You and No Other

by Jane Weiss

  Marilyn, the woman Brian had been dating for several months, invited him and our children to her home for dinner with her two sons and other relatives. And Jane and I planned a holiday feast at our apartment with my children on the weekend following Thanksgiving.

  So for the first time in our lives, Jane and I spent a major holiday, not with family, but with friends—new friends, at that.

  “Do you know anyone in a same-sex relationship?” I asked Jane one evening, as we spoke of wanting dinner companions with whom we could spend a quiet, unguarded evening.

  Much as we were thrilled to be in one another’s company every day, Jane and I had begun to feel isolated from the outside world. We were wildly in love, but there wasn’t anyone with whom we could share the joys and sorrows of our new existence.

  We didn’t even feel we could tell Felicia, our spiritual study group partner, since we were no longer meeting together regularly. The staff in my department at the hospital knew Jane and I had separated from our husbands at the same time, and that we moved into an apartment together to share living expenses. But this was the extent of their information. We quickly learned that folks (in the early 1980s) were slow to catch on that two women, who had been in long-term heterosexual marriages with children, could possibly move into an intimate relationship with each other. We were delighted we didn’t have to deal with questions and suspicious gossip about our relationship. And we were extremely careful to monitor everything we said to avoid disclosing its true nature.

  Workplaces in this period were not known to be friendly to homosexuals. It was still acceptable to tell stories or jokes about gay males—even from podiums—and to use a lisp and swishy hand gestures in doing so. There were no diversity initiatives with pledges of employment non-discrimination on the basis of gender orientation, and offering family health benefits for employees’ same-sex partners was unheard of.

  Jane and I were concerned that, if the homosexual label was applied to us, it would mean certain career derailment, if not job loss. As a potentially divorced mother of four, I couldn’t risk losing opportunities for further advancement in my career, let alone lose my job. These were only fears, but they were powerful ones and not unfounded.

  A few years earlier at Methodist Hospital, an attractive female head nurse supposedly took two days off work to be with her female roommate who was having major surgery. Word was that she sat holding the hand of her roommate all day and evening, and even had to be asked to leave the room when visiting hours were over. But when she reportedly gave the roommate a peck on her cheek when saying good-bye, rumors started to fly that she must be homosexual. Soon, folks began talking about other behaviors that confirmed their suspicions, and the gossip escalated. Within two months, the head nurse resigned her position and was gone. I never learned what really happened, only that ugly rumors crept like smoke through the hospital, and a bright, competent leader was no longer with the organization.

  Jane and I became accomplished at living a secret life. When telling stories about weekend or vacation activities, the pronoun “I” regularly replaced the accurate “we.” My family picture with Brian was removed from my office, but I dared not replace it with one of my “new” family. I attended the hospital managers’ social events unescorted when spouses and significant others were invited.

  There were always two or more bedrooms in our home that Jane and I could show guests. When in the company of others, Jane and I contented ourselves with furtive glances at one another for fear that engaging gazes might give away our feelings of love. We especially concentrated on avoiding words of endearment regarding the other in the presence of company—though endearments rolled off our tongues more naturally than our names when we were alone. It took constant vigilance, and was a continual energy drain to keep the pretense going, but we felt we must.

  We couldn’t socialize with friends either of us knew as married couples, because most of them were still in shock that we were separated from our husbands, let alone that we were living in a same-gender relationship. Outside of work colleagues and heterosexual couples, we had few friends other than the Sweet Adelines group. Since we knew of no other same-sex couples among the female chorus membership, we couldn’t be ourselves with them, either. We yearned for confidants with whom we could simply live our truth.

  “So I asked you if you know anyone in a same-sex relationship.” I repeated to Jane, as she was deep in thought.

  “My friend and neighbor Myra Peterson was married to this guy, and they had three children. He came home one day and told her he was gay and she insisted he move out of the family home. All the neighbors felt so sorry for them. It was awful. He might be the only person I know in a same-sex relationship, and I certainly couldn’t talk to him. Yet, oh my God, look at me, now! I’ve done the same thing he did!”

  We were both quiet for a few moments as we allowed into our consciousness the truth of Jane’s observation. Then I was back to the issue at hand. “You know what, Jane? I might know someone.

  When my friend Virginia was dying four years ago, she mumbled in her narcotic stupor that she hoped her goddaughter Carolyn wasn’t lesbian. When I asked why she would say such a thing, she said something about Carolyn having this relationship with Susan. I came to know Carolyn, as we cared for Virginia, and at one point, she mentioned that her friend Susan did the same type of work I did. I didn’t think anything more about it, but now I’ve put together that it’s the same Susan I met in professional circles not long ago and have kept in contact with. I think I’m going to take the plunge and ask her to go out for breakfast. Do you want to come, too?”

  The way Susan tells the story, I told her on the phone that I wanted to catch up with her again, and that there had been big changes in my life. I told her I had recently separated from my husband, said I was now living with my friend Jane, and couldn’t imagine how I could have made it without her. Susan said when she hung up the phone that she called out to her partner, “Hey, Josie, that was my colleague, Bonnie Zahn. She was married with four kids, but I think she was trying to tell me she’s in a relationship with a woman!”

  Susan and Josie became our first same-gender couple friends. We thought we had died and gone to heaven when the four of us spent time together. We could talk freely about the strength of our feelings for each other and the craziness surrounding our getting together. They were the first who told us of other individuals who, like ourselves, had been married and then came into a same-gender partnership later in life.

  They introduced us to the women’s music of Margie Adams, Cris Williamson, and Meg Christianson, to their circle of friends, and to the revolutionary concept of female couples becoming parents through one or both of them being artificially inseminated. The straight world, and, therefore, we, knew next to nothing about such goings on in the lesbian community at that time.

  Jane and I had long talks about whether lesbians should be having children at all—about whether that was “right.” We were chagrined to ultimately realize we were dealing with our own homophobia, and that becoming parents within a same-gender relationship was no different from Jane and me becoming parents and then entering a same-gender relationship. The end result was children living in families with two women as parents; or through adoption or previous marriage, with two men as parents, rather than a man and woman.

  If Jane and I expected our children to be family with us, we had to recognize and call our own hypocrisy first. This was another awakening to the need to dismantle our old-world views and sort out the new ones. Over the next several weeks and months, each time we encountered same-gender couples and were able to commune from the heart, our respect for them grew, and our old, unexamined biases fell away.

  We learned that Jane’s experience with her family was an all-too-common one in the lesbian community. There were women whose families shunned them completely. Some were invited to gatherings of relatives, only on the condition that they didn’t bring their partners, and those whose familie
s tolerated the presence of both partners, but couldn’t hide their thinly veiled contempt.

  Though by far the minority there were also women like me who, by the grace of God, had families who didn’t deny them love and support. There was never a gathering in which someone didn’t have a cruel family story to tell that left most folks speechless or in tears. The good news was Jane and others began to see they were not alone in this community. In fact, some variation of their experience with family was the more common one. The bad news was seeing the pain and agony these individuals suffered at the hands of those who supposedly loved them most.

  At Josie and Susan’s house, with their friends, Jane and I spent our first Thanksgiving as a couple. Most of the individuals gathered were either not welcome at their own family gatherings, or they chose not to attend for fear of repeated humiliation and hurt. As sixteen of us squeezed ’round their dining room table—extended by card tables into the living room—we gave thanks for our many blessings.

  Jane and I were exceptionally grateful to be a part of this community of caring, loving souls. They, too, knew what it meant to be lost, and far from the familiar. They took us in like beloved family members who had appeared after many years from another country. We felt deeply blessed and honored by such genuine acceptance of us two weary travelers.

  At some point, Susan confirmed that she had indeed been in a relationship several years earlier with Virginia’s goddaughter Carolyn, and that Carolyn had been with her current partner, Jennifer, for some time. I approached Carolyn as awkwardly as I had Susan with news of my life transition. As with Susan, Jane and I found both Carolyn and Jennifer to be willing listeners and strong supporters during this unsettling period, and they introduced us to several women who eventually became our friends. Susan also introduced us to Rachel and Darci, who welcomed us into their circle. On days or evenings we knew we’d be spending time with any of these groups, we were elated at the mere thought of being able to drop the games and be appreciated for who we were.

  The diversity of people in each circle was impressive. There was a doctor, minister, occupational therapist, physical therapist, social worker, television producer, high school principal, actress, consultant, caterer, astrologer, horticulturist, and sign-language interpreter. There were lawyers, artists, therapists, teachers, and corporate managers. Conversation was always stimulating and rich, and support was plentiful for those in need. We were grateful beyond measure to find them, and more grateful yet to be once again surrounded by friends.

  Some of our experiences in coming into the world of same-gender couples felt scary and risky to us, but we thought it important to check them out anyway. For example, we were invited to a tuxedo party for couples in same-gender relationships, both male and female. All partygoers were to wear tuxedos, but since neither Jane nor I owned or had the money to rent tuxedos, we were allowed to simply wear black.

  The party would be large—possibly a hundred people—in the home of a heterosexual couple who had recently decided to divorce. They had just sold their elaborate, totally remodeled, twelve-room house so they could each pursue same-gender relationships. The tuxedo party was in celebration of the sale.

  Jane and I debated seriously whether to attend the party or not. We had never been in the company of gay male couples, and the stereotypical images we held of them were not wonderful. Besides, with all the bad exposés about homosexuals, we wondered if the police might raid their parties and arrest people. Would the press jump out of the bushes, take our picture, and put it in the paper? Our combined ignorance was appalling. But we’d become curious about judgments we held, and the party seemed a great opportunity for experiential learning. So off we went: Jane in a black skirt and blouse, and me in black slacks and a sweater.

  It was a little odd to see both men and women dressed in tuxedos, and I was glad we had begged off and worn clothes in which we were comfortable. I noticed a few other women in long skirts or plain slacks and assumed they too preferred a more traditional look.

  There were numerous small same-or mixed-gender groups comprised of folks standing around juggling food plates and drinks, and talking politics, sports, theater, or what have you—just as you’d expect at any large gathering. There were those whose appearance and mannerisms we connected with folks who might be attracted to same-sex individuals, and there were folks who could have been neighbors or people in offices down the hall at work.

  I talked with several gay men that night, explaining that a same-sex relationship was new for me, and I really didn’t know anything about the journeys of gay males. Not surprisingly, I came away from the evening with very different views from the ones I’d held only hours earlier. Some of the men had been in committed relationships for five, even fifteen years. Several were sharing child rearing with former spouses. One was sharing parenting with a lesbian woman who had been artificially inseminated using his sperm, and one couple was in the process of adopting two children who were siblings. There were, of course, those who had never been in a long-term relationship, and those who vowed they never would be. All in all, however, they were not as dissimilar to heterosexual males as I had imagined. The gentleness and sensitivity of some were a welcome relief from the usual male braggadocio observed in social settings. My illusions continued to unravel.

  Birthday Bliss and Christmas Joy?

  Jane’s birthday was the Monday after Thanksgiving. Michael came home from college the Wednesday before and, to Jane’s delight, took her out for an early birthday lunch on the weekend. He also gave her a card and said he missed seeing her. There was no birthday acknowledgment from her other children.

  I was finally beginning to get how her family might handle any special occasion for Jane. Mostly, they’d ignore it. Feeling sad for her, I bought her a beautiful red sweater I couldn’t afford, and took her to our favorite German restaurant for dinner. That lifted her spirits, especially when our favorite waitress brought out a complimentary piece of Black Forest torte with a flaming candle and two forks.

  Returning home, Jane raced through the door for the ringing phone and answered breathlessly. I watched as the smile faded from her face, and her festive mood grew somber. Damn! I said to myself. Now what?

  Jane finished the call with her usual, “I love you, Mom,” and stood gazing at the handset, now back in its cradle. I put my arms around her and we stood gently rocking until her breathing slowed and she was ready to talk.

  “When I answered her question about whether I’d heard from the kids regarding my birthday, her retort was, ‘Well, what did you expect after what you’ve done, Janie—roses?’”

  Christmas was essentially a repeat of the family’s treatment of Jane throughout the preceding year. Jane called and asked each of them to come over to our apartment Christmas Eve to open gifts, but no one would commit to a decision.

  Michael called back later and said Jane could come out to their home—where the family Christmas tradition she had established was being held. Jane was upset that the kids wouldn’t even try to create a new way for them to be together on holidays.

  On Christmas Eve day, I helped Jane wrap their gifts and put them in large boxes to take to Eagan, knowing they would simply be dropped off at the door. It was nearly unbearable watching her car pull away for what could have been a joyous occasion. I had accurately predicted what shape she’d be in upon her return, and I wondered when her breaking point would come. We talked, held each other, and cried long into the night before falling into exhausted sleep.

  Meanwhile, Brian and I had planned for our children to spend Christmas Eve with Marilyn and him, and Christmas Day with Jane and me. As was frequently the case, Jane had to rebound quickly out of her own despair, and I had to swallow my growing rage at her family, so as not to be wet blankets over my kid’s festivities.

  David couldn’t get leave from the Army to come home, but my other three kids didn’t deserve to be in the company of trolls when they were nearly bouncing off the walls with excitemen
t. Though difficult to pull off such rapid mood changes on the first several occasions, I came to recognize this process as one of our gifts from above—to be literally forced from the negative energy of hurt, sadness, and anger to dwell in positive feelings of joy, warmth, and love. In the case of concerns about one or more of my children, we were moved into dialogue, problem-solving, or emotional support. Mercifully, we simply weren’t allowed to stay stuck in one place in our lives.

  On the subject of getting unstuck, I needed to learn more about homosexuality before I could change my preconceived notions of what that was. Though I still didn’t feel the label applied to Jane and me, I knew we’d get lumped into that category, and I wanted to know as much as possible about it. In addition to talking to many people in same-sex relationships, I needed to read anything I could get my hands on regarding homosexuality in general and lesbianism in particular. It was still difficult to find information because I would have been far too embarrassed to check out books at the library, and I didn’t know if anything on homosexuality could even be found there. I learned of a women’s bookstore in downtown Minneapolis named Amazon but was convinced I would be labeled lesbian if I so much as crossed its threshold. So I didn’t.

  Finally, a friend offered to loan me a book that may be out of print that was actually a descriptive report of the findings of a study involving a few thousand individuals. As I remember it, the study sample included self-proclaimed heterosexuals, homosexuals, and those who claimed they were “asexual.” There were an equal number of men and women, heterosexuals and homosexuals, with fewer asexuals. A battery of tests and interviews were conducted on all study participants. With my scientific mindset, the findings reported in this thick volume were salve for my weary soul.

  The study results were extensive, but most fascinating to me were the findings regarding women in long-term same-sex relationships. For measures of physical health, emotional health, life happiness, career achievement and satisfaction, and so on, this sub-group of women outscored all other groups, including heterosexual individuals. Jane and I were obviously in a same-sex relationship, and we had every intention of making it long-term. We could identify with this group. The only measure they performed less well on than the other sub-groups was frequency of sexual activity after middle age. That wasn’t concerning to me, considering that we were already middle age, and sex had never been more satisfying for either of us. But I was intrigued with all the other positive findings about women in same-sex, long-term relationships, and thought that it must be the best-kept secret in the universe. Considering the Church’s stance on homosexuality, I didn’t have to wonder why.