You were so beautiful

So I dropped off the face of the earth, I know this. There has been a lot going on with finals and the difficulty of the summer. I always dread the summer because from the time I was 8 I have had people die in the summer. All four of my grandparents died in May or June each a different year.

This year was not someone I was related to but someone I admired and appreciated.


Kahlo Benavidez was two years ahead of me in school. He was one of the most openly gay members of the student body who paved the way for younger gays, dealing with the teachers' prejudices and the snide remarks, forcing the administration to sell couples' prom tickets to same-sex couples (something they briefly fought).

After highschool I learned that Kahlo was HIV positive. Rather than retreating into depression and denial he became an amazing and inspiring activist. I'm still blown away by how hard he worked and the things he accomplished.

On the 24th of April he took his own life.

It's still surreal and painful and confusing. It doesn't make anysense. The outpouring of love and sadness over his death is astounding.

I'm sorry he chose that path. I can understand what it's like to be staring down reality and choose that path. It's just so tragic that despite how much people looked up to him and loved him and admired him and respected him he still felt that death was the best option.


I'm in the midst of trying to finish the semester and sort out my emotions and maintain my own delicate balance between mania and depression. I'm struggling but I'll make it through this.



Kahlo, wherever you are, I'm sorry I never thanked you for everything you did. I hope it's easier, that you're happier, wherever you are. Around here you're missed greatly.

Precious in the sight of the Lord

I went to check my facebook and for the first time in what feels like years I saw a photo of my grandmother in hospice. She's smiling and holding her sister's face, saying goodbye.

It's strange but I can't really explain how much it hurts to remember she's gone.


In my eyes she's the greatest feminist that has ever lived and I miss her.

Both my parents were victims of abuse and very much had a sense of victim mentality about them. They did their best but when I was verbally and psychologically abused by a teacher they didn't really know how to deal with me. One of the only examples in my life of someone who refused to be a victim, someone who was alway strong, was my grandmother.

When she was 17 she was told that because of problems with her reproductive system she would be unable to have children. She had four.

After a medical procedure she was told she couldn't finish high school because her school in El Paso had stairs and she couldn't use them. She transferred to Las Cruces Union High School and supported herself as a switchboard operator and lived in a boarding house.

After raising her four children she decided she wanted to become a nurse and did it. She went on to work as a nurse at Memorial Medical Center for years.

She spent much of her life traveling and didn't stop after turning 70. She spent a few summers working in Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks holding her own the whole time.

She lived in her own home taking care of herself right up to 6 months before she passed. She was incapacitated by Wegener's Granulomatosis, an auto-immune disease whose treatment would have killed her faster than the disease. But even to the last she called the shots, she chose to end dialysis in June of 2007.

I was the only person in the room when she passed and those moments holding her hand are still the most important in my life. Still the hardest goodbye of all.


I suppose the most difficult part is trying to relate to someone else why someone is so important to you, why you can't let this one go. I'll be honest; it hurts less over time but the pain associated with the memories always lingers.

Seeing that photo of her hurt a lot more than I expected it to. It doesn't help that it's Easter Weekend.
Happy Easter, Wink. I still miss you.