How I Am

Over the last weeks, many of our friends and family have been reaching out on a fairly regular basis to see how we're doing, and to continue to offer love and support. And the big question is, "How are you?"

And the answer is usually "okay."

Of course, recent events have resulted in a new definition of "okay." Now "okay" means "barely functional but not ready to melt down at this exact moment." Which I believe is the best I can hope for right now.

So I'm usually okay, interspersed with occasional meltdowns, triggered by things that are as unpredictable as they are banal, and therefore cannot be avoided. Things like the mall. And wildlife. And laundry.

I appreciate everyone's checking on us, though - it would be far too easy for me to withdraw into myself, and spend all my time gnawing on the new reality of my life. A life where my baby girl died alone in a nondescript hotel room, filled with apathy and despair, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

The problem, of course, is that I really don't want to accept this new reality. It sucks. It sucks worse than anything, ever, and yet there simply isn't anything to be done that will make it different, or better.

So like an addict who cannot envision a long-term future without the yoke of their addiction around their neck, I'm taking one day at a time. Today I will get out of bed. Today I will exercise, but not too much or too little. Today I will eat food, but not too much or too little. Today I will try to perform the work for which I'm paid. Today I will try to sleep, and not wake up crying.

Today I will live in a world without my Moe-Moe.

A Service of Love

When we were planning the Memorial Service for my daughter, one of the things we wanted was for the proceedings to be about her. Not about anybody else's beliefs, not about how she chose to end her life, but about her impact on the world, the example she set for others, and how she left the world a better place than she found it. She was agnostic, and none of us were the least bit interested in having some fire and brimstone preacher-man who never knew her hijack her service to advance his own agenda.*

So we decided that we would basically conduct the service ourselves. People who knew and loved her chose to speak, and tell stories about her life, and how she lived, interspersed with music that I selected.

I'm glad we made this decision - everyone has to deal with the fact of her death in their own way, based on their own belief system, but the common denominator was our love for her, and I thought the service was lovely. I hope she would have approved.

A number of people have asked about the music, so here's what I selected, which was played before and after the service, and between speakers:

Wagner's The Ring Cycle

I Want to Hold Your Hand, Glee Cast recording, featuring Chris Colfer

Still Within the Sound of My Voice, from Cry Like a Rainstorm, Howl Like the Wind, Linda Ronstadt

Hallelujah, from Hymns from the 48th Parallel, k.d. lang

Eva (Orchestral), from Dark Passion Play, Nightwish

 

Touch the Sky, from Brave, Julie Fowlis

 

Wagner's The Ring Cycle

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*We have seen this happen far too many times, and really, this constitutes a throat-punching offense.

A Fundamental Failure of Love

I'm not one of those people who wants thousands of friends on Facebook. I use social media as a tool to build and maintain my personal relationships, and to keep track of my friends and family who are far away.

Which is why I was so surprised when I discovered that people who I considered friends - and some family members, too - were completely oblivious when I chose to post the news of my daughter's death. It's been two weeks since we got the terrible news, and there are a number of people from whom I haven't heard.

Now I realize that the world does not stop due to the tragedy of one family. People continue to go places, take pictures, enjoy their events. I want this to be the case, and keeping track of the normalcy of others is good for me.

But I do expect people who purport to care about me to take two seconds to acknowledge the worst time in my life in some small way, whether that's a condolence card, a private message, an e:Mail, a text, a post to my wall - something. And I'm sorry to say that there are people with whom I'm "friends" on Facebook who failed to do that, even though I know for a fact that they knew.

It's a fundamental failure of love, to know those we care for are suffering, and to choose to do nothing when we have the power to ease their pain with a sympathetic word or a small act of kindness.

I haven't quite decided what to do about this. I'm pretty emotionally fractured at this point and not really in a position to make decisions about my future relationships. But I will say that these people's silence has hurt me at a time when I really didn't need any more hurt on my plate.
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ETA: Since this posted, I've been getting texts, e:Mails, and PMs from people who are convinced I'm talking about them. I have to say that in similar circumstances, I, too, would assume I hadn't done "enough" and caused pain to someone I cared for. But that's not the case here. If you sent condolences - in whatever media - I saw them. And they all mattered to me, no matter how clumsily written, no matter if you didn't know what to say. The ones who hurt me are the ones who remained completely, utterly silent. If that wasn't you, you don't have anything to apologize for.

A World of Thanks

As you can imagine, the last ten days have been the worst period of my life. I vacillate between being barely functional and wanting to crawl out of my own skin because I can't bear the idea of a world that doesn't contain my Moe-Moe. Usually I'm somewhere in between.

And yet, even in my darkest hours, I recognize how very lucky I am to be part of a tribe that loves and cares for me and my family so deeply. Moe's memorial service was standing room only, a testament to the many lives she touched with her courage, humor and grace. So I'd like to thank some people publicly, because without their love and support, the "barely functional" times would disappear in a haze of misery and grief.

In addition to dealing with his own grief and shock, the Smart Man has born the brunt of this horrible event for our family. There have been numerous tasks that needed accomplishing for which I've simply been incapable, and thanks to him, I've not had to try. How lucky I am to have such a partner, especially now. And it means the world to me that at the end of my baby girl's life, she had found in him her "Poppa," and he in her, a daughter.

The Smart Sailor was able to come home on emergency leave to attend the service and be with us. He's doing the necessary work to become the person he wants to be, and has grown into a fine man. I'm so proud of him, and so grateful he's here.

When Sister Stacey learned of Moe's death, she literally flew into the breach and was here in less than 24 hours, providing the emotional and logistical support we so desperately needed. Her love and friendship humbles me.

When Sister Stacey had to go back to New York, Sister-from-Another-Mister The Mechanicky Gal took the reins, and she did me the single greatest kindness in our long, long friendship - she read the eulogy I had written for Moe's service. I was incapable, and her strength allowed me to express my love and admiration for my daughter publicly without having to resort to a stranger.

There's a cadre of my birth family to whom I feel especially close, and they've been here, providing whatever we need, sharing our grief and inviting me to "Take a whack at Weeza." Mommy, Auntie Michel and Uncle Larry, Lisa, Bill, Kyla, Josh - thank you.

My Smart BIL has been here throughout, providing support to the Smart Man and acting as our minion with the thousands of details that needed attending to. He's not really my "brother in law" - he's just my brother.

Moe's own Sister-of-the-Heart helped to go through Moe's things, made suggestions for the service, and chose to speak at the service, as well. I'm so very grateful that Moe had a friend such as her throughout her life. Linda, you're an amazing person, and we love you.

The Smart Man, the Incomparable Anne, Stacey, Dale, Ocheane, Linda and my Smart BIL did me the enormous kindness of packing up Moe's belongings and placing them into storage so that I can go through her things when I feel able, regardless of when that will be.

And to the many, many people who attended the service, sent food, gave hugs, donated money to the GLBT Center and provided condolences, sympathy, love and support through all the mediums of communication: Even though I couldn't always respond, I heard you. I appreciated your kind words. It matters to me. Thank you.

A Stepfather's Eulogy for his Stepdaughter

I was fortunate to have the opportunity to get a second chance to build a relationship with Moe. As a younger girl she and I had a hard time finding our way which resulted in angry and hurt feelings on both sides.

Shortly after she graduated high school we started over. Once we started listening to each other better we slowly built a trusting relationship and also realized we had a lot of common interests. Over time, I think we built a good relationship.

After Moe moved back in with Janiece and me and as Janiece's travel schedule for work increased we spent much more time together and grew closer.

One evening, when I arrived home from work, Moe asked if we could talk. She told me that she thought that our relationship had progressed to the point that she wanted to address me in a way that would indicate a familial relationship. We both agreed that “dad” or “daddy” would be inappropriate as that belonged to Kyle. Moe thought that “father” was far too stuffy, especially as most of our conversations consisted of comparing the merits of the DC vs. Marvel comic book universes, sharing casting news of the newest comic book movie, speculating on what the next George RR Martin book held in store for us and other topics of great import to a pair of lifetime geeks. So, Moe had a suggestion for how she would like to name me to which I readily accepted as I had always told her and John that they should call me whatever they felt most comfortable with, which until this time was my name.

I feel very lucky that Moe and I became friends first and then family by choice. I will remember her with love and sadness especially when I see geek news that would have made her smile and as the civil rights battle makes forward progress for the LGBT community.

As people go through life they acquire many labels that defines their relationships. For myself; son, brother, friend, brother-in-arms, husband, step-father, brother-in-law and uncle. The label that humbles me and that I will continue to work to be worthy of is the one that Moe chose for me … Poppa.

Eulogy for my Daughter

When someone we love commits suicide, I think people have a natural tendency to get angry, to rail against the universe, to demand an explanation where none exists. We blame the victim, the world, ourselves.

But I can’t do that. I can’t do that because even though I will never be able to wrap my mind around why Moe chose to end her life, I cannot allow anger and despair to overshadow how very grateful I am that she was my daughter; how her presence in my life enriched me and made me a better person. So I choose to celebrate her life, however short, and to remember her in the same way I saw her in life, with love and admiration.

And there was a lot to love to admire.  

My daughter was fierce. In all my life, I have never met another human being who had more conviction for doing what she thought was right and fair, consequences to herself be damned. She never hesitated to take a stand on moral grounds, or to stick up for the underdog. I loved this about her, and her courage inspired me to be more courageous.

My daughter had a stunning intellect. She read voraciously, all her life, right from the beginning. We would often see her moving through the house with her nose stuck in a book, to the point where we became a little concerned that she’d fall down the stairs from not watching where she was going. Books were her lifelong friends, and her love of reading was a cornerstone of who she was. She consumed information about her world with the curiosity of the elephant’s child, whether the topic was Dr. Who or social commentary on feminism in the modern age. And nothing made her happier than to share this passion with others.

My daughter had an amazing ability to care for and invest in other people. She was passionate about social justice. In spite of facing discrimination herself, she spent considerable effort in trying to see the world through the eyes of those who had less privilege. She cared about feminism, and the LGBT community, and those who couldn’t care for themselves. My daughter loved meat. Steak, bacon, sushi – she loved it all. But when she decided that eating animals was not an ethical act, she did not hesitate to become a vegetarian, because it was the right thing to do, even though it meant giving up something she thoroughly enjoyed. It’s who she was, and her ethical consistency and ability to sacrifice holds me to a higher standard, as well.

There was time when things weren’t easy between us. We both spent her teen years being angry and hurt. But as she approached adulthood, we turned a corner, and adopted the attitude that being right was not nearly as important as being family. I cannot express how profoundly grateful I am to have had the opportunity to rebuild my relationship with Moe on a foundation of trust, respect and mutual support, and I know she felt the same way. Getting to know one another as unique human beings with our own priorities and desires has been one of the most precious and sacred experiences of my life. I’m so thankful to have done this work, and to have done it with someone whom I love and admire so deeply.

I will miss my baby girl every day of my life. But I will remember her positively, in all her glory and uniqueness, in all her awesomeness. She really did march to the beat of her own tuba, and I’m grateful, utterly grateful, to have marched with her, however briefly.

I’d like to close with a quote from Winnie the Pooh:  "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."

The Worst Day of my Life

July 31, 2013. The worst day of my life. Because on July 31, 2013, the Parker Police Department came to my home to tell me that my baby girl was dead.

I'm not really ready to write about this - I don't know if I'll ever be. But we're not alone - our amazing family and friends are here to help, for as long as we need them.

Maureen "AJ" Ramey
Wednesday, August 7, 2013, 10:00 a.m.
Parker Funeral Home
10325 Parkglenn Way
Parker, CO 80138
303-841-4004
http://www.parkerfuneralhomeandcrematory.com/book-of-memories/1641818/Ramey-Maureen/index.php

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the GLBT Center of Denver.