A few people I know make a habit of reading the obituaries. I’ve never done that. I don’t even like reading the obituaries of loved ones I’ve known. Even the better renditions that artfully weave words and stories as more of a tribute than documentation of someone’s death are often difficult to read. I think I’ve always been rather commonly afraid of death, up until last year when I had no choice but to face it and confront it.
Every once in a while, however, an obituary comes along to capture my heart, and remind me of the importance of honoring those we have lost, especially when it comes with a posthumous revelation that may make a difference for certain ones going through similar struggles. In this case, the end of Edward Thomas Ryan’s obituary did what he felt he couldn’t do for all his lived days:
Edward wanted to share the following: “I must tell you one more thing. I was Gay all my life: thru grade school, thru High School, thru College, thru Life. I was in a loving and caring relationship with Paul Cavagnaro of North Greenbush. He was the love of my life. We had 25 great years together. Paul died in 1994 from a medical Procedure gone wrong. I’ll be buried next to Paul. I’m sorry for not having the courage to come out as Gay. I was afraid of being ostracized: by Family, Friends, and Co-Workers. Seeing how people like me were treated, I just could not do it. Now that my secret is known, I’ll forever Rest in Peace.”
At first it was heartbreaking to read. I’ve known men like Edward. They carry a hollowed-out, haunted desperation to some of their days and actions, while somehow managing to be braver and stronger than I could ever imagine having to be. I wonder at an entire life lived within the proverbial confines of the closet, a life lived with subterfuge and secrets, and what moments of freedom men like Edward might have known, grasped at, lived for… It always crushes the soul a little to dwell upon what kind of world would allow for such an existence – and what kind of people would want to suppress or force someone to be something other than what they truly are.
And then I feel grateful. Grateful for having had the fortune and privilege and fortitude to come out when I was young, when I was still finding my way and growing into the person I was born to be. Grateful for the existence of Pride Month, for others who paved the way without such fortune and privilege. Grateful for being able to surround myself with people who would never think of suppressing or forcing anyone to be someone they weren’t. And grateful for the Edwards of the world – especially Edward Thomas Ryan – who did in death what he felt he could not do in life, becoming at last the person he was born to be, and reminding us of our own history.
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