Will she be remembered?

I recently received word my friend and our Trans* sister, Sarah, passed away. She was vibrant and funny, a prankster and one of the best listeners ever. She left a wife, two married sons and three grandchildren. Sarah taught Sunday school, worked as an accountant, loved the Cleveland Indians, enjoyed Johnny Walker Red on the rocks, fried bologna sandwiches and fishing. When she was presenting, she always had on matching panties and bra, three-inch heels and a dress, never pants. She is the only person, besides my mother that I knew, who always had a compact in her purse and would frequently powder her nose. Sarah was in the closet.

Him

Most of Sarah’s life, since she was about five years old, she knew she was a girl. She never wanted to be Him. Him was how she hid her true self until she passed at 72 years old from cancer. When Sarah was disguised as Him, she did it for her family, job, reputation and legacy. Her wife never knew about Sarah, or if she did, she never said anything. Her sons just thought of Him as dear old dad. Those of us in our local Tri-ESS chapter and who got to know her knew the truth. We respected and loved Sarah.

Sarah’s regret

After a Tri-ESS meeting or the occasional girls’ night out, a few of us always drifted to a bar where we were welcome and safe. Not often, but occasionally the topic of regrets came up. We all went through the usual list and Sarah always said, “I only have one. I’ve always wanted to live as who I really am.” All of us would nod in agreement, toast our true selves and change the subject to lighter topics.

Paying my respects

I went to the funeral home for the viewing. In her honor, I wore matching black panties and bra and my black dress I reserve for funerals. Sarah would have approved. I gave my regrets to Sarah’s wife who didn’t know me and asked how I knew Him. I told her I used to work at the accounting firm with Him, but left a few years earlier. A simple lie. I shook the hands of her sons and daughters-in-law and then paused at the casket.

Him

There, laid out, was a fine-looking older gentleman who I never met. His full head of gray hair was neatly cut and parted and he was wearing a dark blue pinstriped suit, white shirt and a striped tie. He looked like an accountant out of central casting. This was Him. Someone I never knew or would know. Out of the forty or fifty people whispering quietly in the funeral home that night, I might have been the only one there who knew that this was Sarah.

Good bye, Sarah

As I stood beside the casket, I remembered her jokes and sense of humor and how freely and unguardedly she laughed. I can smell Chanel No. 5, which she loved. I could look past the image laid out and see Sarah in her favorite dress, heels and pearls. Her purse always matched her shoes. I could see the lady with a big, friendly grin. I saw my friend, Sarah. I didn’t dwell long, but I did pause and said loud enough for her to hear, “Good bye, Sarah.”

Remembering Sarah

As long as those of us who knew Sarah are alive, she will be remembered. The person only a few of us knew didn’t exist to most the people in her life. They never knew how gracefully she moved or how gracious she was. They never heard her uninhibited lady laugh and how she loved to twirl around excitedly when you gave her a compliment on how fabulous she looked. They will never know that for sixty-seven years, she hid who she honestly was.  They never really knew her.  “Good bye, Sarah. I remember.”

Tags: closeted, featured, Identity, Transgender

Category: Transgender Body & Soul