Everyone Cries On The Train
A beginning, an ending, and a note of intense hope.
Last night was my final time performing my story about Heather’s death on the Moth Mainstage. It’s not sad news—my story was selected for the October 7th Moth Radio Hour. I’m glad more people will hear about the community that surrounded Heather, but I’ll miss sharing it live. I’ll write more later about what the Mainstage has meant to me, but for now, in celebration, I’m resharing a beginning: my FIRST attempt to write about Heather’s life and death, performed at the WYSIWYG Blogger Show. Here is Everyone Cries On The A Train, best read in poetic monotone, black beret optional.
Teardrops Keep Falling On Our Heads We got bad news. When Heather was dying, we were always gettng lousy news. I guess it's an essential part of the dying process? As was our custom, we went to bed to cry. The phone rang. I changed position to answer it. Heather clipped me with her elbow. The force of the blow sent a tear into her ear, which had been sliding down my cheek. She jumped up and began shaking one leg like a swimmer trying to rid themselves of pool water. "Do you think this situation is covered in the CDC guidelines regarding exchange of body fluids?" she asked. "No," I say, "I don't think they thought of this at all. "
When A Hippie Observes A Cat
A visitor--an energy worker herself--tells me that our cat Rosie is doing a lot of energy work for me,
Heather,
and the house we live in.
As if to prove the point,
Rosie The Cat walks through the living room,
jumps on the couch,
and spends the next 45 minutes licking his balls.
Oh, I see.
"Energy work" 
Tips For Hospice
When you have a patient—or a patient's family member— on hold,
you might think "A Whole New World"
is a good choice for background music.
It is not. Nor is any Disney song.
Nor, really, the soundtrack from the movie Beaches.Everyone Says It's Hard To Get Rid Of Jehovah's Witnesses
Everyone says it's hard to get rid of Jehovah's Witnesses, but that's not true.
Greet them at the door, and say, "Is this going to take long?
My partner just got home from chemo, and she's really sick."
Okay.
It does help
if you are carrying
a bucket
of puke.Planning The Funeral
Heather is the kind of person who wants every detail of her funeral planned in advance. When we are finished, I am crying.
She hugs me and says, "It will be no fun when I'm done."
And then adds, "How's that for Dr. Suess meets Elizabeth Kubler Ross?"
All These Tests You know the dream you have? The dream where you're panicking because you're at school, have a test, and haven't been to class all semester? For a while, I felt like that. I felt like that every moment. My whole life seemed like a test I hadn't studied for. Heather died at home, and once the hospice nurse declared the death, I called the funeral director to pick up Heather's yknow, I guess, remains? Three hours later, they hadn't come, I called again, and the funeral director asked "Oh, were you done with the body?" I said "Um..um...I don't kn- Maybe? I suppose. Um. Yes?" What were we supposed to be doing with the body? Once Heather was gone, wasn't that the moment for the professionals to take over? How would I know? Who would I ask? My friend Stacy said “We kept expecting the grown ups to show up.” Turns out we were the grown ups.
When I First Moved To New York
When I first moved to New York
six weeks after Heather died,
a brochure at the LGBT community center caught my eye.
And my heart.
It advertised a support group
for guys who wanted
to stop
using
crystal meth.
It pictured an attractive man with a muscled torso saying,
"New York is so big, and I feel so alone.
Sometimes I want to be less sad,
even for one moment.
Meth does that." 
Was this intended to be an anti-meth sentiment?
Because it seemed more like an advertisement for meth
at that moment
to me. Everyone Cries On The A Train
I cried a lot my first year in New York.
Especially on the A train.
But I started to notice. Huh. I am not the only one.
In fact, I have come to believe that at least one time
in their New York life, Everyone Cries On The A Train
But once in a great while, someone will stare at my not so discreet sobs,
I become an become an uncharacteristically aggressive cryer.
"Oh really? You've never seen a bulldyke cry before?
Stick around, because there's 20 more minutes coming up.
Just.
like.
this. "Beautiful Holiday Surprise The Christmas after Heather died, my formerly homophobic mother (when I came out to her, she ripped up my birth certificate and sent it to me which is quite a story, but for a different time) referred to me in front of all her Florida retirement village friends as a widow. She called Heather my wife. Heather was-ahem- technically my Mistress, But I just smiled so so so hard at my mom and kept my big mouth shut.