Lost an elder in my life

I got an email today about Jennifer Lynn. She wanted to make a home for, in her words, the unloved and the thrown-away of this world, and she did. For some of us it was an email list and IRC channel, while for others it was letting them stay with her when they were kicked out of their homes. We called her Aunty Jen. She was there for me when I was out first in the 1990s and everything went to hell in a handbasket from day one. For a long time she was the only trans elder I had.

She always fussed at us for our grooming and about choices made like when I was so public protesting HB2 and moved to Texas. She came from a different generation and wished we’d make what she knew as safe choices. She struggled with a form of empty nest as we grew up, found our places in this world and built lives. She accepted that this was good and how it needed to be but did allow herself the mischievous motherly guilt trip at times, writing “you never call, you never write… you’re breaking your mother’s heart!” and we always knew there was a sly grin behind it.

I know she never could understand my butchness and I bristled at some of her remarks, but, Aunty, I’d love to hear you go on about the absolute state my brows right now. I miss you.