I had a long conversation recently with a dear friend of mine from across the pond. We were chatting away about everyday things when she stopped for a moment. I could tell she was about to tell me something important. She started by saying she had just returned from a 10 day trip to Assisi. Her excitement was electrifying. I never remembered her saying she was drawn to Assisi for any reason but I was excited for her because I knew it had been something special. She began by explaining how the trip was one of those HP kind of moments, where the idea just simply and beautifully arrived like a whispering breeze on a hot and muggy afternoon. She had just woken up when a voice inside said "go to Assisi". Now mind you, my friend, who is no stranger to travel, has a debilitating case of Chronic Fatigue, one that means if she is having a good day she has enough strength to get out of bed and bath herself, eat, and maybe just maybe go for a drive. However, within three days of receiving the guidance she was in Assisi. It all just came together. She found accommodations with a group of nuns in convent, one that could take care of her physical needs and also provide a place for quiet solitude and relaxation. But this post is not about my friend, a hero in her own right, it is about a man she had met while in Assisi; a elderly gay man from Kentucky who I, after hearing his story, choose to define as a silent hero.
We, in the gay community, especially in the hots spots like San Francisco and New City, have become accustomed to certain rights and privileges over the years. Those being, for the most part, that we can live openly in relative safety expressing our love while creating and maintaining relationships of all sorts. We also have the extraordinary opportunity to protest at will, expressing our support or distain for all sorts of issues. I fear though that in this air of particular freedom we have lost sight of what it means to "Be Gay" in the vast open spaces that are these United States. I have said this before to many people. I do not feel comfortable about sticking all of our civil rights eggs in the marriage basket at the expense of all other things. That feeling was reinforced when I heard the story of this elderly gay man. His story is one of struggle and pain. I'll call him Jim.
Jim, now in his late 70's and facing certain death within months, arrived in Assisi about the same time as my friend. Their first chance encounter was at a cafe near to the convent where they saw each other but didn't talk. My friend, exhausted from her flight wanted an early dinner so she could sleep. Jim and her exchanged glances and my friend knew that there was something about this man that she felt drawn to but was too exhausted to attempt conversation. Late the next morning my friend was in the common area of the convent when she saw Jim sitting a table in the corner, alone. Using her cane she slowly made her way over knowing that this man was the reason she was in Assisi. Jim looked up as she approached, recognizing her instantly. After my friend sat down they introduced themselves, talking excitedly about how their meeting was meant to be. Over the course of the next 5 days Jim opened up in a way he had never before. My friend sat, transfixed, while he did.
Jim was born in rural Kentucky outside of Louisville. His family was religious as most are in the interiors of the United States. He knew early on that he was gay and decided to come out to his family as a teenager. Immediately his family institutionalized him and over the course of many years Jim suffered at the hands of cruel and sadistic people. It was during that time that he was regularly beaten, subjected to electroshock therapy, and sadistically and sexually abused by many "professionals". Once of age he was released out onto the streets without any support, his family rejecting him and disowning him. As he struggled to find his way forward he found out he was also bi-polar. The diagnosis was devastating for him but also liberating. He had believed everything that they had said. This diagnosis helped him make sense of his experience. He tried to find medical help to no avail. The many meds that were described made his life more hellish. He finally decided to make it on his own. He found ways to cope with his illness and the effects of his horrific childhood only to lose them slipping into depression and suicide. Jim attempted to take his life many times over the next few decades only finding some relief when he connected to his spiritual path. He showed my friend the scars on his wrists saying these are the marks of my journey, each signifying yet another battle to survive. Jim finally realized that turning to a power greater than himself was the only way to survive. His journey into the light has given him wisdom beyond his years. Our ghosts, he said, are to be honored, not hidden. Take them out into the light, hold them close to our hearts, holding them with the respect and honor of who they are, all the while telling them that they are wanted. We can not find true liberation from demons until we take them in. My friend, struggling with her own demons, sat listening to his story while sharing some of hers, both bearing witness to their respective lives. While I listened to my friend I realized that Jim is one of the multitude of silent heros in our vast community, the ones who silently move around unnoticed until they choose to speak. But when they do it is the wisdom of the ages that is uttered. These are ones who we are fighting for. The true heros of our time. The true sufferers of discrimination. They are the ones who can not, for whatever reason, live and breath free. For them marriage is just a distance star shining somewhere beyond the solar system. Their daily struggles are much closer to home. They just to be truly loved, supported, and accepted.
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