Musings on Independence Day

December 5, 2000 was a cold night. I remember my mom just came home from one of her many stays in the hospital that morning. It had been a nasty bout; she had some psychotic delusions, but somehow a change in medication seemed to do the trick. She was back at home with her terrible temper. I remember she was trying to tell me that the bills needed to be paid although I had already paid the month’s bills a couple days before. I was getting clothes out of the dryer and my mom was sitting in the kitchen scowling and griping; she accused me of taking her medication, social security check, and various other items; she accused me of becoming a devil-worshipper along with Kim. I was frustrated by her accusations. These weren’t new accusations, but I was growing tired of them. The policy Kim had advised me to take with my mom was to ignore her as much as possible and stay calm. If she was confrontational, leave or go into my bedroom. For months I had been following His advice and it worked rather well. Often, when my mom would be getting really confrontational, we would have already been planning out our monthly rendezvous. For instance, back in August my mom had told me to leave and never come back…on the very day I was going to meet Kim and we were going to explore the Pacific Northwest for a month. Her timing was impeccable.
In October I was planning on leaving; in fact, I had a place all picked out. Unfortunately, the situation didn’t turn out the way the people said it would be (I’d have to be a nanny/friend for the lady and pay $400 rent for basically a studio apartment sans privacy). But my mom seemed to have a change of heart and I stuck around. Not this time. When she said to leave, I left. I had three changes of clothes and a pair of shoes and the necessary toiletries. I didn’t look back. I didn’t hear her telling me good riddance or whatever she was telling me. It was around 8 PM and I took the Night Ride #43 into downtown Salt Lake.
As I stepped off the bus across from KSL, I felt a major weight being lifted. For the first time in my life I was free and on my own. At the same time, I was terrified. I was homeless. I had a sum of money in my bank account; my uncle had given me some money out of my mom’s trust fund to take care of bills and the things I needed while she was in the hospital. Thankfully, payday was also coming up.
That first night, I went to the nearest hotel, the Howard Johnson and paid forty bucks for the room. I called Kim and told Him what had happened. He didn’t say much and I couldn’t read into his silence because I was so overwhelmed at what I had done. I think He was happy I finally stood up to my mom. Kim was sick in December. He had been sick in November as well. We were assuming that it was pneumonia. It wasn’t until the last day of January that we found out it was far, far worse than pneumonia.
The next morning I woke up and went up to the U where I worked. I had a very, very sympathetic boss and co-workers who would bend over backwards for me. They were concerned (S. even offered to let me camp out on the couch if I could stand his kids and wife) but ecstatic that I had left…after telling me for four years I shouldn’t be taking my mom’s crap.
I looked through the Trib and Chrony for apartments. I figured I had enough for a down and if I was really careful with my money, I could swing $400 in rent. Four days later I was in my first apartment. It was a filthy cockroach-ridden hole, but it was mine. I am so grateful that the managers worked with me and cared enough to let me have a spot in that apartment. Rent was $375 for a decent sized one bedroom. There was a mattress and boxspring and a table and chair. I figured I could deal with my roommates the cockroaches. As soon as I officially moved in, I took the bus down to Savers to find a few necessities: a pot, a pan, plate, bowl, glass, utensils, pillow, blanket, and couple shirts and pants. That’s a lot to lug around on a cold December evening. I suppose that was December 8, 2000.
I remember being bitter that on this cold evening when the Temple lights were brightly shining and I was walking past them struggling with my two bulky bags that were falling apart, that not a single one of the supposedly “good Christians” asked if I needed any assistance in the five blocks from West Temple to my apartment on South Temple; even when I was right in front of the Temple. If I had needed any examples of the Utah Holier Than Thou attitude that night, I would’ve had them in abundance. Thankfully, those days are past. Every single item I struggled with helped me through one of the saddest times in my life. The blanket I bought for five dollars didn’t look like much; it was a patched up, ragged homemade comforter, but it kept me extremely warm during that cold winter. I still have it because I really want to find someone who needs the protection this blanket can offer to one in need.
I was in my apartment for a week before it was time for the desperately needed Christmas vacation with Kim. We spent the holiday in Morro Bay; we both fell in love with the area. In the evenings we would walk to the Embarcadero across the street and watch the sunset. We would drive to Morro Rock and watch the crashing waves. Kim would tell me to go out and walk by the ocean and think about what was happening. I spent hours in solitude writing and watching the waves and sea otters.
We tried to play a couple times, but Kim was really sick. He wanted to flog me…that lasted maybe ten minutes before He was too exhausted. At another point, we tried to do an enema scene, but He got impatient because I was having a hard time keeping the water from leaking out when it was going in. After assessing the situation, Kim told me that until He was better and had more patience, we couldn’t play anymore because it wasn’t fair to either of us. That was our last play session.
For Christmas Kim gave me $500. He said, “It isn’t romantic, but it’s practical and what you need, girl.” He was right, but I still would’ve liked a dozen roses more. Kim was rarely wrong. I got Him a coffee mug warmer. He loved it, unfortunately, He wouldn’t be able to use it much longer. In another month He gave up coffee in the hopes it might stave off the cancer and help Him breathe better.
Coffee was our ritual…the ritual that I miss perhaps more than anything else. Sometimes I think of buying His coffee and brewing it just so I can have that smell to remember Him by. Nothing ever got in the way of coffee. When that part of our relationship ended, I started to mourn. Among the myriad of tests they took to find out what Kim had, was an HIV test. Actually, two. One turned up positive. After that, the closest sexual contact Kim would permit was a hug. The week after His wake I took an HIV test and it was negative, much to my relief…although to this day I think that the positive on Kim’s test was a mistake, probably because the cancer had screwed up so many things already.
Because so many things happened at this time of year (Kim’s birthday is December 28), and perhaps because it is nearing the year’s end, I find myself becoming increasingly introspective. Some of the questions I ask are: Have I done any good this year? Am I changing for the better? Am I striving to Live or am I taking my life for granted? What do I need to do to be more Alive?
Being Alive is one of the most important things to me. Kim taught me the basics of life….all the way from being born and embracing life, to embracing the lesser understood part of life, death. Alive is something I feel compelled to capitalize because it’s such an important word. Too many of us forget that being alive is just breathing and getting through day to day. It’s a vague verisimilitude of being Alive, which is more of a carpe diem, live passionately sort of thing. For me, bouncing and being Alive have very similar meanings.
In closing, I just want to say how grateful I am for all the wonderful people who have helped reinforce Kim’s lessons and remind me how precious and wonderful being Alive is. Craig is a constant reminder to me that I have to be his example in striving to Live. Whenever he says how alive he feels, I have to ask myself how Alive do I feel. I see examples of being Alive in each and every one of my friends and I try to learn to follow the examples they set. I am so fortunate to be surrounded by so many people who want to live their lives to the fullest.