Keeper of Accounts*

Like these my despised ancestors I have become a keeper of accounts.

Bashert by Irena Klepfisz

I have a few fun blog entries planned, but I seem to not have time to get to them lately or I am overwhelmed by world events before I write and publish them. Today, I want to bear witness to two lives.

This morning, while Emma and I ambled about the neighborhood–it was cool and crisp and sunny and we really loved walking–we came upon our neighbor round the block and his two greyhounds. One has a pinched nerve in her leg. She has been on prednisone for two weeks. We were all hoping the nerve would resolve itself, but it hasn’t. Now there is cancer, probably wrapping around her spine. Her caretaker, a lovely gay man, I do not know his name, said that “it” would probably happen at the vet tomorrow. He said, I should have done it three days ago, when I was there, but it is so hard. You know, you have them for a few years, and then…. His voice trailed off. He looked down. He said, this is an end for me. No more rescue dogs. I need a break. I want to do something different. Something without pain and loss. I nodded. Emma nodded, then decided to walk away. We said our goodbyes.

I have been thinking about this neighbor all day, appreciating his care for the greyhounds, witnessing how much pain he is in as one approaches the end of her life.

The other life that has been on my mind is the life of Jeffrey Montgomery. Jeffrey died a few days ago. I knew his health was declining, but he was still young. It felt sudden. I haven’t talked with Jeff in a number of years, but I miss him in the world. I met him when I started working at Affirmations. He had a demeanor of irascibility and a scowl that I at twenty-three wanted to cultivate for my future irascible self. Then I learned that that demeanor, that scowl, was a smokescreen. Inside was this joyful, exuberant, kind, and yes, even generous person. That was the Jeff I knew. We smoked and drank coffee together. He was funny and intelligent. He taught me many things. The things I value most is he taught me about anger and indignation and fearlessness. He was all three, particularly in moments of crisis, when all the are most needed. I have never been able to mobilize those feelings like he did, but I studied it, I yearned for it. Jeff refused to let the murders of Sue Pittmann and Christine Puckett to be categorized as a neighbor dispute. He framed them as a hate crime. He was right. He changed how that case was prosecuted and understood. Similarly, when the media wanted to blame Scott Amedure for his own murder, Jeff put the focus on Schmitz, refuting any notion of gay panic. Jeff was a warrior, determined, single minded, biting. I feared him at times, but I always, always admired him.

As a young woman, one of the things I marveled about Jeff was his multiple passions. He cared about anti-gay and anti-lesbian hate crimes, but he also helped save Detroit’s Orchestra Hall. His knowledge about the city of Detroit seemed encyclopedic. He was always reading, always thinking, always ready to argue. He had long hair and was scruffy. He liked sex. Kinky sex. He wasn’t afraid to talk about it. He was strident and challenging. He had bravado and care. Life was hard for him and sometimes I remember seeing the small wounded animal inside him. He cared for it, but I always wondered did he get enough love, enough praise, enough compassion, enough accolades. Today, I am missing him in all his wonderful was, complexity, and brilliance.

I do not want to be the keeper of accounts. I do not want to be sad about each death, about what we must endure in our lives, about what the world asks us to shoulder. Even as I want none of this, I must write about my neighbor. I must write about Jeff. My despised ancestors. A keeper of accounts.

A photo of Jeff from Wikipedia, as I remember him.