there's this specific grief that comes with being trans and hearing another trans person has died. because no matter how far away they were, it never feels distant, it feels communal. cellular. like someone reached into the wiring of your own body and cut a thread. trans people learn early on in their journey - often even before they begin transitioning - that survival is treated like a political statement. joy is political. transition is political. getting to exist long enough to become boring is political.
and now mourning is political, too.
i'm so sorry, murry foust. i keep thinking about how tired you must have been. how tired all of us are. how humiliating it is that even when we die alone, people still laugh and debate whether we deserved to live a happy, dignified life at all.
there are trans kids online right now learning your name – and the names of juniper blessing, lucas redbeard knapp, aleanna belcher, and davonta curtis – through grief. through fear. through that horrible, familiar ache of "that could've been me." and i hate that this is part of our inheritance from one another. not just chosen family and resilience and beauty – but memorials. vigils. apology letters to ghosts.
you deserved better. you deserved to grow old and live a happy, fulfilled life. all of us do. i promise we will keep fighting for our community to have a better future and we'll carry our lost siblings the whole way through.
