Meandering thoughts on the SCOTUS cases

The two of us with our canine friend, Bert, who was
wriggling at that moment, in 2002 in Missouri.

I've listened to the Supreme Court oral arguments in Hollingsworth v Perry (the Prop 8 case) and U.S. v Windsor (the DOMA case) this week. There are moments of joy and relief in them, but especially in the Prop 8 case, there are plenty of moments that are hard to listen to. Sometimes I want to say to the justices and the attorneys, "You do realize we can hear you, right?" We being the "homosexuals" whose fair treatment may or may not bring about the downfall of civilization. As if we aren't part of civilization. As if we haven't already formed lasting, committed relationships that benefit all of society. As if recognizing those relationships would cause straight men to beget more children out of wedlock. The tortured logic would be hilarious if it weren't at our expense.

Yes, we've made tremendous progress. A few months after Sandy and I got together, Congress passed the Defense of Marriage Act, fearful that Hawaii might recognize same-sex couples' humanity. Even though, at the time, we didn't personally want to marry, DOMA was a slap in the face. The federal government was so threatened by our relationship that they declare that they would never recognize it. It's hard not to take that personally.

While Congress was all in a dither over Hawaii's Supreme Court's action, most of my straight friends and family had no idea the DOMA debate was going on. It felt like the LGBT community was very much on our own.

If you've never been part of a hated minority, it can be difficult to understand what it's like. We have Pride parades specifically because so many of us have been taught to be ashamed of who we are. That's changing for younger folks, thank goodness. But Sandy felt a deep shame from early childhood, when she first started to have what she referred to on her death bed as "gay thoughts." As an adult, she was out and proud in some contexts and apologetic about her sexuality in others. It's a common ambivalence. For most LGBT people, coming out to ourselves is challenging, and then coming out to each group of people in our lives brings its own stresses. We fear judgment. We fear rejection. Underlying all of it, frankly, we fear violence.

As our struggle for equality has progressed, we've gained amazing straight allies. Indeed, I felt a flush of gratitude when I saw how many of my non-LGBT friends and family members had posted in support of marriage equality this week, in anticipation of the Supreme Court oral arguments. I desperately want Sandy to be here, to enjoy the feeling that so many people have our backs.

But mostly, I want to reach out and touch her, to have the physical reminder that this relationship is valid, strong, right. That our love is no threat. 

The rhetoric is a little less hateful than it used to be. And for an entire generation, same-sex marriage is no big deal and anti-discrimination laws that protect LGBT people are a no-brainer. But the Supreme Court is afraid of removing discrimination too quickly. They're asked to determine whether a ban on same-sex marriage is constitutional, but they're more concerned with deciding whether the timing is right. It's always the right time to do the right thing. How many people have to die while they wait for the right to marry the person they love? I'm bitter that I became a widow before I was legally married; it's supposed to be the other way around.

On the other hand, it's kind of sweet to be in a position where one of the primary arguments against declaring DOMA unconstitutional is essentially that it will probably be repealed by Congress in the near future anyway. I understand that Clement was mainly asserting that the LGBT community has political power and so the case should not be afforded heightened scrutiny, but I enjoyed listening to the argument all the same.

It's weird to have a personal stake in these cases, and yet have that personal stake be less immediate than it should be. If Sandy were here alive with me, we'd be married under Washington law, and we'd be excited by the possibility that we might finally attain the federal rights and responsibilities of marriage this summer. Instead, I know that our marriage will be recognized on June 30, 2014, and that at some point in the future, federal recognition will go into effect, likely long before I need to make decisions about whether to access Sandy's Social Security benefits, as her widow, instead of my own.

There are many people I can talk to about the court cases, but there's only one person who understands exactly the mish-mash of emotions I feel when I listen to the arguments and read the analysis, and she died 20 months ago.

It's a bench!

Back in 2002, we admired the creative benches at the
ceanothus garden, part of the Santa Barbara Botanical Gardens.
As I recall, most of them were dedicated to individuals too.

I received word at the end of September that the Mercer Island Parks Dept was pouring the concrete for Sandy's bench and the bench should be in place within the next few weeks. However, nothing about the process had gone according to schedule, so I decided to wait a month or so before visiting the site. I feared making a special trip and being disappointed.

Then the rains came. And I was sick. My schedule was full; the weather was crappy; I didn't have energy. Several times I thought I'd bike across the I-90 bridge on my way home from therapy, since my route took me to the bridge tunnel. I even took a camera with me. But each time, the cold wind kept me focused on getting home.

But spring arrived in Seattle yesterday, and. like everyone else in the city, I knew I had to be outside. It was the perfect day for a ride across the lake.

The bench is there! I was delighted as I approached to see that there were people sitting on it. The plaque is fine; her name is spelled correctly and there are no words missing. I'd worried that the location of the bench might be off because they'd had to shift it to the other side of the short walkway due to grounds maintenance, but the placement works very well. I was relieved to be completely and utterly pleased.

I took several photos, and then I sat on the bench, satisfied. Pedestrians and cyclists alike can rest here after the short punishing climb from the bridge. Some of them will read Sandy's name, maybe even say it aloud. Some will read the words, and maybe a few of them will leave the bench feeling refreshed and reminded of their intention to enjoy the journey as much as the destination.

Meanwhile, it serves as a permanent memorial to a woman who wanted desperately to be remembered. She doesn't have a gravestone; I can't afford to donate a hospital wing in her name. There are other tributes that bear her name, primarily in the world of fandom, and I am grateful for each of those. But the bench is a physical touchstone. I'm glad she asked for it, and I'm especially thankful that I was able to have it installed in a place that Sandy always paused to catch her breath, have a snack, appreciate the sense of accomplishment that crossing the bridge brings, and enjoy the view.

Directly across from the bench is an open field, with trees
and Lake Washington in the distance. As I sat there for a
few minutes, I saw people playing with dogs, parents flying
kites with their children, and a small girl with shaky legs
toddling to her mom on the grass. It's a happy-making spot.

If you'd like to visit the bench, you'll find it on the I-90 trail on the west side of Mercer Island. Just after you bike or walk across Lake Washington on the I-90 bridge, the trail immediately climbs around a bend. The bench is on your right just as the trail levels off, across from the pedestrian entrance to the park's open field. If you prefer to drive, head eastbound on I-90 across Lake Washington, and then take West Mercer Way (exit 6), turn left onto West Mercer Way, and then turn left into the parking lot. From there, walk towards the I-90 trail (south) along the sidewalk that borders the field and you'll see the bench. The open field is apparently called Area C of the Park on the Lid.