After the episode in Chicago I described in a prior post, I could no longer pretend and work to convince myself that I was not really gay. Yet at the same time, I could not look in the mirror and say “I’m gay” either. Outwardly, I continued to live my life as always, but internally what had been a struggle previously, now increased to a desperate level. I was still in this twilight state when in January, 2000 my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. My daughter’s recovery had just finished and now here was a new catastrophe. Any possibility of facing up to my sexual orientation was definitely out of the question. Witnessing the hell my sister in Florida was enduring as she underwent radiation and chemotherapy for her cancer, my wife opted for the most aggressive surgery option and reconstructive surgery in order to avoid the need for radiation and chemotherapy. To date her health remains good and, as far as I know, she remains cancer free. However, her recovery took months and added to the family stress. Moreover, financially, we were hit with another co-pay stop loss and additional medical bills on top of the huge bills still remaining from my daughter’s illness. In fact, it took me over 3 years to finally pay of all the bills and our savings were totally depleted.
All of this medical drama required me to remain strong and supportive for my family (or at least try to be) and made the internal struggle all the worse. I know I frequently was not a pleasant person to be around. Yet, there was no way I could tell my wife about the Chicago incident or my same sex attractions with everything that was going on. As a pretty honest person, this made life more unbearable for me. In retrospect, the final straw that broke things open for me emotionally was the death of my sister in April, 2001.
For the first time in 13 years, I was taking a full week of vacation and we had rented a beach house in Frisco, North Carolina in the Outer Banks for the week of Spring Break (Photos of Hatteras are set out above). While we knew things were not good with my sister, my mother was with her, as were my other two sisters, and she had rallied time and time again. Therefore, we felt it was safe to go forward with the vacation plan. The first three days at Frisco were wonderful both in terms of weather and surfing and in just escaping the normal routine. For me, once I cross the Bonner Bridge onto Hatteras Island, cares melt away and remain on the mainland. However, in the late afternoon on Tuesday, my dad called and said that things were worsening in Florida. That day and through the night I worried about my sister. Wednesday (April 12, 2001) my dad called and said my sister was gone.
It seemed unbelievable as I sat on the deck surrounded by beauty and nature. That night there was the most amazing sunset, followed by a clear starry night. I broke down and cried and did what we all do – thought of times I could have been nicer, more supportive, etc., to my sister. In many ways, of the five of us children, she and I were the most alike. We tried to “play by the rules,” be what we were expected to be, and always planned for a better future and tried to sacrifice for our families. She had done everything right and delayed living her life for others, yet now she was dead and would never get to do and be what she had put off for the future.
Inflicting further turmoil was the fact that she had made me executor of her estate and trustee of her trust for her children, one of who was still a minor. The rest of the vacation week I was coordinating funeral arrangements on the phone and trying to get family consensus on what type of funeral she would have wanted (she left no directions since she never admitted she would not survive). Moreover, I had to deal with her ex-husband who foolishly thought he could waltz in and take over her estate and assets. Not surprisingly, I was a complete basket case emotionally, yet had to hold it together while everyone else freaked out. To this day, I feel that I never got to properly mourn my sister or go through the grieving process because of all that I had to do.
Once the funeral was over and I manage to sell her house in Florida, I began to chat on line late at night in a couple of gay chat rooms. I simply needed someone to talk to because there was no one that I knew that would understand and/or not be disgusted by my secret. I never did anything sexually or met any of these individuals, but a few of them chatted with me regularly and they became my friends so to speak. I simply felt so alone and felt that I was going to be doomed to live my whole life trapped in a role that was not really me. At times, I seriously thought of having a "surfing accident" so that the internal torment could stop and my secret would never be known. I had the whole plan worked out in my mind.
Meanwhile, my wife began to wonder a bit about what was going on with me. She knew I was stressed financially, working long hours, and shaken by my sister’s death and everything else we had endured for the last 20 months. The attacks on 9-11-2001 and the following hysteria only added to my sense of doom and entrapment, and my wife finally began asking me what was going on. Finally, she posited that either I was having an affair. I responded that, no I was not. Then she questioned if I was gay or something. So exhausted from 37 years of living a lie, I broke into tears and finally confessed my terrible secret that had plagued me, in my view at the time, destroyed my life. Now the issue would be how would she and I and our family would go on.
I've written before about my niece who left the world of corporate banking in New York City to seek a career pursuing her real love: cooking and baking. A love she seems to inherited from my late sister who always seemed most happy when baking cakes or pies or making some other delectable sweet. Happily, my niece continues to get some much deserved media coverage Here website is here), this time in Sweet Finds that has a review of her gourmet marshmallows. Here are some highlights from the write up:
We had another wonderful day here in New York City. We met my niece who lives here for lunch at a great little restaurant on Greenwich Avenue and I very much enjoyed catching up on what’s going on in her life. She seems to be flourishing after losing her mother, my middle sister and then her father less than two years later. She’s happy here in New York, has left banking which had given her the opportunity to live in London and then move to New York, and is now in the French culinary school here in New York. What was haunting to me throughout our wonderful meal was how much she looks like my late sister – I literally felt myself tearing up at a couple of times thinking of my sister and things lost. Throughout the remainder of the day we managed to avoid the 9-11 protests and instead seemed to encounter people involved in fashion week – certainly a more attractive option.
The boyfriend and I started the day by going to church at First Lutheran Church in Norfolk before we headed to Hampton for dinner with his parents and visiting relatives. It is a bitter sweet Easter - it is the 8th anniversary of the death of one of my sisters. Her name led the list in the prayers for those who have died during the beautiful church service this morning. My sister was a smart, talented, and a good soul who tried to live her life as she thought others expected. All too often she sacrificed herself for the expectations of others. She was a wonderful mother to her two children who are an amazing testiment to her. Losing her - in the midst of the first real vacation I had taken in 13 years at the time - had a profound impact on me. I still can see the spectacular sunset over the Outer Banks the evening she died followed by a star filled night sky. In many ways her death helped set the stage for my ultimate decision to face who I really was and to come out out of the closet. In the final analysis, I decided I could not live the rest of my life as someone playing a role that wasn't really me.
