For my friend, self-acceptance comes out of grief

Death. It can bring a soft, gentle act of remembering — one that recalls memories that bring smiles, and memories that do not linger but drift off like curls of smoke into sky.

It can also bring memories that crash in your soul, your heart like waves in a storm. These memories are powerful, demanding acknowledgment, demanding reflection and then action. It unearths parts of us that we thought were dormant and questions who we were and are and who we want to be.

At times, the death of someone can be both. Do both.

When My Favourite Husband died, the life I was living was done. The woman I was, was no longer. My core, my essence, was tousled as I was now living life solo. Not everything had scattered but I had to right myself and find forward. I had to find what works — and doesn’t — for me and what I wanted to bring with me in this life. 

This past week, I watched one of my closest friends make decisions as he navigated the death of someone pivotal in his past life; someone who played a major role in defining who he is.

My friend is bisexual and, many years ago, the man who died was his first kiss. 

Their boyhood encounters lasted only two years but left a lifetime of impact. My friend has shared with me many intimate details. He says he’s not sure if it was love between them but he recalls the time spent with this boy with love, so surely it must be so. 

When time and life had separated them, he searched for this love over the years, never finding his name in print or social media, never knowing where he was or what happened to him, until seeing a short notice of his death online. If my friend found his love sooner, the life he’s living now might be different. Or it may not.

The years since have awakened his desire for female relationships in the romantic, physical and emotional sense, and he’s chosen to marry and have children. But the power of death has awakened a desire in him that has remained dormant and unspoken for decades. And although he no longer yearns for an intimate same-sex relationship, he did in the past. It’s part of him of who he is. It always will be.

The impact of the time spent with the man who died has brought on intense mourning. You can never recapture the past; nor does my friend want to. But that past has now awoken and seeking acknowledgment because of the memories that have been stirred. The crashing kind. 

And so, to honour the importance of this man's place in his life, my friend has chosen to come out to certain select, trusted people. To acknowledge both sides of his sexuality. To reclaim and celebrate his whole self. 

I’ve listened to him recall intimidate, intricate details about this encounter and others. I’ve listened while he talks about his feelings and reflections from then and now, about his attraction to men and women — as another friend has so eloquently put it: “All humans, regardless of gender."

His recollections are tributes to both the man who died and the man who lives. 

I love what’s happening for my friend — not the death and the sadness and piercing hurt that it has brought, but the awakening and reclamation it’s bringing.

When he first told me about his bisexuality, he started by saying I was not his first kiss many years ago but his first 'girl' kiss. For years, he had denied the kiss of another boy and rewrote the story of the first time his lips touch another’s. It was a soft, easy way to start the story of his life; the complete story of his life. And I’m proud that he did.

In the days that have passed, he’s told a few other trusted people that he’s bisexual and been met with love and support. This doesn’t surprise me. That’s what he gives to the world so why wouldn’t he receive that back, especially at a time when he needs it most?

The excitement and the enthusiasm that my friend has for his selective sharing is contagious. His pride of this side of him evident. I understand this completely. My widowhood has unearthed things from my past that have served me well now; things I’m proud of, proud to be. 

It’s not easy dealing with death's aftermath and what it forces you to see, to hear and to be. You can chose to ignore the turmoil, and pretend the catalyst for change doesn’t exist. Or you can embrace the opportunity to be who you are meant to be.