The White Elephant in the Room

“Six months ago, my dad passed away suddenly of a massive heart attack. He was driving to work when it happened and his van went off the road and hit a tree. I got the call shortly after 8am that he was…gone. In one instant, me and my siblings were fatherless and our mom was widowed. It’s been the hardest six months of my life, but through White Elephant in the Room, I am finding encouragement. Thank you.” — Heids, Canada

You’ve heard, my sister-in-law asks, about tropical storm Alberto?

Tropical…who?

Alberto. It’s hovering off the Carolina coast and it’s early—hurricane season doesn’t start for two weeks.

We both pause.

Alberto wasn’t exactly known for being on time.

But pre-season?

Yeah.

Not in a white-jeans-before-Memorial-Day way.

In an I-bought-advance-tickets kind of way.

Hearing his name on every news network, she says. It’s odd.

Yeah.

Also odd?

That he’s not here to hear his name on every news network.

As the anchors repeat his name tonight, that giddy voice I’ve been missing—Imma force of nature, baby!—seems a little louder, a few miles nearer.

Just hovering off the coast.

Of my past tense.

“Four years ago, my childhood best friend/college roommate lost her father when his aorta ruptured. He had an EKG that morning and was sent home to rest from what appeared to be a common cold. He died a few hours later. His doctor was my father. I cannot put into words how this has affected me over the years, but I am finally handing my words over to God to deal with. Thank you, White Elephant in the Room. Your guts and honesty have taught me more than you can ever know. — Riley, Alabama

Let me get this straight, I say.

I buy beer…and the Disco Monkeys will make a house call to tune my guitar?

No, Gayson replies. I’ll bring the beer, and one Monkey will teach you to tune your guitar. The other will show you chords. The rest of us will cheer.

It’s fun being a girl, I laugh.

Two hours later, the sun is down and the Tré house is filled with music. 

And boys.

The gay kind.

The straight kind.

The hot kind.

The talented kind.

The kind kind.

And somewhere in the mezzo is me, my guitar and an imperfect ear.

When the bottles go empty, the apartment does too.

I shut off lights and close windows, but take the guitar to bed.

And dream all night in a different language.  

“Great, great piece on the Daily Beast, Tre. Happy you’ve found each other and best of luck to you.” — James Frey, New York

“Your reunion essay was like a flashback to meeting my own biological mom. I literally relived that joy again through your words! I pray that you two continue growing closer like my mom and I have…thank you for sharing your journey!” — Ash, Texas

If you haven’t already sold your reunion story, said the editor. It would be perfect for Mothers Day.

Hells yeah! I said. How many words?

How long is a piece of string?

The piece of string is 18 years long.

And 1500 words.

And the Daily Beast just published ALL OF IT. With photos.

Read it HERE!

(And if you’re feelin’ the love, share/Tumbl/Tweet it?)

This May involved my usual Hallmark mass-mailing to friends and relatives.

But also?

A flurry of unexpected texts from my biological daughter:

Do you like Drake?

Turquoise?

Summer dresses?

Purses?

(Holy wow, we are so related.)

Yes, darling: all of the above. But do you know that a card signed by you will melt me?

(Wait—did I just say…what my own mother has been saying all these years?)

Cards are cool, she replies. But, seriously, how do you feel about rompers?

“I tumbled onto White Elephant in the Room this morning and have been lost in your life ever since. Thank you for being so open, so honest, so real. Thank you for sharing your human experience with a voice that seems to speak straight to me.” — Liz, Canada