Silent in the Mourning

Silent in the Mourning: My Brother’s Transition.

Even though I knew when, where and how it was going to happen, I was not prepared for the death of my brother. We were told, weeks before, about the doctor, the hospital, the surgery, the outcome, and the exact time of death. The days of waiting wore me down into a deep, dark clinical depression. There was no one to comfort me or acknowledge my grief.machen church statue
My family suffered the same loss, but we couldn’t talk. My friends thought it was cool in that gender bender kind of politic. There was no paradigm for this death, or suicide, or transformation of a man into a woman, the “transition.”
On the day of my brother’s surgical death, I had intense dreams of living in a place where the only acceptable way to grieve was to sleep. Every time I tried to cry, to yell out, or to howl the pain, I was told quite violently that we didn’t cry for this death. Our mourning culture for this death does not include a funeral, flowers, grave markers, or processions. It is a silent grief, cut off from all human understanding.
Each time I woke up from sleep that day, I had a voice inside of me telling me to go back to sleep; that was the proper thing to do, and so I slept for 18 hours straight. This went on for weeks, and I missed days and days of work. I had tumbled into a depression that I could not understand. There was no death, they told me. Only transformation. Presto, another sister!
Not true! My brother was dead and never coming back to us. I didn’t have a hint of his intentions growing up because he never showed interest in girls or girlie things. He hated girls. Still, he is my brother and that will never change.
My identity was changed for me, behind my back without my authorization or consent. The death of brothers and sisters is hard to get over, because so much of who we are, is locked into the other person. Hard-wired. We are the future and the past, rolled into one present moment together. There is the promise that we will grow old together and bring the past along for comfort.
When I heard about Chas Bono’s mother, Cher, having a difficult time with her daughter’s transition, I said, “Hell yes, don’t anyone tell Cher not to grieve or that she is some kind of transphobic!” She is a mother like any other who has lost the child she birthed, and as a result, she is mourning. The political should be left for equal access issues, not personal relationships. It is a terrible loss to a family.
Have I grieved? Not really. I know I will bury my brother’s remains in the family plot, even though I refer to her with her female name, use the correct pronouns, and have accepted that she will not hurt anyone by being a woman. We never did sister-type activities with each other, like I did with my birth sister. It has been over 35 years since she had the surgery, but in my identity, she will always be my big brother.


do i think like a woman?

the neuro-babble

diagrammable behaviour

words matching tissue

the woman thinks womanly thoughts

we have mapped it the people say

about babies and house-style

about pretty and propped up

by the man’s compliment

the woman being the compliment of man

con-pliant compliant complimant yes man it comps composing our minds for woman

bruce jender and hersoul

feeling at birth like an amoeba an-nothingness

not knowing not kowtowing to the same game of man

codswallow codswallops


living on this earth to do simple tasks like live and love

no male thoughts no female thoughts no thoughts on male or female thoughts

n’existe pas

je suis puis je pense je pense puis je suis

je ne suis pas parce que je ne suis pas puissant

this is how a woman thinks, she thinks out loud if allowed by the lordie lordie the loud lord or lout

the lout who will not let her be allowed to shout parce que elle est un femme pas fameuse,

but famished for some recognition for being,

just being parce que elle est reconnu comme une femme, pas un femme

by the man/ne or the main/man who hands out the manner for être, four  or two being not one only and only one has won too

the neurobabble what is it to be a man/brain

bruce jenner’s misguided information

it is driving me crazy…i am on a train traveling from visiting my trans-sister who happens to be paralyzed after many strokes after years of taking female estrogen….i cannot see the bruce jenner talk with diane sawyer….i understand he is coming out…..he dressed in women’s clothing from childhood and now says that means he has a female brain!!! o! autogynephilia!

can any transsexual explain to me, a naturally born woman, what does it feel like to have a female brain….of course i have a female brain because i am female….but i think what he means  is that he wants to feel how a female is supposed to feel in our society…vulnerable, soft, loving, motherly, dreaming of high heels with red soles, and all that other hogwash….women don’t feel that way…not if we are truly honest with ourselves.

i have had to dissect what it means to be a woman since i was 13 years old in 1968 , when my brother announced his intention to seek out surgery…quite a pioneering kid he was…he got the surgery and less than ten years later, he ended up as a vegetable in hospital, unable to move…the doctors were baffled. i am not…he was taking female hormones for more than 12 years, and suffered a series of stokes and embolisms….

what did it prove to my womanhood? that female hormones administered to a male body was just plain suicidal or homicidal (excuse the pun). it also told me that buying a woman’s physique was possible and fairly easy….that a man can do whatever a woman can do…except….bleed on a monthly basis and have children vaginally. oh yeah, there is one thing a boy never has to experience, and that is learning from an early age that their bodies are in danger of sexual transgression from men. that is why transsexual men like to dress provocatively and wear tons of makeup….

they do not understand this curse of learning girlhood or womanhood….it is not what we wear that makes us women….it is how we are hunted by men!! why can men not realize this fundamental….being a woman does not “feel” like something….there is no essence of being of a woman…it is learned from birth by the way we are treated in society….every culture of humans have different features of being a woman or a man….they are not the same across time or culture….i hate the lies being pushed onto the public by the media….where are the sensible minds who do not acquiesce to the conservative agenda to put women back into the pink ghetto?

War in the World: The Great (sic) War

It seems that I am discovering that the maxim is true that almost every family in England and  Wales were affected by the 1914-1918. In my time travels through the war records on-line, I am finding many soldiers in my family tree.

The records are quite touching, as the height of the each soldier is listed, and their girth is measured. There are dates for transfers to hospitals and recovery units, with short notations about the injury. The soldier’s demob dates are jotted down, with instructions on how to return his Great Coat to a railway station near his home destination for  £1. This money was to be considered as final payment for services. I remember my step-father telling me that he slept under his father’s Great Coat because they were too poor to have blankets; his father must have thought the coat was more use to him than the money.

I will have more, I promise.

new life

the footprint of my child and the pacemaker taken from my life and given life

the footprint of my child and the pacemaker taken from my chest….giving life and given life

my birth. i was born in the caul, the birth sack that envelopes us all until the waters break. the midwives danced around the room with me, saying i was a baby born lucky, in the caul.
in 1999, i was reborn with a pacemaker. from then on my heart was mechanically assisted. it started a new way of thinking. i was reborn as a cyborg. since then i have added to my transhuman shape.
i struggle with the concept of machine and human body intersecting and forcing a new identity, and so i started this blog to explore the new advances of medicine and nature. how far will people go to improve their living selves? the dawning age of the cyborg.
i also struggle with the transhumanism of sex change surgery for reasons that will become evident. to me there lies a conflict between the willful alteration of the body to suit a self-concept, and transformation of the human body to restore and assist the full functioning of the malfunctioning body.
my aim is to be thoughtful and honest. to stumble and to react and to think ideas through to their conclusion. the dialectic, as my father would say.

Back in time for now

Harding family behind 9 Hillview, Cwmfelinfach....Arthur, doug and Marshall

The 1920’s in Wales. I will be going back to see what remains of a family long dead and scattered… to england and wales to satisfy the pull of my hobby….looking for dead people, and in the meantime, finding very much alive people. maybe a drink down the pub, or a peering into old windows for the ghosts of my granchas….herefordshire, momouthshire, glamorganshire and somerset….and searching in the eyes of the men and women i meet to see if i see the light of recognition, yes, we are connected by blood if nothing else….