Last weekend I went white-water rafting for the first time in six years. The weather was warm and I had a great time. I went with a gay tour group that a friend organizes each year. In past years, the trip had been later in September, and it was cooler, so you had wear rented wet suits, which I disliked. When I heard was going to be the weekend after Labor Day, I signed up.
There were thirty-eight gay men, almost all single. It was a new experience being single among a bunch of other single men. I am more used to doing the couples thing or being part of a couple, even if the others are single. I felt like I was in another country with different customs. Single men talk about different things then couples; also the social rhythms are different, although I cannot say how. I felt a little out of my element.
Other than the organizers, I knew a few of the guys as acquaintances. We had a five-hour bus ride to mix it up, which I did. I also sat alone a bit, since no one was occupying the seat next me. I am used to having someone sitting next to me.
At times, I felt socially out of sync. He guys often talked about their lives—where they live, guys they are dating/partnered and what they do for a living. The relationship topic was awkward for me. It is hard to not talk about Jeff or use the “we” instead the “I”. The conversation eventual turns to “Do you have a partner?” or “When did you break up?” and leads to the fact Jeff passed away and how. Few topics put a breaks on a casual conversation faster than suicide. It is a heavy downer, to say the least.
I am not going to lie, and it is hard not to mention Jeff when talking about my life. He played a role in everything I am and have. I do not want to edit him out. Instead, I avoid talking about myself or dance around any relationship topics. Either I keep the focus on other people, or just stay quiet.
The strategy worked well on the trip. Only once did the conversation move to me and my relationship status. Inevitably, the light conversation took a serious turn.
Talking about Jeff’s death with strangers is difficult. It is such an intimate revelation. The reaction is almost universal: Momentary disorientation as what was just heard is processed. Disorientation becomes shock, and then concern. The person then looks at you differently—they look directly into your eyes—as if, at some instinctual level, they are trying to connect with you, understand, or seek guidance on how to react.
I put on my strong demeanor: I am doing okay; thanks for your concern; let’s keep the conversation moving. As I push the topic on, I can see the burden of the moment lift from the shoulders, but the person still looks at me a bit differently.
