Turf. Uttered with the slow, Southern drawl; turf.
I had such a physical reaction when the nurse spoke the word. It came up in regards to chaplains and pastors. I’ve been here in the South since the 9th. Since then my father has been discharged and transported, in an ambulance, from Jackson, MS to Birmingham, AL. He is now in hospice care, where the emphasis is on comfort, not care. It is where you go to die, but you get a lot of painkillers until that happens.

“Turf of the heart,” she concludes. Meaning the hospice chaplain and my Aunt’s pastor can both hold visitation. Because the battles fought here aren’t over territory like in the Gaza strip or Compton;  they are battles fought with shadows and insecurity–the warrior beaten but still seeking freedom.  A guide is needed.

The whole family has been navigating unfamiliar terrain. I suppose it took a crisis to interrupt our familiar patterns and old judgements.  “Like a Tennessee Williams play–no one emerges unscathed,” says Chris. Here we will all loose; here we are all in pain; here is unscripted. This gives us all more equal footing, I suppose.

My Aunt is the steward in the family, but she is the one who also holds the most judgement. Long ago I broke my ties with her, wanting there to be no confusion of financial dependency or mentoring.

My father is the fuck up, apparently the last time he did six months in a treatment center it only took one day before he hit the sauce again. Recovery truly does not work unless YOU want it to work.

I am perceived as the free radical in the family. Bound to destroy anything I touch, bound to be compared to my father. I am misperceived as a radical–because I am the queer, peace advocate in a religious family where my Uncle served as George Wallace’s legal advisor. More specifically for those who don’t know your history; the Governor who  supported racial segregation, who literally had to be removed from the doorway where he stood blocking blacks from entering school. It took the Alabama National Guard, of which ironically my Uncle was a two-star general, to remove Wallace.

So here we are. Spoon feeding Dad and wiping his ass. For the most part, I’m ready for this–aside from missing home and my partner. I’ve been through it the past 11 days, although It is amazing how confidence in yourself can buffer you from scrutiny. It is too late in life to feel apologetic for who I am.

I can only tread this turf because I’ve accepted that in life, there are a multitude of perspectives. You can think you are the center of universe, but when you walk outside, you will run into at least 10 other people who think they same way. I’ve found that it is helpful to know where others are coming from;  their political framework, their cultural myths and practices. The more you educate yourself and reach out, the more you realize we have a lot of the same needs, and different strategies to acquire those needs.

At least at that point you are less likely to react to something perceived as foreign, clinging feebly to your beliefs.  The ability to have a dialogue with someone is one of the most precious of our human experience. The ability to disagree and to change our point of view is also unique. This doesn’t happen with lesser developed primates and yes, that includes rednecks.

My Aunt and I spent eight days displaced together. We navigated a lot of situations which brought us closer. The neutral territory seemed helped her forget all the misgivings towards me. Suddenly, I was really useful. I became the driver, secretary and inquisitor of doctors. She referred to me as “the help,” on several occasions. She realized that I do have strengths that she lacks. I might not drive a Lexus SUV, support McCain or have any money in my bank account but I’m smart. Not that she isn’t, she’s just always judged my success according to her standards. So I was never measuring up.

This week she told me that she was impressed her that I completed the 22,000 mile ride for Peace on the scooter.
“That takes determination, perseverance. I just wish….”
“Wish that it had gone into something you consider more meaningful?”
“Yes. But you proved you have strength.”
“Yea. Don’t forget I also proved that I have great organizational, tech, outreach, administrative, writing and fundraising skills.”

That conversation was interrupted, but my points were made and received. On neutral territory she is much more accepting. And maybe I’m different this time around, too.  The time before last that I saw my Aunt was in 2004.

This time, we faced something together. Together, we cleaned out the room my Father rented through the Gateway program. We found two bottles of vodka, big ones–empty. I coached her how to demand Dad’s November rent back from the program. Apparently, everyone knew he was drinking (except us) and so rent was non-refundable. Here is a program that kept my Dad around simply because he was likeable and had money. I found the bottles in a bookbag that I’ve now seized as my own. I forever want this bag– to serve as a reminder that it takes determination to overcome our addictions.

Over dinner, splitting an entree, I filled her in on my life story. It poured out and she listened, entranced. She respects me now. For the first time in my adult life, I have her respect. She knows I have more conviction and will power than my Father. Because I want this peace of mind I have now.

Back on her homecourt, she is in control again. Our roles have changed again. I respect her decision to be my father’s caretaker. But the deer have got to go. My Aunt is a hunter and the house is full of her trophies. Minks, long horn sheep, gazelles, beaver, and deer, deer, deer.

Acute liver failure leads to the increase of ammonia in the body;  ammonia that the liver can’t process anymore. As the disease progresses, the patient begins hallucinating, eventually slipping into a coma from which they won’t awake.  Can you imagine three deer staring at your hospital bed and the ripe possibility there will be a real.bad.trip??? I’ve got two days left to get those heads off the wall. And probably to say my final goodbyes. I suspect the next time I see Dad, he will be in a casket.

I’m glad we had this time together, all of us. I’ve been caring for a man who hasn’t once been my caretaker. There is little good he has given me, other than LIFE.

This is compassion, forgiveness and acceptance–and preparation for the inevitable. A chance for us to all find Peace.

This is the turf of the heart.