We lived together for three magical years. No one understood the quirky, crazy couple who arrived together, left together, but flirted with everyone in between. We had so much fun together. We were the perfect couple. We knew we would be the perfect parents. But we were a modern couple. We wanted to be more intentional, more deliberate about our choices than our parents had been. We had more to do before taking on children’s responsibilities. We had no money, but we had a lot of time.
We were determined to live first.
But at the age of 29, Peter was diagnosed with cancer. Phase 4.
He was diagnosed in May. He died on December 16. At 11:30 a.m. Half an hour before he was going to be 30.
I was so furious that he died, I couldn’t cry.
It felt like all my family dreams were dying with him; a partner, children, my willing comrade in the radical redefinition of the modern family, modern love.
His mother had better make peace with heaven over the loss of her firstborn. I was amazed at her ability to stay connected with me. She stayed close, called, sent Christmas cards, checked in, even though I remained distant, angry, insecure about deserving of the magic of the family that Peter had so tragically, suddenly, left behind.
Reluctantly, I stayed connected with his younger brother, CJ, who reminded me so much of Peter. Except he wasn’t gay, or a poet. He grew up to be a good filmmaker and the only straight man in the LGBTQ alliance in college. We often called each other to reminisce about Peter, to tell the wizardry of his, to bask in the shared memory of his magic.
Later, when I became delirious with the desire to start a family—chasing gay men at house parties, begging sperm from strangers on airplanes—I collapsed and cried over what felt like my husband’s untimely death. I didn’t want to be the strange young widow who throws lesbian parties in Crown Heights. I wanted to be the tough lesbian writer, with the flamboyant gay husband, and raise four kids in an old house that used to be a church two blocks from the beach in Far Rockaway.