Life And Struggle

He was a beautiful little boy. Dark curls and chocolate eyes, chubby cheeks, ruddy with the bloom of life and youth. I loved him, I loved him more than he has ever known. He was older than me but he never made me feel like an unwanted pest or an inferior. Both my brothers had died in infancy. My cousin Thomas was the only brother I ever had.

We would play in the yard at his parents' farm or sit on the front porch of my parents' home and tell ghost stories. Even as a child, Thomas worked, he worked hard doing the many farm chores assigned to him. Sometimes he let me help feed the chickens or gather up the fresh eggs.

Once we were asked to decorate the church social hall for the annual Christmas celebration. I've never forgotten how much fun that challenge was and how we tried so hard but it just came out looking tacky and laughable. We laughed a lot in those days, carefree times. Some of my best memories are of those childhood days and the fun we had together with all our cousins.

Thomas told me jokes and made me laugh, he gave me my first puff of a cigarette. It almost choked me and luckily I hated the taste of it. We grew up, he went away to college then we both went away to life. Over the long years I only had occasional contact with him, a couple of very short phone conversations, a brief visit when his dad, my uncle, passed away. We were distant but the love for my cousin/brother was always there.

I saw him again last year at a family reunion. He's still tall, the chocolate eyes still sparkle with life and wonder above the gray mustache. We are both no longer young. It saddens me that we lost so many years of contact we could have enjoyed. It's strange how you can be apart from someone you love for decades but the love always remains the same.

Thomas had lived many places, traveled widely but he had come home to retire at the old farm. We sat side by side in two easy chairs and talked about life, his children, my children, our grandchildren. I don't remember how the conversation turned to the subject but he spoke to me about being gay. The struggle, the questions, the suffering brought to himself and others. The fortitude it took to make the decision to live his life in the truth of who he really is.

I felt honored that he would speak so frankly to me about the greatest struggle of his life. I had known he was gay long before he ever came out openly but we had never talked about it before.

Thomas has Parkinson's. It's obvious in the tremors, the shuffling gate, the stiffness and grimace of pain. I witnessed the way his partner of over thirty years so adoringly takes care of him and I am grateful that someone loves him that much. Sometimes I am at a loss for words fearing I might say the wrong thing but with my Dear Thomas I am never at a loss for love.

I haven't told him about the greatest struggles of my life. I may not be as brave as him and more reluctant to speak of it with anyone but I hope someday to be able to share it with him. Somehow I know he will not be one who judges but one who loves.