The Bridge

My dad died seven years ago this October. I miss him, sometimes so much it nearly crushes me, even all these years later. However, in some ways his passing was the key to my being able to live the life I have now, and I struggle with the guilt that produces in me. If he was still alive I am not sure I would have had the courage to come out.

My dad reminded me of Archie Bunker, the character played by the late Carroll O’Connor, who from all accounts was nothing like the character he played so believably. My dad was a closet bigot and misogynist, and thoroughly a man of his times, though he was pretty good at hiding it. It was only in his last days that I saw it openly appear and I was very disappointed to have it confirmed.

I would like to think he would have just wanted me to be happy, but I’m not sure he could have crossed that bridge. This makes me sad because, of course, I’ll never know.

When I came out on social media, I only did it with a change in my relationship status. I heard from many with congratulations, but not all. I figured I would lose some friends, and I did, but was lucky and pleased that I did not receive any spewing of hatred, only quiet unfriending or just plain silence.

Since starting this blog and announcing it on social media, I am thrilled to say that some of those voices that had been silent have reached out from the void and given me the gift of their support, renewing our connection. I’ve missed them. Welcome back.

I am grateful to all of those who crossed that bridge to support me, no matter when you did it. I ‘m happy to have you on my side.

Be well my friends.

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