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#I haven't gotten a single moment alone with just my aunt cause people feel the need to be up her ass
dirtytransmasc · 3 months
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grieving is getting fucking sick of people. it's getting sick of being around people. it's getting sick of having distant family and family friends around. I know they want to grieve too, they want to show their support, they have their own shit going on but like.... I am frustrated, I am frustrated that I need to share space and grief and emotion with people that aren't my direct family, that I need to support their grief alongside my families, my aunt's.
grief is having feelings you're guilty about, being angry and nasty and dark.
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sardonicnihilism · 3 years
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A Biography of the Woman Who Never Was
Part 5 The Older Woman
Chapter 5
The rest of 2018 and 2019 passed in fairly unremarkable fashion. The kids kept seeing the counselor, Jerry's behavior and grades improved until he was one of his grades top students. Tabatha, likewise, did extremely well academically. Jerry joined the school soccer team and took up violin, and Tabatha took up piano, guitar, and drums. While life continued with its normal ups and downs, it really did seem like the worst was behind them.
Even when 2020 hit like a meteor, it still didn't affect Shannon and her family that much. Both Sam and Shannon were deemed essential workers, and therefore kept their jobs. The schools shut down, but Shannon did home lessons over the summer and the kids did remote learning in the fall. Jerry struggled, having a hard time staying focused, but Tabatha did exceptionally well.
It was November when things started to go to Hell for them personally. Shannon started noticing a pain in her right chest and shoulder. It would constantly ache, and if she moved too fast, bolts of sharp, white hot pain would shoot through her body. At first she thought it was just muscle strain from lifting too much (she had gotten back into weight training to lose weight), but when she had taken a week off and there was no improvement, she knew she had to see a doctor.
Here appointment was in December, the week after Christmas. The doctor checked her out and then chewed her out. She was 47 years old and had never had a mammogram. Shannon reluctantly agreed to have one and her doctor made the appointment.
Shannon got her mammogram the second week of January at 8:50 AM. By 3:30 PM, she had three messages saying she should contact them immediately. Shannon had breast cancer. More than that, it had already spread to other parts of her body. After a consultation with the entire family, they decided on an aggressive treatment plan. Unfortunately, it was too late.
Shannon's health declined rapidly. Most of her hair fell out and she shrank from 252 pounds to 110. She was week and tired all the time. She mostly laid in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom; usually to vomit. It was decided that she would enter the hospital for her final days.
Sam would visit everyday. At first he brought the kids with him every time, then every other day, and then they would only come once a week on Sundays. By the end of April, it was clear it was only a matter of days.
Sam's last visit was on a Sunday. It was a perfect spring day. It was so warm and sunny that it made Sam angry. It seemed like a cosmic insult to everything he and Shannon were going through. However, he had managed to purge himself of his bitterness by the time he had gotten to Shannon's room.
She was staring out the window, a contemplative smile gracing her gaunt face. Her hands were folded in her lap and she looked almost transcendent.
"How's the most beautiful woman in the world doing today?" he asked with forced happiness as he entered her room.
Shannon turned to him and smiled as happy a smile as she could. "I don't know. I haven't seen her today," she joked back in her weak, hoarse voice.
Sam grabbed a chair and sat beside her. "How're you sweetie?" he asked with a hushed sadness.
"I'm ok. Best as possible I suppose. I was just thinking I beat mom by a month. She passed in April, I made it all the way to May. Of course she beats me on years though." Shannon's sense of gallows humor was not only still there, but had become stronger than ever.
"I tried to get the kids to come out, but they just couldn't," Sam said apologetically.
Shannon just waved her hand. "It's ok, my family never did do death well."
She turned back to the window and started talking as much to herself as to Sam. "I was going to ask you to make a recording of me saying my farewells to the kids, but then I thought if I really wanted this to be the last and forever image of me; a sad, shriveled up husk of a human being - an image of sadness and loss? That just seems too cruel. I'd rather be forgotten if that is the case."
"You'll never be forgotten," Sam tried to reassure her.
She turned back to him, smiling even more. "We're all forgotten eventually darling." She then reached out and took his hand. "It's been a life, hasn't it?"
"It sure has," he said, trying to smile, but tears were already starting to run down his cheek. "And I thank you for being the love of mine."
"As you are with mine," she said in a peaceful voice.
"No, you don't have to say that. You don't have to pretend." He shook his head as he spoke. He didn't want their potentially last moments to be filled with lies.
"Who's pretending?" Shannon said, sounding almost happy, like he had just told her a joke. "What? You think because I'm not romantically or sexualy attracted to you, that means you're not the love of my life? People put so much emphasis on romantic love. Darling, you were far more than a lover. Being a lover is easy. You were a friend." She then brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it.
Sam was now weeping heavily. "The first time I met you in the library, I knew I loved you," he choked out.
"When I was a little girl, I asked my grandfather why he kept the dogs outside. He said because animals don't belong in the house. That night, my biological mother, left me in her car while she went into the bar. I was alone, freezing. I wondered if maybe I was an animal and that's why I was being left alone.
"My entire life I felt alone, unloved, unlovable. I was angry and bitter and I hurt anyone or thing I could so they would feel what I felt. I caused so much pain.
"Then I met Jen and I thought I found love. I loved her and I thought she loved me, but she only loved what she thought I was. When I turned out not to be that, she turned her back on me and I went off the deep end.
"And then there was you. You made me laugh. I could talk to you about anything. I felt safe around you; not physically, but emotionally. I became a better person because of you.
"Even when I came out to you, you didn't turn me away, throw me out, which I would have understood if you did. You never stopped being my rock, my shoulder to cry on, the clown to make me laugh when I was crying. You never stopped being my friend."
"And I never will," Sam barely choked out.
"And that is why you're the love of my life."
Sam got up and they embraced. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and she gave him one the cheek. They spent the next five hours just reminiscening and joking.
"I better get going, I suppose," Sam said reluctantly. "I can't leave the kids alone all day, but I don't want to leave you alone either. Not to die at least."
"We all die alone honey, even if we're surrounded by people," she said with a smile. "Go. You're a father and your kids need you. I'm already dead. The only thing the dead need is rest. Just, just tell the kids I love them."
"Always," he said tearfully.
A couple hours after he left, she began to feel really tired, her fingers and toes started going numb. She knew the time had come.
She started thinking about tombstones. A name, a dash, and another date. Everything she was, everything she had been, reduced to a small line, carved in a stone that would survive long after she had been forgotten. It seemed unfair, cruel even.
She then thought about something else, something she had learned back in college. She thought about quantum entanglement, how two atoms can become entangled, linked forever across time and space, eternal mirrors to each other.
Her mind then darted to the concept of the multiverse. How there might be infinite universes out, each with their own version of her. What if two versions could be linked somehow? Entangled? What if her mirror was out there? Could she reach her? Could her mind link across dimensions to one of her other selves to share her story?
*Please, please, if can hear me, please tell my story. Please don't let me be forgotten!*, she thought over and over to herself, trying to reach out to anyone who might hear until her brain ceased to function and she passed away.
**************************************
Shannon Brown was born on November 22, 1975 to a single, alcoholic mother. He was taken in by his grandparents and his aunt Mary who raised him as her own. It is Mary who he considers to be his real mother. His biological mother, Kathy, would have two other children, a girl named Tracy (1977) and Paul Jr. (1979).
By about 4 or 5, Shannon knew that he wasn't a he, but a she, but having no language to express this, she kept this to herself. Shannon grew up alone, morbidly obese for most of her life, she never really had any friends and was constantly bullied and picked on. This made her angry and she would often act out in horrible and usually, self destructive ways.
She did manage to lose weight and was thin from 19 to 24. It was at this time she met her future wife, Samantha Hopwood online. Samantha, an Australian citizen, eventually moved to the United States and they got married in 2001. In 2009, their first child, Joshua was born.
It was after that, Shannon came out to Samantha as transgender. It caused a lot of pain and anger in their marriage, but they were able to work through some of it so that they had their second child, Tara, in 2011. In 2020, after years of being partially closeted, Shannon came out to everyone on Facebook (much to the horror of her wife).
It was about this time that Shannon discovered an app called FaceApp. It could change your photo to look like a child, old person, even the opposite physical gender. Shannon took a picture of herself, femininized it, and then took that new picture and reaged it from a little girl to an old woman. As Shannon stared at the pictures, she couldn't help but marvel over how real they looked! These looked like real pictures of an actual person.
"Who are you?" she said to herself. "Who are you, what is your story?" The more she stared at the pictures, the more she could almost hear this stranger call out, "Please, please, tell my story." It was then Shannon knew what she had to do. She opened her Tumblr app, hit the write symbol, and began-
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A Biography of the Woman Who Never Was
Part 1: The Girl
Chapter 1
*This story is dedicated to the memory of H.P. Lovecraft; a horrible man, but great world builder. This wouldn't exist without him.*
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dirtytransmasc · 3 months
Text
grieving is getting fucking sick of people. it's getting sick of being around people. it's getting sick of having distant family and family friends around. I know they want to grieve too, they want to show their support, they have their own shit going on but like.... I am frustrated, I am frustrated that I need to share space and grief and emotion with people that aren't my direct family, that I need to support their grief alongside my families, my aunt's.
grief is having feelings you're guilty about, being angry and nasty and dark.
3 notes · View notes