The door is open

     One of the things that is true; and that I have been pondering, is that when you come out, your family comes out. I mean; once I am full time, then all of my son’s friends will know. My baby will be fine, I think. I just worry about what will change for him. I know he has a good job. He is ready to start school. He makes good money. He can stand on his own. He has had it hard. We all have.  
     His mother was the anchor, the glue. I am more like the scotch tape. I could never fill that gap. I am not as strong as her. She just knew stuff. I just want to know that I am doing the right thing. He says everything will be ok, but I can’t help but feel apprehensive. He didn’t sign up for this. He said once I start living as my authentic self; he may not be as willing to be with me in public at first, and that’s ok. I asked why, do you think I won’t pass? He said no; it’s just the idea, the act. So I asked him, “do you not want me to transition?”. His words, “that would be wrong; you should get to be you, it’s just going to take me some time to get used to”.
     My middle son (the transphobic bisexual) has not been told. I think he knows; because he brings up something concerning transgender, on a daily basis, but I am not telling him until I am ready.
     The baby’s girlfriend? She knows. He said she has always known. When he told her, her reply was duh! She went on to tell him; I wore tight clothes, my walk and mannerisms were feminine, my cologne smelled feminine ( men’s Dolce & Gabbana blue, really?), and I just look feminine. Am I that obvious?
     The only other person I care about, is my aunt. Her and my mom were very close. She is like a second mom. In actuality; I think that I would have had an easier time coming out to my mom, if she were still alive. My aunt, it’s hard to get a read on. We talk, or text, at least once a week. She may have already figured me out.
     Words cannot express how much I miss my bride. She was supposed to accompany me. Kind of an activities director. It was her; that researched the city we moved to. She researched its acceptance level. When she found out about their “non-discrimination” law, she decided this was the place. She lead us here. She pushed us to be better people. I once said something about just being a man in a dress. She was having none of that. She built me up. Where I am; everything I become, it’s because of her. When I would try to go further into the closet; it was her that would coax me out. Did I already say I miss her. Even in death, she still inspires me. I mourn her daily.
     So there it is. Part of my journey is ending, but most of it just beginning. I am full of excitement, fear, and anxiety. This is like a panic attack on steroids. I have become an “expert” on confronting my fears. A “fear of being feminine”, pushed me into the army. A fear of heights pushed me to being a paratrooper. This has helped me. I have learned that every good journey begins with a strong exit out of the door. The aircraft is in the in the air; the door is open, my static line is hooked up. I am staring down the jump master; waiting for the red light, to turn green.

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