Of a Lump in My Throat

Hello My Dear One,

I began writing while still hospitalized for a virulent bacterial infection, and although I am now back home safe and sound, I want you to hear what my thoughts were at the time, and what they are now.

I have been sitting here for days, in hospital, battling through a PeriTonsillar Abscess caused by a virulent strain of Strep A that attacked me nearly 2 weeks ago.  I have been pumped full of meds, had 2 CT scans, a procedure done at 10:00pm on a Sunday night with only a few shots of Lidocaine, a needle, a knife, some clamps, and the warning "Don't Move."  I have been on a restricted diet, monitored day and night, and have learned that apparently I don't breathe all of the time while I sleep.  And all of this because of a lump in my throat, a puss filled abscess on the back side of my left tonsil, that grew from 1cm to 2.5cm in less than 48 hours.  I have been subjected to a battery of tests, all because of a lump in my throat.

And all of this has led to a different lump in my throat, not a physical one, but a figurative one that is often described as the way one feels when faced with a sadness that is too great for initial speech.  We even refer to it as "getting choked up" in the U.S., when we are overcome with emotion that might make us cry.  Because here is the U.S. we are not as quick to show our sadness, particularly as men, and more so when in public.  We say that we are "choked up" because we cannot speak the words, or cry the tears when faced with the flood of real emotion in times of sorrow.  This to me is in itself a sadness, however I am just of guilty as this as most of those around me.

Now all of this could well lead into an exploration of cultural norms and mores, how men and women react differently to emotions, and what it means to be a member of a society that prizes violence and heroism over intimacy and relationship.

But I want instead to talk about the lumps in my throat.  I want to explain what has brought me to this place of a physical lump, and to the figurative one as well.  I want to explore the feelings that got me into all of this and also out of this.

I got sick with Strep A nearly 2 weeks ago, and I started a course of antibiotics almost immediately.  I felt a little better, tired, but better, and thought I might even be able to return to work at the end of the week.  But all too quickly I was much sicker, and I was failing fast.  After 2 emergency room visits I was sent to a larger hospital and began a lengthy process of recovery.

But I wondered, why did I grow this crazy puss filled thing in my throat in the first place.  Why me?  I know I have amazing skills at growing cysts, this is at least the 5th in the last 15 years, but really?  An abscess on a tonsil?  One that was growing at an alarming rate, and slowly blocking my airway?  I was literally getting choked up by this growth in my throat.

I knew that from a medical standpoint it was a potential that comes whenever someone has strep throat, and it can happen especially if there is a history of tonsillitis, and/or a weakened immune system, such as mine.  Having diabetes has always been a liability, but sometimes I forget how much of one it can be.  My health is often more at risk than others and I need to protect myself through preventative measures in a more aggressive fashion that I frequently do.

Further, I work in an elementary school and am exposed to all manner of bacteria, viruses, sickly kids, and other environmental health risks.  It can be a highly stressful position, where I never feel like I have enough time to complete everything I want to do in my day.  That sense of unfinished business can be trying at times no matter how much I try to walk away from it when I am not there.  And I never really stop thinking about the kids I work with.  I want to bring them my best self, my most creative ideas, and something that might make learning a little better, a little easier, a little more enjoyable than it has been in the past for them.  I want to engage them and make them lifelong learners too.

But even with all of these factors, I'm not sure I can blame this round of illness on much of any of that.  No, I think deep down that my own emotional conflicts over theological school, call, meeting the needs of my family, and ignoring my own health were the real culprits this time.  My inability to put my own physical, spiritual, emotional, and intellectual needs ahead of anything else is always detrimental to my body, as it decides to shut the whole system down to keep me from wreaking any more havoc on myself.  Just like the encapsulating cysts that I excel at growing, my body eventually encapsulates me in a cyst so that I too must be drained of the puss that I have accrued within my spirit.

Much like the physical abscess I had blocking my airway, my emotional airway was blocked by an unwillingness on my part to acknowledge that I was doing too much.  I had taken on projects, and work, and commitments I could in no way fulfill, and yet I tried to take on more.  From my innermost self that wants to be loved, I continue to put myself into those vicious circles of offering too much in return for too little.  Over extending myself is not truly a sign of flexibility or the ability to multitask, rather I see in my own life that it is merely a way of running oneself ragged and incapable of doing anything.

I was in so much denial about how overwhelmed I was that I had even stopped really caring for my diabetes.  I suspect that this a key player in my prolonged illness.  Diabetes is an autoimmune disorder, and when it is improperly managed, the body cannot respond to bacterial or viral attacks with enough strength to properly fight off the illness.  My blood glucose levels had been rising and my overall average was up as well.  I drank coffee laden with sugar, creamers, and sugary syrups.  I ate candy bars, donuts, cakes, cookies, and way to much protein.  I lowered my immunity and suffered the consequences.

But what about those figurative lumps in my throat?  Well, as I sat there, stuck in that bed, I began to see how much I missed my wife and children.  I realized how much I missed my work life.  I realized how much I missed my freedom to go to a grocery store and by some fresh fruit and vegetables.  I realized that I missed my life.  And that, that missing of my own life, was what brought the true lumps to my throat.

For nearly 40 years I have suffered from the belief that my existence was not truly important to the world, or even my own family's.  I didn't feel that my wife really needed me to exist, and of course she doesn't need me to exist per se, but to have a loving and fulfilling life we need each other.  Our existences are dependent upon the love that we create and share as two grown adults in the life altering bond of marriage.  We need each other.  And that emotion was overwhelming enough to bring a lump to my throat.

And so too, being a present, loving, nurturing father to my two magnificent sons.  Likewise my colleagues, my students, my friends, and the people with whom I share my stories of what it means to be intersex and transgender.  I meet each person exactly where they are and allow them the space to share with me their struggles and their triumphs.  What greater importance could there be in life?

And we have all been granted this opportunity.  We are given the gift of our lives to live into and share with others.  We are connected by our experiences, by our comings, and our goings in life.  We are connected by something as simple as a smile, or as profound as a lifelong relationship filled with hardships and joys that push us to be better people than we could have ever imagined.

Yet there is one more element to this magic, G-d.  Because I believe that it is the G-d outside of us, and the G-d within each of us that creates these opportunities to experience this brief flicker of time we have been granted.  And perhaps this brought the biggest lump to my throat.  The knowing that the G-d within me and the G-d within each housekeeping staff member, CNA, nurse, and doctor created a place of care, healing, and recovery for me, for my family, for my work, for my friends, and for the very people who cared for me during my illness became a truth that changed my life.  I mattered.  They mattered.  My existence here and now has meaning and value, and my absence would be a loss.

As a new week begins, I come to it with an appreciation for another day to be.
I am here, and my life has meaning.  Thanks be to G-d.

Thank you for having meaning in my life, in the lives of others, and for choosing to be a part of the lump in my throat.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari

Of Saying Goodbye, of Death

My Dear One,

Oh, how life changes in an instant.  One moment we are happy, laughing, and living in a precious time, and the next we are rocked by news that barely makes sense.  And yet, it makes all the sense in the world at the very same time.  Such is that phone call of a loved one to tell you that another loved one has died.  That call came to our house this past week, as my great aunt June, in tears, let us know that my great uncle had passed away Saturday morning.

Harry Garrison Silleck, Jr. was 92 years old, gravely ill, and his body had been deteriorating for years.  But his mind, his intellect, and his wit had persisted until the end.  And although it seems obvious that he would be ending his time here on this crazy planet, it is still unsettling that he is gone.  That a man of his seemingly undying nature would actually die.  I am struck by the reality that I will never again hear his voice.  I am strangely stunned that the man I knew was indeed mortal, and succumbed to death as we all will and all must.  It is a wounding fact that we do not live forever, and it is accentuated when one we have known all our lives passes on.    

And I am saddened that I was unable to say goodbye, particularly because I missed the last phone call he tried to make, and my answering machine cut off before he ever spoke.  My aunt had tried to put him on, but had taken too much time, and the computer didn't know that this was the last time he was trying to talk to me.  He managed to get through to my mother, and ultimately I know that she needed that more than I did, and so I have other memories to think about.  But the questions I have of what he wanted to tell me will linger for some time.

The comfort I needed was met when I saw him last, more than 2 years ago, as he was walking on his own two feet into the emergency room, and still himself.  I spoke with him on the phone a few months ago and he was ever the grand gentleman he had always been.  And just a few days ago, in that now unfulfilled call, I learned from my great aunt that he had loved the birthday card that we as a family had all signed and sent to him for his 92nd year.

So, as a tribute to my Unc, I want to share a tiny part of his story.  Although Unc and I often butted heads, he was the reason I was able to go to college and pursue my dreams.  He fully accepted who I was and who I became.  He danced at my wedding and he loved my wife and my sons as much as if they were his own.  He was a true gentleman and I am grateful to have had him in my life for nearly 40 years.  I hope that you will see through these thoughts and feelings how much I loved him and how his life shaped my own even when I had the total hell of my family attempting to break me apart.   

Uncle Tommy (Tommy was his family nickname and no one outside of the family ever referred to him as such) was born March 19th, 1921, at home, in Putnam Valley, NY to older parents who already had a 6 year old daughter, Margaret Doris Silleck, my grandmother.  My grandmother loved him dearly, and although she passed 20 years ago, he always spoke of what a wonderful sister she had been to him, and her immeasurable love and care for his wellbeing.  Her love for her brother eventually translated into a deep love for me and is much of the reason I survived my brutal childhood existence.  Her ability to care for and about me when my own mother could not, literally saved my life many times.  She gave him and me a foundation that granted us both a tremendous resiliency to a harsh and too often unforgiving world.

Interestingly enough I just found his baby book a few weeks ago as I was cleaning out part of my mother's house.  Though it is over 90 years old it reads much like the ones of today and his milestones were documented by his mother as carefully and lovingly as any parent would now in the 21st century.  Along with it I also found one of my favorite photos of him and my grandmother.  They are posed before the camera, a beautiful little girl and a wide eyed toddler, and the love between them is palpable.  That was the gift of unconditional love that has passed into me even through the insanity I have suffered.

Harry and Margaret circa 1923

Unc, like his sister was extraordinarily bright and both siblings graduated from high school early, she at 16, and he at 15.  He went on to college and graduated at the age of 19, then to law school, earning his J.D. at the ripe old age of 22.  I heard many of his collegiate antics, hardly able to comprehend that he was so young, and interacting with 22 year old men when he was just a boy of 16.  I should note that my grandmother also went to college, a private all female school in upstate New York, graduated and later became a social worker for the State of New York.  She was a feminist to the end, and she taught us all to be strong, independent individuals no matter the adversities we might be facing.  Both sister and brother excelled at defending those who could not defend themselves, albeit in different ways.

The week of his law school graduation he was drafted into the United States Air Force and became a navigator stationed in England flying in bombers from 1943 to 1945.  He received almost every available medal and returned a "hero."  But, like so many others who served during the Second World War, he never spoke of the traumas he endured during his time of service.  It is sad for me to think that another of our WWII veterans has passed on, leaving fewer who remember the realities of a war that involved so little modern technology, or who remember the survivors who were saved from the horrors of concentration camps and extermination, and the victims who were not.

He practiced corporate law for his entire career, working in a prominent law firm in New York City into the 1990's.  He had many lunches with the future President Nixon, another lawyer in the firm, even though my Unc was a lifelong Democrat.  He dealt mostly with railroad law, working cases that would drag on for 20 or more years in courts as disputes were settled.  Yet he was always willing and able to help friends and neighbors with wills, estates, and the like in his tiny hometown in upstate NY.  In the end though he travelled extensively for his career and sacrificed a personal life in many ways for this.  

He met his wife in 1961, they dated for 16 years and finally married in 1977, by which time he was 56 years old and she was in her 40's.  He loved her dearly and conceded to her wishes most of the time.  I know that she loved him too, and that as she faces this next chapter in her life, the first time in 52 years without him, I prayerfully hope that it will be a short one of separation for them.  I do not wish her ill, or dead, though she has been unwell for many years, rather, I hope that they will be reunited in whatever form that takes for them soon.  They were each other's worlds, and I cannot begin to imagine the grief and the emptiness that she must be feeling right now.  So, I look to G-d to offer comfort and peace that will give her what she needs to be on this part of the journey.  

Sadly, they never had children of their own, though I was given incredible status, particularly since I was the only child/grandchild/etc. in my entire family.  A monetary bonus from a case he won in the 1970's was put into a high yield account and 20 years later I had a college fund that would pay for 4 years of college even now.  I was given gifts of financial and personal value, money yes, items like and an electric pencil sharpener I received at least 25 years ago that still sits on my desk, of course.  But I was given so much more in the stories, the time we were able to share, the Holidays he came to Maine for, the uncompromising sense of fidelity that he imbued to me through word and deed.

And I was also given the gift of culture and a world view, visiting Manhattan on a yearly basis.  Going to museums, libraries, concerts, broadway performances, off broadway performances, theaters, films, the planetarium, Central Park, the Russian Tea Room, the Plaza, a horse-drawn carriage ride, and the ability to study abroad 3 separate times, were all gifts from my Unc.  I learned to love the life that he and his wife had, and as much as I love my life here in a rural town in Maine, there are days when I wonder what it would have been like if I'd gone and lived with them in my teens when I had the chance.  In the end I know I wouldn't be the man I am today and I wouldn't want to be anyone else.

Looking back on this suit and tie wearing serious lawyer there is a wonderful juxtaposition of the man in the office and the man at home who indulged a playful whimsy in me whenever possible.  As a tot he would become a scary "monster" growling in my face as I squealed with delight and fear.  He would become a horse on all fours for me to ride around on when he was already well into his late 50's.  Of all the memories I cherish there is one that demonstrated his true love and acceptance of my childhood needs.
I was 7 or 8 years old the summer I purchased a stuffed Snoopy doll at the famous F.A.O. Schwartz toy store, and I was ecstatic with my treasure.  That night I dressed him in his "Saturday Night Fever" tuxedo, and he was allowed to sit at the head of the fancy dining room table at dinner in my Unc's 69th and Lexington condo on the Upper East Side.  I remember drinking milk "on the rocks" and reveling in the inclusivity and welcome that my Uncle was offering me that night.  He fostered in that moment a belief that family could exist even when most days it didn't seem possible.

As I grew older my Uncle challenged me at every turn, wanted the best for me, and loved me in a way I probably never realized when he was alive.  He had told my mother, and myself, that I had more courage, because I chose to transition genders, than he had.  That he would never have had the courage to do or the ability to risk what I did to become myself.  I could never believe this after knowing his history, but I see now how we shared something in that as well.  He did not see his own courage any more than I saw mine.  We both did what we had to do in order to survive.  His battles were fought dropping bombs over Germany, while mine were fought in doctors' offices, hospitals, rural towns, and within myself and my marriage.  We were both heroes in each other's eyes.  Funny how I can only just see that now, I hope that he saw it as well.

There are of course so many more stories about Unc that I could share, his pranks, his vast knowledge of films, his deep appreciation for the arts, his love of horses, the fact that he lived in his boyhood home until he was 90, and everything else that made him who he was.  But just as there is not time for us to live forever, there is not time to tell all those stories now.  I will tell them as they ask to be told, to my sons, to my friends, to my family, to you, as I find myself in the images of a man I would be proud to be, even on his worst days.  I know that he would have done the same for me.


Thank you for travelling this twisting path of the journey with me.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari  

Of Passover and Easter

Hello My Dear One,

It is nearly Spring, nearly Solstice, and nearly the time for the holiest events in 2 of the major world religions.  It is a time of great ritual and practice that is occurring during these weeks in March.  And for me it is a time of great reflection and deep digging into the core of my faith life.  I find myself particularly challenged as I experience the many ways that my families of origin and choice celebrate this time of year.  This renewal of Spring when we are released from the darkness of Winter.  It is the dawn from that darkest point that we have all been living in.  It is redemption from a fruitless season to growth and newness.  It is obvious that we need to get out of the hibernation and begin again to bloom from the holes that have kept us safe from the cold and dark of Winter.  

Having spent many of my birthdays in the middle of Passover and Holy Week, a time of internal faith struggle for me to begin with, there is an added layer of reflection on the anniversary of my entrance into this world.  I am forced to accept that even as the world around me continues to renew itself with plant and animal life, I am another year older, and my time here, though never guaranteed, is shorter than it was before.  This is a daily occurrence of course, however most of us are able to block that thought out in order to be more present to what we are doing.  If I spent everyday obsessing over when I will die, and today might be that day, I would never get anything done.  For some people this knowledge acts as a motivator to live life to the fullest, but I've never liked this 'live as if you were dying philosophy,' because it emphasizes the death part of the equation rather than life. I choose to assume that I will live another day and so I continue to fulfill my daily responsibilities.  It has to do with knowing I will die, but tomorrow morning will probably come whether I like it or not.  And honestly this means that there will be a new day with new opportunities.  For all of my inherent pessimism, this is one of the areas in my life where I turn into an optimist.  And this construct of life and death, life vs. death, life and death within each other, spurs my desire to know why these holy celebrations of life and death are both necessary and challenging for me season after season.

When it comes to Passover and Easter, I value both traditions in my life, however, having both creates immediate conflict as one denies the other, despite the fact that the one has come to being because of the other.  Christianity took Passover and turned it into the Resurrection Story and therefore the premise of the entire religion.  Judaism, although deeply rooted in the celebration and necessity of Pesach, is not solely defined by that series of historical events.  It is a rich and foundational part of Judaism, but it need not exist for Judaism to exist.  The belief in the one G-d of our ancestors is enough, though greatly enhanced by this act of redemption from slavery and salvation from imminent death.  This is frankly a recurrent theme throughout all of the Hebrew scriptures, a nomadic or exiled existence that seeks a physical address to call home.  And time after time our forefathers and foremothers sought a  location, a place, or even an idol to represent this sense of a spiritual home.  And usually, this did not end well.  This may in fact color my own religious experiences as I feel uncomfortable trying to confine G-d to a specific place, let alone a religious doctrine that excludes other faith practices.  And I believe that it reflects my own sense of wandering through a world wherein I did not have a stable foundation to build my life on.

So, the newer religion of Christianity, which was built upon the foundation of Judaism, took the historical act of Passover and used Jesus of Nazareth as both a new Moses and the embodiment of the Exodus, and the Promised Land.  I respect the incredible job done by the writers of the Christian scriptures who wove together all the important parts of Pesach into a format that would speak to the Messianic Jews of 1st century Palestine.  I also respect the work of all of the writers of the Hebrew scriptures, who gathered the oral traditions, the rituals, and the laws that were created throughout the millennia of early Judaism, to create a cohesive and meaningful storyline that would maintain a people who were being scattered to the 4 corners of the earth.  The difficulty therein for me is that I see both the Hebrew and the Christian scriptures as divinely inspired, yet written by humans with their own agendas.  And during this particular season, I have an ongoing battle over denial and acceptance that both stories hold truth for me.

Jesus was a prophet in a long line of Hebrew prophets, spreading the message that you need to love   G-d and love your neighbor as you love yourself.  Jesus' accurate condensing of the 10 commandments correlates with Moses' delivery of them during the time in the wilderness.  Some call us to love G-d and some guide our relationships with others.  So Jesus simplified the message for people who had gotten caught up in the details.  He was looking for reform, just like every other prophet, and he suffered the consequences of telling the truth.  For that I have deep respect and understanding that truth or even Truth is something that most people don't want to hear.  It is far easier to live with yourself if you can deny that some of your actions are harmful to the people and the world around you.  From snotty attitudes to global warming, from getting a bargain on cheaply made goods to buying genetically modified foods, from ignoring the suffering around you to holding tight to grudges that lost their significance decades ago, we all separate ourselves from the Truth that who we are is not what G-d calls us to be.  And when we do this we stop loving G-d and we stop loving our neighbor.  Jesus was trying to impart this message to the people of his time and like most who dare to speak up he was killed for his passion.

For believing Christians the story doesn't end there though, Jesus is revealed to be the Son of G-d and will be granted a resurrection from death because he is in fact partly or wholly G-d, depending upon your understanding of trinitarian theology, and therefore offer eternal life to those who believe this.  Now, the thought of eternal life in and of itself is not necessarily a bad thing, but it runs contrary to the Jewish understanding I have had throughout my life.  I see eternal life a little, ok a lot, differently than angels, and humans, playing harps and singing songs of praise to G-d, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit after an apocalyptic massacre of non-believers and the destruction of the Earth.  Of course not all Christians believe this, but the majority I have known and studied with in seminary do believe in some sort of afterlife wherein a heaven exists and we will be united with dead loved ones and live in this beautiful calm for all eternity.  For me, this is not what I was hoping for.  Honestly, the thought of that makes my stomach turn.  Because I see eternal life as a return to the components that have caused me to be here on Earth in the first place.  I understand my corporeal state as temporal and made up of atoms, molecules, and chemicals that are spinning around so fast that it gives the illusion of a solid existence.  Yes, I hold to a relative belief in string theory, and that there is complete validity to the Higgs-Boson theory as well.  I believe that when I die those particles, those atoms, those chemical compounds will be returned to the Earth, and the galaxy, and the universe from which they came.  I will simply be reabsorbed into the world that made me and become a part of millions of other things.  And that is a far more satisfying belief for me, that I will have a purpose in the ongoing Creation that G-d has made.

You see, I still believe in an ever present and unconditionally loving G-d, and I believe that this G-d is so much larger than anything that I can imagine that He/She/They/It/We doesn't need a tiny group of humans singing to it for ever and ever and ever.  I believe in a G-d that is in every molecule of my being and that seeks to create again and again and again in new and exciting ways that will create wonder, and joy for each new creation.  I believe that every creature experiences the awe of being, and that love is the foundation for that awe.  And simply put, I don't need an embodiment to give me a reassurance that I will continue on even after my time on this planet in this form is complete.  I don't need it because I witness it daily as the leaves rot and turn into life giving soil, and dead animals are turned into fuel for other animals, and their bones slowly return to calcium to feed the plants that they used for fuel when they were alive.  It is an endless daily cycle of death and rebirth that G-d has created and continues to be in each and every moment.

So, where does this leave me in the middle of this holy time?  It leaves me with a deeper sense of wonder for Creation, for enslavement, for liberation, for redemption, and for salvation, because it is happening every moment.  I am able to see the beauty of the world around me and the universe that contains such a tiny speck that allows me to sit here, at a machine, writing down my thoughts, and beliefs, and share them with more than just myself.  For that to be, I must believe in a G-d that is within each and every particle that exists.  And therefore I can believe that G-d was just as much a part of Moses as G-d was a part of Jesus.  We all are.  And that is the greatest saving grace of all.

Thank you for your continued sharing of the journey we are all on.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari