Stirring the Pot

I had a discussion two days ago with an uncle in the EIRMC surgical waiting room while my dad was undergoing his second surgery in a week. Discussions like these usually cause my internal existential debate to erupt from a low simmer on the back burner of my soul to a rolling boil right at the front of the range. I think it’s an indicator of where my soul is that I’m not more upset. I also think that arching over the experience is the love my uncle was showing by just being there with my mom and me, which made the discussion easier to bear.

It all sprang from a conversation I was having with this uncle, whom I’ll call “Bob” for now, about his younger son, who is my age. “Bob” had decided not to go with this younger son on a motor bike trip up the Big Butte because his back was bothering him, and he didn’t want to take the chance of having it go out while he was in a remote area. This led to the topic of growing older, and my uncle threw out the term “safely dead.” Although it felt like a lure, I decided to take the bait anyway. Of course, to die safely, a phrase used by an LDS prophet, meant to be as obedient to the commandments as you could and repent when you fell short of that ideal, so that when you left this life, you wouldn’t be in danger of exclusion from God’s presence.

I watched him carefully while he said all this, trying to gauge his intent and decide what the best reaction would be. I know he’s not comfortable that I’m gay. “Bob’s” son has told me that he thinks I should be able to overcome being gay, if I even really am, so I was pretty sure this speech was for me. I think he was also gauging my reaction as well. When I didn’t get angry or combative, he went on to tell me that he personally believed that progression continued after this life and that we would be sent where we were most comfortable. He illustrated this by saying that he wasn’t a part of the bar crowd so he isn’t comfortable in their company and they aren’t comfortable in his. It would be the same way in the afterlife: people would keep company with those whom they felt most comfortable with. (This example also felt pointed. I don’t think he knows that I’ve been in a monogamous relationship for the last five months, and that I haven’t been part of the “bar crowd” for years now.) This was his way of telling me he still had some hope for me. It was very backhanded, but I appreciated the compassion he was endeavoring to show.

I don’t think this exchange would have registered with me at all if I wasn’t feeling so powerless at that moment. It was also painfully apparent to me that I couldn’t provide comfort in the way most meaningful to my dad. Because of my status with the LDS church, I can’t give him a blessing or utilize the Priesthood in any way. Feeling like a failure in that way is a constant, wearing thought in my heart. As many steps as I’ve made toward accepting myself for who I am now, the image of who I was supposed to be is still there, goading me and telling me I’ve fallen short.

Life keeps handing me experiences that don’t let me rest much until I truly am all one peace.