Bloom and Grow
The non-linearity of grief
The email’s subject line was the first thing to catch my attention:
New For Sale - [Your Old Address]!
Less than an hour had passed since I had posted my most recent newsletter, listing all of the good things that had come of selling that house and moving to Chicago. It was my own personal clickbait and I immediately succumbed to curiosity. I scrolled the pictures on Zillow to see what had changed. They updated the kitchen countertops and replaced the wonky oven. A nice new privacy fence had been built around the perimeter of the backyard. The walk-in closet upstairs was turned into an en suite bathroom. Our conversation pit bedroom had been filled in and reconstructed into a straightforward office. All the walls had been painted a neutral grey, including the western dining room wall, which I had once transformed into a five-color mural using only painter’s tape and enthusiasm.
Seeing the house that we spent three years making our own turned into a blank canvas for a new family stung. Familiar room layouts, changed. All of the things that we had done to make it our own, gone. Obviously, this process started months ago when we started prepping for the move, but there was something more irrevocable about seeing it in this unfamiliar, pristine state.
Even so, my sorrow took me by surprise. Surely I shouldn’t be so affected five months on. A house is just a building, after all, and don’t I know the difference between house and home? Haven’t I written about this already? Shouldn’t I be finished processing this by now?
Of course, grief doesn’t work like that.
I was reminded of another moment when this hurt had been brought unexpectedly to the surface. Over Thanksgiving weekend, my wife and I went with a friend to a screening of The Sound of Music. It had been a decade or more since I’d watched the film, and K had never seen it in its entirety. Classic films like this one are interesting—oftentimes your first viewing is during childhood, when you don’t yet have the emotional maturity to understand all the themes. Revisiting the movie as an adult recontextualizes the story in such a way that it feels like you’re seeing a brand-new movie.
In case you haven’t seen The Sound of Music, let me give you a quick rundown. The first two-thirds of the film could be described as a romantic-comedy, following Maria as she falls in love; first with the Von Trapp children, and then with their father. If it’s your first time seeing the film, you might assume it ends with the triumphant wedding. Instead, since the story takes place in Austria in “1930-bad” (as John Mulaney would say), things quickly take a turn for the worse.
Maria and Von Trapp return from their honeymoon to discover that Austria has been annexed by the Third Reich and the captain has been conscripted into the Germany Navy, expected to report for duty immediately. Opposed as they are to the Nazi ideology, the family instead decides to secretly leave the country. Decision made, the couple lingers a moment in the hall and Captain Von Trapp glances back one last time at his family home. Though it’s only a brief moment, Christopher Plummer’s expressive face flickers with so many different emotions: melancholy, fear, anger, loss. It struck me deep in my core because I recognized his pain as my own.
When I spoke to K after the conclusion of the film, she reported a similar experience. The turmoil that Captain Von Trapp felt at uprooting his entire life was reflective of ours. The villa wasn’t really what he was grieving; his sorrow was about seeing a country he loved succumb to fascism, his fear was of what the future would hold in a world that had suddenly become hostile to his family.
In the same way, my sadness about our old house isn’t really about the house at all. My feelings are coming from a place of uncertainty and alienation as the country I’ve lived in my whole life becomes more unrecognizable by the day. My anger directly correlates to the treatment trans and other queer folks are receiving from a government that’s supposed to protect its people.
Today, Missouri is hearing 9 anti-trans bills in the House and Senate. They currently have proposed more anti-trans bills than any other state, with forty-eight filed in the first three weeks of the session. While I can breathe a sigh of relief here in Illinois, my heart goes out to the friends, family, and other trans Missourians that have to suffer through this farce yet again. It’s cruel what the Republicans in Jefferson City are doing, and they aren’t even self-aware enough to realize that they’re more similar to the antagonists in The Sound of Music than they are to its heroes.
If you are a Missouri resident, the best thing you can do is tell them how you feel. Use the Legislator Lookup tool to find your Senator and Representatives and then call or email their offices. If you’re from another state, I encourage you to keep an eye on the legislation being passed where you are and do the same. It’s only through active resistance to bad policies that we can make lasting change.
Sending all my hope and strength to my transgender siblings in Missouri and the many other states that are trying to erode our rights. Keep on surviving, even if only out of spite. I believe a better tomorrow will come. I love you. <3
I very much plan to hug my non-cis kiddos a little tighter today for you.