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agonyaunt2018-12-20 01:16 am
fairestcat) wrote in agonyaunt2018-12-20 01:16 am
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¡Hola Papi!: My Dad Died Before I Could Come Out to Him. Now What?
Hola Papi!
I'm an out and proud bisexual woman, but there are still a handful of people in my life — important people, like my grandfather, grandmother, and a few beloved cousins — who don't know that I’m queer. I guess unshaven legs and pits, my women's college alma mater, and my investment in LGBTQ+ politics can only say so much. They don't actually present you as “out” to your extended family.
I've always refrained from clarifying because the concept of bisexuality was already too confusing for my rather progressive mom, and I feared how family members who don’t already know would react if I were to come home with a man again. But then everything changed when my father died very suddenly of a heart attack in my first year of college.
I realized in the midst of that loss and grief that my father died thinking I was straight. He never could have imagined the queer love I experienced my first year in college. He never met a girlfriend of mine, and he never will. It's strange to reframe my own grief in this way, making it so deeply individualized and self-centered. But it's also heartbreaking to think that my dad died not knowing who I really was.
That brings me to my other important family members. I've deliberately kept myself closeted with them, because I know the conversations we would have about queerness would be exhausting at best and traumatizing at worst. But I'm also struggling to let the years roll by and keep myself hidden the way I did from my father. Is it better to come out and suffer the potential consequences, or keep it to myself and risk not telling my loved ones before it’s too late? This feels especially important now, as my grandmother recently turned 90.
Love,
Bi and Bereaved
Hello, Bereaved!
I don’t think it’s self-centered to wish that you could have shared this part of your life with your father. It’s a sentiment many queer people have when it comes to our loved ones. In fact, your dilemma reminds me of a very important, very brave, very beautiful person who went through something similar: Me. Let’s talk about me. That’s what advice columns are for.
In all semi-seriousness, I didn’t get the chance to come out to my abuela before she died in 2016. I came out in 2012, and I immediately felt a strong urge to rip the queer Band-Aid off with as many people as I could. I came out to just about everyone, even those who didn’t know me that well, because I thought my relationships were fraudulent until I updated them with this very important information.
But with my abuela, it was different. She was older, sure. But there was a deep cultural divide as well, we being different generations of Mexican American. Her context and language for queerness was so different from mine — mine being heavily influenced by the internet, hers being a big question mark — that I was too afraid she wouldn’t understand, or that she’d reject me, and so I chose not to stir the pot.
I sometimes wonder if I underestimated how willing she would have been to accept me. I do recall one time, watching Rachel Maddow on the couch together, when Abuela pointed at her and said, “That there is a handsome woman, mijo.” So, yes. Maybe I should have tried. Who knows what would have happened? All I know is that she passed away in 2016, and I was left feeling that someone important to me had died without knowing me, or at least without knowing a vital component of who I am.
Your letter hit me hard, Bereaved, because it conjured these memories for me. But I did find my way of dealing with it, and I hope it helps you out to hear about it.
We tend to think of life in linear terms, with death being the period at the end of the sentence, and nothing beyond. But thanks to the Mexican culture I inherited from my abuela, I have come to believe that life is cyclical, and death is just part of the process. It’s why we celebrate the Day of the Dead. Our ancestors may no longer be with us, but they still inform us, can still be summoned in our bones, and are still an integral part of our living, breathing selves.
You say your father died without knowing you. I don’t think that’s true. I think he knew plenty about you. The time you spent together, the memories you have of him — those things aren’t voided because you didn’t have the chance to come out to him. And the thing is, you were queer that whole time, even if you didn’t vocalize it.
I’ll also add that, in my experience, family members tend to know more about you than you think. Sure, cishetero ignorance can be strong. But just because they haven’t vocally acknowledged the telltale signs of your queerness doesn’t mean they haven’t drawn their own conclusions.
I don’t want to downplay the importance of coming out to your loved ones. It’s an affirming act that, when met with validation, can have positive effects on our mental health and quality of life. When met with rejection, however, the results can be traumatizing. That’s why I can’t in good conscience advise someone whose family situation I am unfamiliar with to just come out already. I’d love to tell you everything would be fine if you did, but it’s not that simple.
I can, however, tell you that you have a community who will support you when you’re down. And I’ve consistently received this good piece of advice from my queer pals when it comes to coming out to family: Find someone — a cousin, aunt, or anyone in your family — who you know will be cool with it and start there. You don’t have to put out a newsletter to your entire extended family announcing that you’re queer now and to please adjust the holiday playlist accordingly.
And you don’t have to come out to absolutely everyone if you don’t want to. It’s up to you. Sometimes, coming out does mean having uncomfortable conversations with family and friends who aren’t completely up to speed on LGBTQ+ issues. For bisexual people in particular, I know it can be difficult, given biphobic beliefs that it’s a phase or some sort of pre-gay chrysalis stage. Take stock with yourself: Are you willing to put up with those conversations right now?
I hope you get to come out to your family, Bereaved, and I hope more than anything that they meet you with the respect you deserve. But don’t put too much pressure on yourself to come out to everyone as quickly as you can. It’s natural to have regrets when someone dies. It’s part of the grieving process. Allow those regrets their brief window of time, and then — and this is important — let them go.
Papi.
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Mostly because I wish I could have had a conversation with him about what that kind of experience was like for him, though, not because it would have changed much for me (a mostly-out bisexual since age 17, but only out to my parents since age 25ish). I wish it was a talk we could have had (he died when i was 19). But I do feel like he would have understood, and I like that feeling. He also gave me the gift of knowing that my parents were able to cope with someone coming out to them — my dad’s response was to start buying grandpa beefcake calendars for christmas — and that’s something I treasure. if he’d known he made it easier for me i think he would have been pleased.
I was closer to my other grandparents, but never came out to them, and I don’t regret that. They knew me well, but I think that would have distressed them. Instead I can remember the good things about them — they were both active anti-racists and generally OK with non-straight and trans folks. Maybe they would have been ok with me, but it would have broken me entirely if they weren’t.
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I came out to my maternal grandmother, because I was confident my mother would support me whatever her reaction, and that the extended family would be supportive as well. My grandmother's reaction (like my parents') was basically a shrug and to treat me just the same.
My father's parents, I never came out to. I was cautioned that it would cause them great distress and me a lot of heartbreak because they would probably react badly. I don't think it's a coincidence that I've pulled away from that side of the family even in the years following their deaths.
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When it comes to family, I live in a glass closet. I fully expect that my mother-in-law knows I'm bi, but won't say anything because she wants to be polite and doesn't know how. And since my father-in-law is probably deliberately oblivious because he would think I was Sinful(TM) and was going to divorce his son, and because some of Spouse's siblings said really homophobic things when Spouse's brother's wife came out as a lesbian and they got divorced, I'm not really interested in putting myself through that. I'm out where it's worth being out.
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