Monthly Archives: May 2011

Obama’s right & Palin’s still a nitwit

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President Obama is right in deciding not to release the pictures of a dead Osama Bin Laden. The common human desire to see the pictures, shared by me too by the way, is the same macabre desire that leads everyone to slow to a crawl when they pass a car accident. Not a desire whose influence deserves decision making power when it comes to releasing the Bin Laden photos.

The argument that they need to be released to really really really prove Bin Laden is dead is not a good one. For God sakes we have people who deny the holocaust! What on earth makes anyone in their right mind think releasing the photos would do the trick?

Speaking of people in their right mind, wait, I already did that in referring to the president. Let’s be fair and speak about someone who is not in their right mind: Sarah Palin. Upon learning that the president had decided not to release the photos Palin tweeted, “"Show photo as warning to others seeking America’s destruction. No pussy-footing around, no politicking, no drama; it’s part of the mission." Where are we, Sarah, in some school yard? Bad enough you’ve got some members of the public thinking you’re mighty special and as long as that lasts you’ll gouge them for every penny you can, but are you kidding me? We talked like that when we were in school, meaning when we were kids. Do us all a favor and go back to Alaska and keep your eyes on Russia.

Anyway, in my view Obama is still an extraordinary president and Palin is still an extraordinary nitwit.

From Degraw to Sackett street

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See my words deep center of your heart

I can tell you now that’s where they’ve been from the start

From Degraw to Sackett street our dreams came true

Then I slashed your soul by wounding you

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See my tears deep center of your heart

I can tell you now they’ve been in mine from the start

They never were your doing then or now

I loved you more than life but I didn’t know how

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See my words dancing colors in the center of your heart

Our breaths were love joined wonder from the start

See my words now dancing life on the page

Still remembering all love lost and my age

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See the sunrise life in the center of your heart

You were my sunshine angel right from the start

See time moving by running out for the all of everyone

Still remember I do how I knew you were the one

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See my words deep center of your heart

I can tell you now that’s where they’ve been from the start

From Degraw to Sackett street dreams came true

Then I slashed your soul by wounding you

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Writing About My Mother’s Suicide

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Every honest writer knows words can take you to some painful places. For me, none more so than writing about my mother’s 1992 suicide. I am, I think, about four months away from finishing the memoir and am now writing about her suicide. There is a piece in this blog called Goodbye Mother Sunday which talks about it.

No matter how much time has passed, this August 12th will mark 19 years, the soul-tearing pain and heartbreak never goes away. There are certain events in life that are so big they freeze me in place, one giant ache. This morning, writing, a conversation with her letting me know the time to end her life was coming, my head bowed down and, although I live alone, I got up and closed the door to my writing room, not entirely clear, then or now, exactly why I’d closed it Protecting myself, I suppose, though from what I don’t know.

What I do know is that she is gone, and that, I will never get over. Despite our rocky time when I was growing up, a time that culminated into my being disowned three months after my father died when I was 15,  resulting in a nearly 10-year estrangement, we reconnected not long after the birth of my daughter in 1977 and, in the last 10 years of her life, became very close friends. In fact, when it came to advocacy of all kinds we were each others number one adviser. We both worked hard for the Brady Bill and rejoiced when it became law. She helped Laotian refugees find homes and volunteered at the GMHC (Gay Men’s Health Crisis) and we both fought against the death penalty.

My mother cared deeply about many things, but not herself. In the end, I learned, she did not believe anyone loved her. She was so wrong. I loved her and my sister loved her and her grandchildren loved her; many people loved her. But sometimes our personal histories gain so much power, they destroy our ability to see ourselves clearly. It cost my mother her life.

I will finish writing about her, her suicide, and I will finish the memoir and then, I will keep living. I know that’s what she would have wanted me to do. I know it’s what I wanted her to do.