MARCH OH MARCH

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First of all, this will not be a long read. I just had this on my brain, and needed to get it out.

This month of March brings with it a holiday (of sorts?) Is St. Patrick’s Day an official holiday? I don’t think so. It is International Women’s Month. International Women’s Day is March 8, or around there. There is a Trans Week of Visibility and Action (TWOVA), and, finally, on the last day of the month, the 31st is Trans Day of Visibility. The first TDOV was held on March 31st 2009. It was created by Rachel Crandall Crocker as a reaction to the lack of recognition of transgender people.

btw———I just learned that there is an International Nonbinary Day. It is July 14th. That date was chosen as it is between International Women’s Day and International Men’s Day. Interesting!!

Personally, within my blood family, there are three birthdays this month. For people who don’t make a lot of money, me and Egg scramble every year in March to find creative presents and ways to contribute to family dinners, etc. Neither of us are fans, and we usually dip after two hours. You know that joke about CPT? Well, screw that! We are always on time, to a fault, if not 10 minutes early lol. We are always going to be the first to leave. Sorry, not sorry. Me and my blood family had a lot of problems when I started transition, and are finally working on healing that. Family obligations, ugh!!

This month is also hard for me and my chosen family. For my chosen family, there was a death of a very close family member. It was devasting, and that death day is coming up this month. As the day gets closer, clouds start to accumulate and congregate over our little family. We all go quiet. We console each other. We are there for each other. We have to be. This is true family. Our bonds are deep

Unfortunately, this is also the month of the death of a friend of mine. She was trans. Was. We were in a support group together. Then, with COVID, we kept in touch over Facebook. We talked on messenger. We would absolutely crack each other the fuck up by sharing memes. I don’t care what anyone says, sometimes the perfect meme says more than any phrase, paragraph,, monologue, or line. And that was our magic. We shined to each other through conversation and memes. She was Filipina, and we shared a certain struggle as people of color. Me, Black. Her Brown. And we understood, that while our struggles looked different, in essence they were the same. She would disappear though, for weeks at a time. I didn’t have a number for her, so couldn’t call her. I would leave messages on messenger that would go unanswered for weeks. Then, she would pop back up. Something wasn’t quite right however. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I just chalked it up to something personal with her.

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***CONTENT WARNING***

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I don’t know how much mental and emotional strength I can give y’all. Sorry

My friend, Kathryn (Katie) Newhouse, 19 years of age, was shot in the head and murdered by her father—because she was trans. As all cowards do, he then turned the gun on himself and did the same. 19. There had been a history of violence and abuse from the coward of a father. Katie had her own issues. Mental illness often shows up in generations. When Katie would try to protect herself, her father would call the police. The police would not believe a teenager (a trans teenager at that) over her father. As such, she was sent to many facilities many times. What a shitty father that prompted her to act out just to protect herself. So beautiful, an amazing soul. No one deserves to die like that. Trans women die by violence so much. No, I am not going to pull out statistics. If you want that, look it up. We know how high it is. But to die by the hand of a parent?? That is fucked. She was bright, quick-witted, autistic, tech-oriented, Minecraft master, and love advocating for trans rights. She loved fashion, clothing, and doing popping hairstyles. She was proud of her Asian-American heritage.

The day after her death, I was on Facebook. I received a messenger pop up. I didn’t know who it was, but was interested. She introduced herself and said she was an independent reporter for an online mag/paper. I was cordial but instantly on guard. Then, the bomb dropped. “Did you know Katie Newhouse?” My mind started turning. The word “Did” instead of something like “do” hit me. Then, “She was killed yesterday. Do you have anything to say? How do you feel about it? Can you give me anything?” Instant block. I hit the block button so hard. I was shaking by then. I hadn’t heard from Katie in a minute. Gut. Intuitively, I understood. But I went to the internet anyway. And there it was. In the local news section. Fuck, the tears came like a category 5 hurricane; strong, wetting everything around me, without care for what destruction they caused. I knew it was true, yet couldn’t believe it. Shock and grief played out over the next days. There was a memorial at a park. I went, but didn’t have it in me to stay when it came time to speak about her. I would have crumpled like a bawled up piece of paper and discarded on the trash heap.

In the days following, I was a wreck. Egg was there, and was a big help, She was sad as fuck, too, as she had met Katie before. Katie’s mother deactivated her Facebook page, and wiped all comments and mention of her. We do keep her memory alive every year. All the people who new her, her trans and chosen family, will keep her memory alive. I will keep her memory alive.