I was driving home today from running an errand, down a street I pass every so often. As I drove down one block, I remembered that the pro bono lawyer who helped my youngest brother when he was dying from AIDS had lived on that block. And suddenly, without warning I was crying.
Why did it hit me so hard today of all days? It's not an anniversary of anything connected to my brother (he died in early April 1986, his birthday is June 15). I hadn't been thinking about AIDS, or Patrick, or anything like that.
Yet the tears were flowing.
I went home, hugged my son (busy playing bocce on the corner with his dad; using the bocce balls that Dad got for his birthday yesterday). I thought about bargaining with Dad ("if our second adoption is a boy, could we name him Patrick?") I let the issue drop.
Then late tonight, when I should be asleep, I feed my insomnia by browsing the blogs of my friends, and come across Moxie's post. Synchronicity.
So yes, we are all LGBT families.
And there is an anniversary to note today: JR has been home with us 3 years today. He became a US citizen today, after 16 hours on 2 planes, 16 hours that I thought would never end, and that now seem like nothing in the life that is JR's life with us.
lots and lots of sourdough–my routine
1 week ago