Red wine and tears
Yesterday was Mark Milano’s actual memorial at The Center, where so many activist milestones take place. Entering the room, the first person I saw was Andy, who reached to hug me with a glass of red wine in his hand, spilling it on my sweatshirt sleeve and the floor. Next I encountered a cluster of FUQ lesbians ,all of them mothers now, one with no longer baby daughters about to head to college. The moment felt awkward, like running into colleagues you once saw daily but haven’t seen in a long time. There have been times I wondered where these women were as we did action after action, trying to hold on to the things we won a long time ago. Not Jennifer, but the others, who melted away and left just the two of us. Jenn has seen me in various states, showing up DC with my walker or barely able to ge...