Rice Braden

Today is Richard’s 58th birthday. He’s been gone nearly 25 years. He was my best friend. The first man I ever loved. The first man I ever trusted. He died of cancer in 1994. I am still so sad about losing him. 

Richard and I met at Evergreen (The Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington) under slightly odd circumstances.  My partner at the time, Elizabeth, had met Richard when she and high school friend, Ami, went to Centrum one summer.  Centrum was a weeklong writer’s poetry retreat at Port Townsend, Washington. 

While there, Elizabeth and Ami met Richard. They discovered he was also going to Evergreen after high school. They agreed to be roommates when they went to Evergreen in the fall of 1977. 

I was in high school with Elizabeth and Ami.  Elizabeth, our friend Sandy, and I were good friends and the only lesbians we knew in high school.  During the summer of 1977, I became involved with Elizabeth as she prepared to go to Evergreen.  I was an exceptionally troubled soul at that time and painfully aware that Olympia was 50 miles away from Des Moines our home town and current location.

Richard was the gentlest man you’d ever want to meet.  He was the same height as me at around 5’ 10”.  He had long flowing hair with a bit of Native American blood which meant he never had a full beard with a slightly pointed chin.  His wide smile ironically made me think of Bob Hope’s smile but not in a bad way.

I was transitioning from female to male and started taking male hormones that July on my way to becoming David instead of Joceile.  My friends were working on calling me David and he.  I was able to easily pass as male and Elizabeth and I went from being lesbians to being heterosexual.  But my voice had not lowered and clearly registered as high and female.

After Elizabeth moved to Evergreen, I met Richard in their four bedroom dorm in October.  Elizabeth introduced us.  “Richard this is David.  David this is Richard.”

“Hi,” I said, “Nice to meet you.”

Richard’s head snapped back involuntarily to look at me squarely when he heard my high, feminine voice as it was so out of character with my presentation.  He swiftly regained control of his face to register neutrality with, “Hi.  I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” and smiled.

It was impossible not to like him from the start.  Richard had soft edges physically which was something he didn’t like about himself.  I think he’d have rather been a more hard bodied man. I thought he was lovely.

I spent a lot of time driving to Olympia during those first few months.  I was falling into a very, very bad depression.  I was lonely working full time and trying to support my 16 year old brother on my $380 per month wages in a two bedroom apartment in Des Moines.  Finally, I snapped.  My brother moved in with my grandparents.  Elizabeth said I could move in with them in the dorm.  I shared a room with her and moved in December 1977.

At Evergreen at the time, Elizabeth was the lease holder for a four bedroom apartment in the dorm building with a central kitchen in the middle of the bedrooms.  A fourth roommate, Doug, stayed until January when he decided that he wouldn’t stay in that apartment with the four of us.  We were all relieved when Doug moved out.  He didn’t fit in with the Elizabeth, Ami, Richard, and I.  Evergreen didn’t require Elizabeth to only sublet to students.  Hence, my entering the picture.

I didn’t have any money.  Elizabeth fronted my living expenses being very firm in keeping a tally sheet of what I owed her.  In January, I started looking for a job in Olympia.  In March, I applied for a file clerk job with the state and started in April.  I paid her back with my tax refund of $300 that year.

I was messed up and extremely suicidal.  Elizabeth and I had a heated relationship which meant we fought a lot.  I would storm off and no one knew if I was coming back.  A couple times, I injured myself.  Once, I overdosed.  It wasn’t pretty but Richard was a calm friend to me.  

Elizabeth had introduced me to pot smoking that summer.  Unfortunately, it did not add to my endearing qualities.  I hated to go out in public stoned.  So, before smoking, I asked Elizabeth, “Do you have any plans to go out?”

“No.  I was just thinking we would hang here.”  Then, damned, every time we got stoned she would decide to go somewhere to a store or other place where there was people.  Pot made me ultra sensitive to my environment and other people.  I also sometimes had a hallucinogenic response.  The last thing I wanted was to be out around people.  I just couldn’t trust my perceptions.  “Let’s go to the store....  Let’s go to the library.”  Apparently, as much as pot made me want to stay home, it made Elizabeth want to go out.  This was her version of the munchies.

During these times, Richard was my saving grace.  He had long since given up pot as it made him paranoid.  Smart man.  I would sit out in the kitchen living room area with him talking and hallucinating.  He would laugh at what I was telling him.

“Richard, do you see all these people on this label?  They are laughing and cheering.”  I was looking at grapes on a wine bottle which had apparently transformed into a boisterous crowd for me.  “Look at that.”

“No, I don’t see that.  But, I see how it could look that way.”

My judgment would be way off.  Running a bath, the water is too cold.  No wait, it’s too hot.  Back and forth.  It was difficult and who knew what the temperature would be when I got in.

I ate a lot of chili out of a can back in those days.  Richard and I would be sitting out front while I was getting my chili ready.  1) Open the can.  2) Pour chili in pan to heat.  3) Pour chili in bowl.  4) Get spoon and take to table to eat.

“Richard, there is something wrong with this chili.  I think I might have missed a step.  Did you see me heat the pan?”

“No,” he laughed.

“I think I missed a step.  It’s totally cold.  I can’t eat it like this.”  Richard stayed with me while I put it back in the pan and this time heated the chili.

Richard wasn’t wigged out by me.  We hung.  We talked.  I slowly began to love him.  Then, in April, he got involved with the woman boss of his internship job, Karen.  She was older and I began to see a lot less of Richard.  I was both happy for him and sad for me.  He wasn’t around so much.

Evergreen was always a hot bed of politics.  In May after a bunch of organizing and orientation meetings, there was a protest at the Trident Nuclear Submarine Base at Bangor, Washington, which was north of Olympia near Bremerton.  Elizabeth and a bunch of others were going over the fence as a protest to the nuclear submarines.  It meant that Elizabeth would be arrested.  Each person going over the fence needed support people on the outside.  Richard and I were Elizabeth’s support people.  There was no way that I as a newly minted male was doing anything to get arrested.  Being male in jail did not sound like a good plan.

Elizabeth and other folks going over the fence had arrived a day earlier.  Richard and I and several other males drove up that day.  It was the first time I had been exclusively in the company of men as a man.  It felt liberating and odd at the same time.  In the car while we were talking I marveled that in our group only the women were going over the fence.  Did that mean something?

Elizabeth was arrested with about 100 other people and held over night.  Richard and I were back home.  I talked to him in his bedroom.  I was painfully aware of being attracted to him.  I told him I loved him and kissed him on the lips good night.  That’s all it was.  A physical relationship between us never materialized.  He continued to be my good friend.  We were both  attracted to women at the time.  A sexual relationship wasn’t in the cards for us.

* * * * * * *

The summer of 1978, Richard, Elizabeth, and I moved off campus into a two bedroom apartment on Olympia’s west side.  Elizabeth and Richard continued to go to school which was just a 15 minute bus ride away.  I continued to work full time for the state.

I had also made the difficult decision to stop my transition from female to male and went back to being Joceile with a renewed sense of being my own type of female person whether I looked male or not.  I also continued to have severe depression issues and self harm.  Throughout the summer and into the fall, Elizabeth and I continued to fight.  It wasn’t pretty.  

Richard was having money problems.  He had broken up with Karen.  He announced in October that he was quitting school and moving to Utah to stay with his uncles’ family where he could make money working.  In Richard fashion, he said he’d pay for the room until the end of the year so we didn’t have to get a roommate right away.

It was hard to see him go.  But, I understood.  He came from a big Christian family with nine kids in Centralia which was 30 miles south of Olympia.  His family had very little money.  Richard was the youngest.  Many of his brothers and sisters had drug, legal, and money issues or were serious Christians.  (Apparently, this was an either or situation—problems or Christian but not both.)  Richard told me that a couple brothers still lived on his parents property in their 40’s.  He once explained to me that they had never reached “escape velocity.”  Richard retained only the shortage of money part of his family.

I also knew that most likely Elizabeth and I were an awful pair to live with.  Our fights could erupt into yelling at any time including late at night.  We didn’t call each other names but our frustration with each other was palpable.  Added to my suicidal depression, it wasn’t a pleasant home environment.

* * * * * * *

I lost track of Richard.  I knew he was in Utah, but I didn’t have a phone number nor know how to reach him.  When I thought of him, I sent thoughts of love.  It seemed that was all I could do.  Then, in December 1981 very nearly my birthday on the 27th, he called me.  Richard had returned to Portland from the overly Mormon environment.  He invited my partner at the time, Alanna, and I to his apartment in Tigard over the holiday vacation.

I was so happy to see him.  It was such a relief.  My buddy was back, and it was like he had never left.  I haven’t mentioned that everyone else but Elizabeth and I called him Ric.  To me, he was always my Richard.  I was overjoyed.

He caught us up on what had happened to him over the intervening years.  In Utah, he had discovered he was gay.  He had worked full time as a graphic designer.  He had been involved with an older man who was depressed and manipulative.  I don’t remember his name anymore.  While we were there, the man showed up tipsy and suicidal.  Richard quickly ushered him out of the apartment and away.

This set up another period of seeing Richard a lot.  Alanna and I would go down to Portland for a weekend and stay with him.  He was working as a graphic artist.  He and I would talk and play.  The three of us explored Portland and generally had a grand time.  

He was lonely at times.  Eventually, he met Bill.  Bill was a slender man of similar height as Richard with long blond hair.  Bill had style and a flair for all types of clothing.  He was an obvious gender bender unlike my more conservative approach to androgyny.  Bill was pretty.

Bill and Richard moved into a basement apartment in a house in North Portland.  They tarted it up with paint and furniture so well I easily forgot it was a basement.  They carved a sleeping place for Alanna and I on the floor by the furnace with curtains for privacy.  Richard and I agreed to talk at least every month and see each other as often as possible.  Sometimes, it was longer.

During my life with Richard, he struggled with his creative part versus making money.  He would work full time for a bit, pay off his bills, and bemoan the lack of time for creative endeavors.  Then, he’d reduce his hours, have more time for writing or music, and run up bills.  He would go back to full time and the cycle would continue.

With me being a permanent part time worker, we would talk about the affects working full time had on people, specifically on Richard.  He would show me the palms of his hands which would peel when he worked full time.  Not with bleeding, they just peeled.  When he changed his hours to part time, they stopped peeling.  Talk about a clear message from your body.  This happened repeatedly.

This was in the 80’s.  Richard resumed playing with electronic music which had been an interest for him at Evergreen with their fancy recording studios.  He slowly acquired equipment.  A moog synthesizer was his first big purchase.  He was proud of it and fiddled endlessly.  

He added a reel to reel tape deck to record his creations.  He entered the world of composing music by sampling sound and manipulating it.  He cut and spliced reel to reel tape creating unique sounds.  Today, his creations could be done on any smart phone we carry in our pockets.

Richard was also my source for new music.  I have always liked top hits but didn’t the have patience to listen to a radio.  Richard would share his finds.  I had always created playlists on my cassette recorder for the car and at home.  Richard kept replenishing my stock.  We had similar tastes like the Police, Erasure, Alison Moyet, Eurythmics, Fleetwood Mac, and Laurie Anderson.

After a bit, he got a four track cassette recorder and added a mixer.  At this point, I got on board.  As a solo performer with minimal skills, I could only do one thing at a time.  I could play a piano tune, lay the track, and then add a vocal track.  With a mic and mixer, I could mess with the sounds.  It got to the point where every time I would visit he would leave me alone with his equipment and I would create a song.  Later, he added electronic looping capacity so I could play sections of the piano part once and make a loop so it would play that piece over and over until the transition.  I would build music that way.  I didn’t actually have to be really good at anything or be able to play an instrument.  I just had to hold it together long enough to record once.  I felt it was cheating.  But, it was fun so what of it?

Richard said it didn’t matter.  He was composing music and believed it was just as valid as any other method.  He eschewed music theory.  I think because it bored him, and he never had a good teacher.  He branched out to adding video to his music splicing in video clips.  I have at least one of his music video creations.  I would love to have seen where it took him over the next 25 years.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.  I could really be mad at God over this if I believed there was such a being.

At times, we would go a few months without talking.  During one long period, Richard called to tell me that Bill had been raped one night at knife point walking home alone in the dark.  Bill went to the emergency room for treatment.  He got a good look at the guy who had a tattoo on his face.  They arrested a known assaulter fitting the description.  They showed Bill mug shots of six men including the guy they thought was perpetrator.  Richard told me they had to eliminate the tattoo in the shots so that Bill could identify him without using the tattoo as a bias.

Over the months, I learned that Richard and Bill worked extensively with the prosecuting attorney for a trial against the rapist.  There was a lot of trial prep because it was unusual to prosecute anonymous male on male rape.  Additionally, the prosecutor didn’t want Bill on trial because he was gay.  Richard told me the trial was the first of its kind in Portland.  The perpetrator alleged it was consensual.  Richard sat through the trial supporting Bill.  He told me the cross examination was brutal.  However, Bill held it together and the rapist was convicted.

Because of the stress, Richard and I didn’t talk as much during this period.  I learned about most of it after the fact.  I hadn’t been able to give Richard as much support as I should have.  I was in my own quagmire which probably had as much to do with it as Richard not reaching out.

* * * * * * *

Eventually, Bill and Richard broke up.  I had gotten involved with Margo.  Richard got involved with Wayne.

Richard and I continued to talk at least once a month.  I met Wayne.  I would go hang out with them in Portland.  Richard continued to vacillate between full time and part time graphic design.  Wayne worked with manikins.  They needed cheaper apartments in Portland often getting places in industrial areas.  I continued to make a song each time I visited.   

Once while I was visiting, Wayne took me on a tour of the manikin factory he worked in off Burnside.  He did manikin repairs.  It was an odd place with a room full of body parts.  A great setting for a horror movie or nightmares.

After a couple years, Margo and I decided to have a child.  My brother was the sperm donor.  Margo got pregnant.  My life got exceptionally complicated.

It wasn’t long before Alex was born.  We had a friend in Alex’s parenting group who had a video recorder.  I borrowed it for one of our visits to Richard.  He and I played with it.  Alex was about four months old. We took a lot of video trying to get Alex to laugh.  Richard and I had fun.  After that, he and I went in on a compact Sony video recorder.  We shared joint custody and it went back and forth from Portland to Olympia.

Richard put together a cassette tape of his songs he had written and produced using his sampling techniques.  Labels were printed for the cassettes.  When he showed us the final product, Margo read the label and said, “Why does it say ‘Rice Braden’?”

Richard and I looked at the label.  It did look like “Rice Braden.”  Richard laughed and said, “It says ‘Ric E Braden’.”  We all took turns looking at it.  

“Well, Richard.  I understand it says ‘Ric E Braden.’  But, it really does look a lot like Rice Braden,” I said.

Richard smiled, “The printing was not the highest quality.”

“But, Rice isn’t a bad name.  You are vegan after all.”

“Yeah, that’s true.  Okay, ‘Rice Braden’ it is.”

After that, we called Richard ‘Rice.’  Years ago when I was day dreaming, I stumbled upon calling myself ‘Jace.’  We became Rice and Jace.

“How ya doin’, Rice?”

“Just fine, Jace.”

Our sense of humor was similar.  He would come to visit, and we would watch Gilligan’s Island.  I would get my sailor and captain’s hats.  We would trade off who was Gilligan and who was the Skipper.

As Alex approached walking and talking, she began to call him Rice.  Richard and I continued, “Hoy, Rice!”

“Hoy, Jace.”

I really wanted Richard to be in Alex’s life.  As lesbians, there was a dearth of men besides my brother and grandfather.  We made an effort to get together monthly.

As Alex approached one year old, Margo and I were having to make childcare decisions.  I worked in the afternoons.  Margo worked part-time the first year but needed to increase her hours.  Simultaneously, Richard was again feeling the conflict between working and being creative.

We stumbled on a clever solution.  Richard would move in with Margo and I and care for Alex during the week when Margo and I needed to be overlapping at work.  I was cautious.  “Richard, how is that going to work with you and Wayne?”

“It’ll be okay.  We like taking breaks from each other.  I’ll be down in Portland a lot.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, let’s try it.”

Richard moved in.  We had a spare room.  He moved his wall of equipment.  I was so glad to have him daily in my life again.  Margo increased her hours from 8 a.m. to almost 2 p.m. each day.  I went to work at noon.  Richard was to take care of Alex from noon to 2.  It seemed like a good plan.

Unfortunately, there was a reliability problem.  But, it wasn’t with Richard.  Margo was chronically late for everything and had a hard time respecting other people’s time.  We weren’t paying Richard because he was staying at the house for free and looking after Alex for two hours on weekdays.  But, Margo wasn’t timely.

It was a gradual thing.  Initially, she would get home by 2:15.  Richard didn’t like it.  He wasn’t one to push back much.  Then, it got to 2:20, 2:25, 2:30, and Richard started telling Margo he didn’t like it.  (He also told me.)

It didn’t make any difference.  After several months, it had gotten to 2:45 or 3 at times.  Finally, Richard said he felt taken advantage of, and he stopped taking care of Alex for Margo’s time.

During this time, Richard missed Wayne.  He went down at least once a week.  It was a two hour drive.  He talked to him on the phone.  He did make music, but I knew he was lonely.  I wasn’t sure how long this was going to last.

Then, there was the ceiling.  Our house had popcorn ceilings.  It’s something some idiotic guy came up with in the 60s to cover the ceiling so it didn’t have to be smooth and flat.  After basically finishing the ceiling, contractors just sprayed them with this ugly, dust catching popcorn looking stuff and called it good.  Any houses around here build or remodeled in the 60s, 70s, and 80s have this crap on the ceiling.

Richard got wind that the ceiling might have asbestos in it.  He had always been worried about health issues.  He was afraid of cancer.  He felt it was important to have the ceiling tested for asbestos.  To me, I didn’t have any money to do anything about it anyway so I didn’t really need to know.  Richard sent it off for testing.

About two weeks later, he received the report.  He told me, “I got the report back.”

“Yeah?”

“The ceiling has 10% asbestos.”  

In that moment, I knew Richard wouldn’t be staying.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do about it.”

“It makes me uncomfortable.”  

I wasn’t sure if he would think I was a bad parent if I didn’t take care of it.  “I understand.  You need to do what you need to do.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”  Two weeks later, he announced he was moving back to Portland to live with Wayne.  He packed up all his equipment.  I didn’t find myself living with Richard again.

We still visited regularly and he saw Alex.  We played together.
  

* * * * * * *

Richard and I had started going on week long road trips together as a way to spend close time before Alex was born.  I had a red 1969 Volkswagen van. It was basic.  I put an eight foot sheet of plywood in the back propped on metal milk boxes in the front.  I put a four inch foam bed in the back with storage for camping gear, cooler, firewood, and tool box under the bed.  It created a great road tripper.

We would take my golden retriever lab mix, Sasha, with us.  Each trip had a theme we developed in the first day or two.  On one trip, we counted Volkswagen vans.  We determined the newer VW vans called Vanagons were the enemy and not proper VW vans at all.  So, they weren’t counted.  “Ack,” we cried, “Not an another Vanagon?  That doesn’t count!”  That trip we counted 85 proper VW vans with the body type similar to mine.  We felt we were in good company.

We wandered to eastern Washington, eastern Oregon, the Oregon coast, and British Columbia.  When we entered British Columbia, we were asked how much money we had by the border guards.  “A couple hundred dollars,” I responded, “and very good credit cards.”  They waved us on.  Apparently, they didn’t want us to break down and be stuck on the Canadian side of the border.

We went to Crater Lake in Oregon.  The van had a tough time going up the steep highway.  It took so long to get it going so I could slip it into second gear that we avoided stopping if at all possible on the way up.  The lake was beautiful with the little island in it.  I hadn’t been there since I was a kid.  Richard had never seen it.

We investigated a long lava tube.  Richard was scared of enclosed spaces.  I was scared of the intense dark.  I held his hand and talked to him as we walked in.  It got darker and darker.  We kept walking and talking.  My punny little flashlight really didn’t make much difference.  The tube tunnel went for a mile or more.  After about 1000 feet, we retreated, happy that we had braved our cave trepidation.  

On the coast, we ran on the beach.  Richard wasn’t much of a runner.  When we came upon a creek, I jumped over it.  Richard informed me he didn’t know how to jump over the creek.  So, we worked on it.  I demonstrated how to position your body, lift off, leap, and land.  After some false starts, Richard made it.  “I did it!  I did it!”  

“You did, Rice.  Good job.”  It was a small thing but felt good.  The two of us could brave these tough things like caves, creeks, and the invasion of Vanagons.  

We camped here and there.  In eastern Oregon, it was getting late.  We found a camp ground on a fast moving river.  There was nobody around.  We walked to the river and stood on the bank.  The river was high and moving so fast we both felt afraid as if it would reach out and sweep us along with it.

We found a decent camping spot close to the river but not too close.  The forest was thin.  We could see around.  We built a big camp fire.  The fire with the red van backdrop looked like the perfect magazine spread.  As the night drew late, both of us started feeling a bit creeped out.

“This feels like a weird place.  Do you feel it?”

“Yeah.  Where are all the people?”

“Let’s lock the van tonight.”  We both nodded agreement on the plan.  We had Sasha.  It didn’t help that night.  I made a big fire.  We went to bed with the fire still going.  In the morning, we ate, packed up, and left as quick as we could.  The two brave beings having been outsmarted by a silent, lonely forest and a fast moving river.

After our trips, I’d send Richard a short synopsis of our travel tales including a report on the outcome of the trip theme.  It memorialized our shared time so it wouldn’t get lost in the business of our lives.

* * * * * * *

After being together five years, Richard called me up excited.  “Wayne and I both finally took our HIV test.  We’ve been using condoms and were afraid to take the test.  We’re both clear.  We can have sex without using a condom.”

“Congratulations, Richard,” I said, secretly wondering why on earth it had taken them so long.  Apparently, they were terrified of knowing the truth, finding it easier to ignore by not having the information.

* * * * * * *

When Alex was two, I broke up with Margo.  For me, there was a trust issue that could not be overcome.  I also had a best friend, Ronnie, that I had known for many years.  A couple months after I separated from Margo, Ronnie and I became involved.  Ronnie became Alex’s third mother.  It was an exceptionally difficult time.  Margo was angry and used every opportunity to threaten me with not seeing Alex.  It didn’t work out that way, but it was tough.  That would be putting it mildly.

* * * * * * *

I’m not sure how old Alex was when Richard told me that he and Wayne were moving to San Francisco.  Wayne wanted to go to a film institute there.  Richard felt he could get a job anywhere.  It was hard for me.  We promised to visit each other as often as we could.  Prior to their leaving, they visited and Wayne gave Alex a little bear.  We called it “Wayne Bear.”  After that, we always referred to Wayne as “Wayne Bear.”

Richard would come up to visit.  Ronnie and I would go to San Francisco and visit Richard.  Ronnie also had another friend there, Steve, who we would also visit.  We seesawed back and forth that way for a few years.

In 1993, Ronnie and I remodeled our house on the west side of Olympia.  I wanted Richard to come see the house the following winter in January.  Richard told me he hadn’t been feeling well.  I asked him what it was.  He didn’t know.  The doctor’s couldn’t figure it out.

I talked with him through the spring.  He would get better and then worse.  Because I was so far away, I couldn’t really tell how bad it was.  In July of that year, he told me that he had felt a lump in his guts and told his doctor.  He was 34 and a vegan.  The doctor’s hadn’t thought cancer was very likely.  After the lump, Richard called to tell me that they were going to do exploratory surgery.

“I’m scared.”

“What are you most afraid of?”

“Cancer.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” I said, not knowing at that point in my life what else to say.

It was nearly mid-July.  Richard’s surgery was scheduled for a couple days after his birthday.  Ronnie, Alex, and I went to visit a friend, Charlene, in Victoria, British Columbia.  Our friend Martha was staying at our house for the summer.  

Going to Victoria required a boat trip from Port Angela across the Strait of Juan de Fuca.  We left our car at parked at Port Angeles because Charlene didn’t live that far from downtown Victoria where the ferry docked.  Between the drive to Port Angeles and the ferry ride, it was a six hour adventure.  We got settled in.  We spent some time in Charlene’s hot tub.  We were tired.  Alex was tired.  I put Alex to bed.  It felt late around 11 as I was getting ready to lay down.  Ronnie was talking to Charlene and the phone rang.  Charlene told Ronnie it was for me.

I started swearing, “Damn it!  It’s Richard!  God damnit!  I know it’s Richard.”  

I reached for the phone and a voice said, “Joceile, it’s Martha.”  I just knew it was about Richard.  

“Hi, Martha.  What’s going on?”

“It’s your grandfather, Joceile.  He’s dead.”

“Who’s dead, Martha?”

“Your grandfather is dead, Joceile.”

“Who’s grandfather is dead?”

“Your grandfather.”

“My grandfather?  My grandfather is dead?”

“Yes, Joceile.  I’m sorry.  Your granny has been looking everywhere for you.”

“My grandfather is dead?”  I paused as I shifted gears from Richard to Grandpa.  “I’m sorry, Martha.  I can’t talk anymore right now.  I just found out my grandfather died.”

“Yes, Joceile.”

“I’ll put on Ronnie.”

The next day, we raced home on the ferry to Port Angeles.  Got the car.  Then, took the ferry from near Bremerton to Vashon traveling a circuitous route that took hours and hours to get to Des Moines where my grandmother and brother were waiting.  That day was Richard’s birthday.  

I called Richard later that day to wish him happy birthday.  He was having a party.  All his friends were there.  I couldn’t bear to tell him about my grandfather.  I didn’t want to ruin his birthday.  I called him later in the week.  I told him and wished him well for his upcoming surgery.

My grandpa died four days before his 80th birthday.  I didn’t know what would happen with Richard.  Somehow, my mind was trying to work it out so he didn’t have cancer.  That they would find something in the surgery to fix what was going on with him.  I found out later that when they opened Richard there was so much cancer that they just closed him back up and tried to figure out how to treat him.  We started the long goodbye.

* * * * * * *

Richard lost his job because he couldn’t go to work anymore.  There were issues of insurance coverage.  I didn’t have any way to help him because I didn’t have any extra money.  I talked to Ronnie about it.  I had state employee medical coverage which Ronnie couldn’t get because we weren’t and couldn’t get married.  I wanted to do something to help.  Ronnie and I agreed on how to help.  I told Richard that I would marry him so he could get my insurance coverage.  Unfortunately, I was a member of what was then Group Health Cooperative.  My spouse and I had to be in the local area to get services.  

I offered this option to Richard.  He thanked me but said he didn’t want to move.  Of course, he didn’t want to leave Wayne.  I had to comfort myself by making regular plans to come down and see him.

As a vegan, Richard wouldn’t wear leather including Birkenstock sandals.  He was thrilled when Birkenstock started making sandals of human made materials.  Now, he had to decide if he was going to try chemotherapy which had been tested on animals before humans.  Initially, he went to a Chinese medicine doctor who was across the bridge from his part of San Francisco.

He had trouble eating and was rapidly losing weight.  In desperation, he started chemotherapy and tried eating eggs and beef to get nutrition.  It was morally anathema to him.  But, he really, really wanted to live.

Finally, the Chinese medicine doc told him that the trip was tougher on Richard than any benefits he was getting from the medicine.  With that news, Richard stopped going to get the Chinese medicine.  It was another blow to his hope of surviving.

Ronnie and I flew down several times.  There wasn’t much Richard could do.  I just laid in bed next to him talking to him and loving him as much as I could occasionally holding hands.  “I bet no one else visits and just takes naps with you.”

“No, no one else does.”

“I just want to be with you.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

I visited on my own without Ronnie.  The summer passed.  One time when I was visiting, Wayne was really struggling going to work.  He hated his job.  He also hated leaving Richard.  He left in the morning.  Richard and I were talking.  About 45 minutes later, Wayne came back home sheepishly, head hanging down in his big overcoat.  “I just couldn’t go to work,” he said.

Richard got up and wrapped him in his arms.  “It’s okay,” he said stroking Wayne’s back.  “It’s okay.” 

Money was a big problem for them.  Richard wasn’t working.  Wayne stopped working.  Richard’s parents had promised him $10,000 when they passed away.  As a last ditch effort, Richard asked them if they would give him money.

Being good, strong people of faith, they assumed he had AIDS.  He told them he had cancer.  His parents didn’t believe him.  They knew it was AIDS.  They wouldn’t give him any money to support that “kind of behavior.”  If I didn’t hate them before, I hated them then.  It wouldn’t have been right regardless but to discount your dying son was unimaginable to me.

I believe other friends of Richard’s gave them money.  All I had to give was time.

Richard’s sisters came in October to do an early Christmas celebration with him.  They moved a rental hospital bed in the living room for him.  I was planning to come in November.  I talked to Richard several times a week.  He had less and less energy for conversations.

Late in October, Wayne called me and told me I should move up my visit.  “How soon should I come?”  I was working and had to move my time off.

“I don’t know.  I just know you need to come soon.”  Well, of course, he didn’t know.  I was just looking for some kind of answer that wasn’t possible.

I moved up my date to Friday, November 4th.  I had a employee recognition on Thursday with my agency and was told I should attend.  On Monday, Wayne called and told me he had to take Richard to the emergency room because he was confused.  Wayne said at one point Richard looked at him in the ER and said, “It’s really happening.  Isn’t it?”  Wayne said yes.

Richard stayed in the hospital.  On Tuesday, Wayne called and said Richard’s blood was messed up by his liver.  They had given him medication which had cleared his thinking.  Wayne knew it wouldn’t last.  I pondered my Thursday versus Friday arrival.  I hung with Friday.

On Thursday afternoon, Richard was very lucid.  He had friends visit in his hospital room, was happy, and had a good time.  I couldn’t wait to get there.  I flew out Friday morning.  I was really afraid I wouldn’t make it in time.

I got through the airport quickly and caught a van to the hospital.  I ran in.  I found Richard’s room.  It had a note on it that said, “See the Nurse.”  I found the nurse who said, “I’m sorry he’s gone.  Would you like to see him?”

“Damn, I missed him!”  Thinking numbly and nodding, she took me in his room and unzipped the bag he was in.  Richard was still.  No breath.  No movement.  No facial muscles moving or twitching.  I missed him by an hour or so.  There was no one around.  I sat and told him I was sorry I missed him.  I loved him.  I wouldn’t forget him.

After a bit, Wayne and Richard’s good buddy, Richard, ran into the room.  “We were looking for you.  We were waiting out front for you.  We wanted to catch you.  He just stopped breathing a little bit ago.”  Apparently, the party the night before was the last hurrah.  Richard’s energy slowed over night until he simply stopped breathing.

The three of us went home sadly to the empty apartment with the vacant rental hospital bed.  Nothing really to say.  Later, I found myself on Richard and Wayne’s bed.  Wayne looked at me, “I have one question for you.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you and Richard ever have sex?”  

What an odd question?  Surely Richard had told Wayne we never had sex.  We had never been the right sexual orientation at the same time.  I toyed with idea of lying to Wayne and telling him yes.  I was puzzled that this was the most important question he had for me after Richard’s death.

“No, Wayne, we never had sex.”  Wayne seemed relieved by that.  I don’t know why.

Later, Wayne said Richard wanted me to have his keyboard and his music mixer.  He also gave me his jean jacket.  He asked me if I wanted any of Richard’s 501 jeans.  I didn’t really want anything else.  Without Richard, his stuff didn’t have much meaning to me.  I did want to honor his gift and took the electronics and his jacket.  We spent a trying weekend together, and I flew home early Sunday.  

For years, Richard and I took walks together at night holding hands and not holding hands.  I would point out the Pleiades star cluster to him and say, “If you are looking for me after this life, I’m going to Pleiades for my next life.  If you are looking for me, you can find me there.”  I told him that over and over through the years during our night walks.  In the Pacific Northwest, Pleiades shows up from November to May depending on the cloud cover.  Every year when the fall comes, Pleiades returns.  When I see it, I look at it and imagine that’s where Richard and I can meet.  I long for him.  I miss him so much.  It never ends.  “I love you, Richard,” I whisper to the stars and hope that he can hear me.

L’Chaim.

Joceile

7.17.18

Pictures:  Richard and I (1989); Richard and Alex (1991)