I've been trying to get into my site at diaryland for a while now and I got a little frustrated. Anyway, since I've had a blogger account for a couple of years, I might as well use it and enter the blogger revolution (tm).

I attended a funeral last week of Wanda Alston. I met Wanda a couple of times at parties, but I knew her partner much better. (her partner is fellow member of a board that I am on). She was murdered by her neighbor, who said in court documents that he "vaguely remembered" that he stabbed her to death. He was high on crack. But instead of focusing on her death, which was brutal and senseless and is an example of what is wrong with this society. I'd rather say something of what I learned as I sat in the crowded church. Alston was a DC activist who became head of DC's LGBT affairs office, an office that the mayor created because of her. Essentially, she was the face/voice of LGBT's to the larger community. She was a recovering cocaine addict (the fact that she died by cocaine, is one of the many sad ironies of her life) who buried a sister, several years ago who was also murdered. She found the love of her life and was going to be married to Stacy next year. During the service, we were asked to read the obituary printed in the program. It had the standard biographical sketch (born in X, went to School at Y, liked to do Z) . I noticed that there was no mention of her job with the city and no mention of her life with her partner. It read like she was never a lesbian, never someone who had to fight for her rights to live and to love, it read like she never lived. One simple paragraph... Although, in every speech (there were several) there was mention of her LGBT work and of her partner, it seemed like she was cheated of her identity. Her family, so I heard later, deleted sections of the obit that referenced her life in DC, any mention of her being a Lesbian was erased for the record. As I was sitting in the crowded pew, I started to cry. I cried for the sheer irony of it all. I cried for the life that Stacy will never have with Wanda, I cried for yet another activist cut down in her prime, I cried for Wanda being out of the closet for most of her life and then being pushed back into a smaller, constricted container, never to come out of it again. I cried all the way home.