I received a call a few days ago from someone in my extended family whom I love dearly. We were only a moment or two into the conversation when she told me that her best friend in the world ... they've been friends since they were babies ... had been told last week by the doctors that she had only three months to live. The pain in her voice was muted only by the pain in her heart as she said, "This will be her last Thanksgiving and her last Christmas ... if she makes it that long ... these will be her last." Tears welled in my eyes as she spoke about their years of friendship and all they have experienced together ... good and bad alike ... and those tears poured down my cheeks and plopped onto my shirt when she said, "I thought we'd have more time ... I thought she would beat this and we'd have more time."

Tonight as I drove home from work, the horizon glowed in the warmth of the setting sun. It was one of those beautiful Kansas sunsets ... a sunset that made me think of how my mom always said the sky was bigger out here in Kansas than it was back in Tennessee. Don't waste one moment, friends ... not one single moment.