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Description
They say good writing is rooted in the personal. If you tell stories close to your own experience, the inherent truths of it will be revealed to the author and the reader. I'm not sure how to put this into a format that says how I feel. Until I do, I'm going to put what I have out there in this format.

This is a story based on actual events.

"Untitled"

I lost a family member many years ago, to drugs. Her life was a mess before she fell into that. So was mine. Self medicating with crack was her solution. I did the same thing with alcohol. The difference is I survived my poor judgment.

My sister Jean wrote what had to be a very difficult letter to me. After several years of no communication, she told me she'd become addicted, been in prison for dealing, was getting out of jail soon, needed a place to stay and she was a lesbian.

The only thing I didn't have a problem with was her being lesbian. I hated her taste in men. Apparently, so did she. I called the number she provided. We spoke about the choices we'd both made that got us to that point in our lives. Then I gave her the bad news.

One of the so-called safe (chicken shit) choices I made back then was not offering my home to her. She could have re-acclimated to society after her prison stint, and I could have helped her stay off drugs. The excuses I used were acceptable to most: a new bride; a first child; and a promising military career.

What didn't come up, what I didn't make clear was that I loved her. And if loving a woman made her happy then I was happy too. All she got from me was "I'm sorry. Good luck and good-bye". Five years later I was confirming her funeral arrangements with what was left of our family.

Now all I have of her are a few old photos and a lot of regrets. Sometimes I wonder if she thought one of the reasons I said no to her was because she was gay.

Soon after she was buried, I made a very public announcement to the immediate and extended family: I love and accept everyone for who they are regardless of whom they love. And if anyone needs to talk or needs any kind of help, I'm available. There were a few phone calls and some letters. But no one has yet to ask for a place to stay. This time... but I'm sure it's not because they don't feel welcome.

Description
They say good writing is rooted in the personal. If you tell stories close to your own experience, the inherent truths of it will be revealed to the author and the reader. I'm not sure how to put this into a format that says how I feel. Until I do, I'm going to put what I have out there in this format.

This is a story based on actual events.

"Untitled"

I lost a family member many years ago, to drugs. Her life was a mess before she fell into that. So was mine. Self medicating with crack was her solution. I did the same thing with alcohol. The difference is I survived my poor judgment.

My sister Jean wrote what had to be a very difficult letter to me. After several years of no communication, she told me she'd become addicted, been in prison for dealing, was getting out of jail soon, needed a place to stay and she was a lesbian.

The only thing I didn't have a problem with was her being lesbian. I hated her taste in men. Apparently, so did she. I called the number she provided. We spoke about the choices we'd both made that got us to that point in our lives. Then I gave her the bad news.

One of the so-called safe (chicken shit) choices I made back then was not offering my home to her. She could have re-acclimated to society after her prison stint, and I could have helped her stay off drugs. The excuses I used were acceptable to most: a new bride; a first child; and a promising military career.

What didn't come up, what I didn't make clear was that I loved her. And if loving a woman made her happy then I was happy too. All she got from me was "I'm sorry. Good luck and good-bye". Five years later I was confirming her funeral arrangements with what was left of our family.

Now all I have of her are a few old photos and a lot of regrets. Sometimes I wonder if she thought one of the reasons I said no to her was because she was gay.

Soon after she was buried, I made a very public announcement to the immediate and extended family: I love and accept everyone for who they are regardless of whom they love. And if anyone needs to talk or needs any kind of help, I'm available. There were a few phone calls and some letters. But no one has yet to ask for a place to stay. This time... but I'm sure it's not because they don't feel welcome.