An act of liberation

Today was a loaded day. It is the sixth anniversary of my baby brother Jason's death. But today also marks the first time I have been able to be completely honest about a very difficult and specific subject with a very close friend (with any friend at all, actually).

I started the morning by sharing a cup of coffee with S2 and engaging with her in a conversation that was, for me, a bold venture. I told her something that has been my darkest secret, a facet of my experience that has dogged me for more than 20 years.

There are likely dirtier secrets to be told, but this was a significant source of inner conflict, guilt and shame. As it is, it remains a subject too complex and touchy for me to blog about right now. But I won't be surprised to find myself writing about it in some depth one day.

For now, what's affecting me so profoundly is the healing process of disclosure itself. In telling my (perhaps silly) secret to S2, I risked a form of rejection that touches the most sensitive parts of my being. When this did not happen -- when, instead, she accepted my experience in its context and pulled no punches in reply -- I recalled on an almost cellular level what it was like to come out of the closet to the first important friend who didn't reject me.

I remembered the relief of feeling accepted despite this "terrible flaw" I had of being gay. I recalled the almost giddy feeling that came from realizing that there were some people who were going to remain steadfast in their relationship with me even though I had announced a significant revision to the identity of the person they thought me to be. I felt again the release from the trap known as a sin of omission.

What I was able to talk about today with S2 was so complex and deeply rooted in me that I can scarcely describe it, much less make others understand it. But somehow, S2 seemed to get it. And more to the point, she accepted what I was telling her with an openness that eased whatever anxiety I brought to the discussion (which wasn't all that much because I hadn't actually planned on telling her anything).

In fact, the conversation itself and the "secret" I revealed to her about myself seemed fairly matter-of-fact. If S2 had any idea in the moment how stirring the whole thing was for me -- if *I* had known how it would feel to reveal what I did -- one of us might have had the sense to be nervous.

But instead, it felt like two friends keeping it real.

In the end, what S2 did was normalize my experience for me. She voiced her own understanding of the issue and shared a context in which my situation was not just OK but perhaps also so predictable as to be expected -- and even noted how some might find compliments for themselves in the issue with which I have been struggling.

Sorry to sound so oblique and secretive, but it really is too complicated and personal for me to explain in writing right now. Nevertheless, I'm trying to say something here. Which is:

I had a big day. It is the anniversary of Jason's death. He was the person I loved most in the world. It wasn't intentional, but I chose to honor his memory by allowing myself to experience the love I have for others. I opened my heart and showed a troubled, easy-to-reject part of it to my best friend.

She responded by loving me *still,* rather than loving me "anyway."

There is a universe between those two words -- "still" and "anyway." A universe.

(Note to readers: S2 used neither of those words. The *still* is my own interpretation.)

There was so much more to this day, including a significant dinner conversation with Bubba and her Lovely Lady Lawyer. But I am too tired to write any further. I didn't get to sleep until 3 yesterday, so I've got some making up to do.