Good Grief
Perhaps I need a few more plunges into the ocean to rid me of the dark thoughts that linger about the defeat of Proposition 8 in California, but maybe those feelings of grief are actually good and shouldn’t be expunged.
The rescinding of marriage rights in California because a small and small-minded majority feels personally threatened doesn’t impact Ray and me legally because we were wed in good old Canada in 2003 and our home state of Florida has made it abundantly clear that Key West will freeze over before they will ever recognize us as a couple, even with a closeted gay Republican as the governor. But our hearts were broken by the disproportionately large percentage of blacks and Catholics who voted against gay marriage. We both grew up Catholic and we both have been lifelong activists on behalf of black people. We feel a bit betrayed.
The grief we feel is good perhaps because it brings Ray and me together as a couple. There’s nothing like a crisis — election losses, family visits, the evaporation of retirement programs — to bring us into each other’s thoughts and arms. Commiseration is good for the soul of the relationship.
There’s also goodness in the grief because it slaps me out of the sleepwalking that can take over my life. Routines are hard to maintain when my mind is filled with emotional dramas and fantasies — “Maybe Barack Obama will remind socially conservative black Americans that his mother and father’s marriage was not recognized as legal in all U.S. states until 1967. Won’t they then be ashamed of themselves and their short memory.” (I don’t know how to shame the Catholics who voted with the Mormons beyond reminding them of how stupid the charade of annulments is so that they can remarry contrary to the teachings of Jesus, not that I oppose divorce.)
Sometimes grief is good because it reminds me of how I create my own happiness and my own suffering. It forces me to decide if I want to play the victim or take back control of my life. It’s satisfying to blame blacks and Catholics for my emotional duress because it sets me up for sympathy, but do I really want the rest of the culture to respond to my hurt by making the lives of blacks and Catholics as miserable as those two groups consistently try to make mine? Not really.
Who cares what the majority of blacks, Catholics, Mormons, and other religious fundamentalists think? One day soon, gay couples will be able to marry in every state. Frightened people can’t block that from happening forever. Until then, I need to celebrate the joy of my own life with Ray, even without its legal protections or church sanctions.
It’s good to be reminded of that from time to time. Grief focuses and strengthens my resolve. It slaps me into recognizing what’s real and what’s relevant.
I feel better already. Grief is good. Good grief.
