This might be Ocean Beach in San Francisco
I can tell I took the photo from the van
while driving with Scott
because of the splotches on the window
I like that I captured the couple walking on the beach
I took a lot of photos when the van was moving
I\’ve read when some people lose a spouse or partner, they can go through a hellish anger stage which can sometimes be triggered by seeing other couples enjoying themselves, holding hands, being romantic. Fortunately, I have not gone through too much anger or irritation since Scott\’s transition and I don\’t think I will. I\’m not skipping grief steps, it\’s just not in me. Still, I can feel and see how painful watching others in love could cause a flooding of heat and anger. Why me? Why us?
I guess, one of the reasons, I don\’t get angry, is gratitude. I am no Angel. I am not perfect. I have done and continue to do hurtful things and think hurtful thoughts just like all of us. It\’s just that, I wanted and looked for my soulmate for my whole life and finally I found him and I am grateful I did. The missing piece of the puzzle in this life came together and I am so grateful we had the time together that was given to us. So, no I am not angry. I feel whole.
Last night, my sister invited me to go out to listen to her friend play piano. COVID numbers are decreasing, the surge has abated, and the open air dining and music scene has awakened from a long sleep in Sonoma County. Live music is a necessity like air around here. For two spring/summer seasons Scott and I packed our dinner and camping chairs to listen to a live band almost every night of the week after work and during our days off.
In the big tent, standing heaters glowing, my sister\’s friend at the piano, his friend of thirty plus years at the microphone beside him, played jazz tunes as we ordered glasses of wine and dinner. The singer, a youthful eighties wore a golden jacket with crimson orchids, her voice reminded me of Judy Garland.
I glanced over, trying not to stare, at the sets of couples at bar tables enjoying the music, polishing off appetizers, sipping their lemon drops and moscow mules. I remember. I remember the many good times with Scott doing the same. This town, the town we were in, huddled at bar tables, listening to music as the temperatures dropped and the evening carried on is gay friendly and has been for decades. I smiled seeing the mix of couples and families enjoying their dinners and music. Lately, I\’ve been having a strong feeling and guidance, that a gay male friend will be entering my life. I want a man in my life, just not a straight one.
After dinner, my sister and I walked a couple blocks back to the car. The cold nipped at our collars, I pulled my jacket close around me. Near the car, three people, homeless, sat together on the freezing sidewalk on top of blankets, wrapped in layers of old clothing. I turned to my sister, I have six dollar bills in my wallet, I\’m going to take over to them. My sister asked me to wait, she had some food in her car, that she was going to take to the food bank. While my sister grabbed the food, I took the single bills out of my wallet wishing I had more to offer. We walked towards the three friends, my sister greeting the small group. I noticed, they were in their seventies. I handed each a couple of dollars, saying I only had enough for them to have hot coffees, apologizing it wasn\’t more.
Back in the car, the anger surfaced. I cussed out loud at the state of our world, our community. How is it possible that seniors are sleeping on freezing sidewalks swaddled in rags with no permanent housing, no public bathrooms or hot showers available. I can\’t get my mind around it. I thought about the three of them as we drove home. I told my sister, \”I am them\”.
I am them. Why can\’t we get that. They are no different than me except for I was heading to a warm bed while they tried to get through a cold, dark night, wrapped together.
So, yes, I do feel anger.