Yesterday’s garage sale put me in tears more than four times, half of them thanks to complete strangers.

 

Gay Man

 

The first stranger introduced himself. He said he has lived just down the street from us for years and had always wanted to stop by because of the copywriting sign I had in my front yard. Thinking I’d always be here, he just never had done it. And then he saw the sign down and a garage sale that revealed I’m moving to Costa Rica. That’s what prompted him to finally stop and say hello.

 

He asked when I was moving and I told him, “September 3rd.”  He asked why I was moving. I told him both reasons: that I knew I’d outlive the money I  was able to save for retirement if I stayed here, and because of the last election, when I became no longer am safe here, as a trans male.

 

We really hit it off. He’s a charming talker, so we chatted for quite some time. And then he announced, “Oh, I want to donate $100 to your move!”

 

It floored me.  I said something like, “Oh, that’s very kind, but jeez, that’s just crazy, you know!”

 

He said, “I’m going to go get it right now and then find $100 worth of goodies at your sale!”

 

I said, “Ok. If you do that, I’ll feel a whole lot better about taking it!”

 

He drove home to get the money and another man drove in.

 

Man Wracked with Unremitting Pain

 

This man, who said he was 60 (he didn’t look a day over 40 to me), struck up a conversation with me. He rocked side to side constantly but seemed otherwise chatty, friendly and normal. Within a few minutes, we felt comfortable enough with each other to get real.

 

The gay blade returned at about this time, so they began chatting, too, since they’re both chatterboxes. The other man said he had been in constant pain for more than 30 years as the result of a back injury.  I said, “Oh, I guessed you had sciatica or something, the way you rock constantly from one leg to another.”

 

We talked about relentless, unremitting pain. He said that at first, when he couldn’t get any relief, he considered suicide — he simply didn’t think he could live like that long term — but at some point he decided, “These are the cards I’ve been dealt. Don’t let ’em kill you!”

 

And ever since, he has counseled other chronic pain sufferers who are contemplating suicide to help them over that hump so they can get to the place where he is. He said he stays in motion constantly, travels quite a bit, and — other than the rocking — you can’t see the pain on his face.  I mentioned the pain scale, 1 to 10, and asked, “What’s yours on a daily basis, 15?”  and he said, “My doctors won’t believe me, so you won’t either, but it’s probably close to that.”

 

Damn!  The man is a living, breathing miracle!

 

That prompted the gay man to fervently (and with tears) share that his mother suffered from severe chronic back pain from a botched hysterectomy that she had undergone when he was a teenager or a young man. He said he felt so helpless being unable to relieve her suffering. And she suffered for more than 20 years until she finally passed away about four years ago.  He said he was the one who found her dead and he’s still getting over that, as he had lived with her, caring for her, his entire life up until that point. He adored her. And I have zero doubt the feeling was mutual. He is a precious gem!  A Great-Heart!

 

“No one can understand what chronic pain is like unless they have it,” he said, “but please believe me when I say this: I can’t feel what you’re feeling, but I’ve lived with that pain inside a loved one for decades, and it breaks my heart.”

 

I didn’t contribute a lot to this conversation because I’ve never suffered intense chronic pain, but I did say that I don’t think I would be able to do it. The fellow said, “It’s surprising what you can do when it’s your only option.”

 

To make a longer story shorter, the gay man and I both teared up over the man’s history and we both said in our own ways, “You are an inspiration, man.” “You’re amazing.”

 

Then the gay guy started choosing things from my garage sale

 

“How much for this?”  (a large framed quote that starts with, “This is the day that you have been given.  You can choose to… or to…”)

 

“Ten dollars.”

 

“Nope. $20.  It’s perfect. It’s going on the wall in my office so all of my employees can read it.”

 

How much for this?” (Three angel statues for Christmastime.)

 

“Five dollars.”

 

“Nope. Ten.”

 

And on and on it went, with him doubling every reasonable “garage sale” price I gave him.

 

He said he wants to stop by before I go and have me look at his resume.

 

Eager to say “Yes, please do!” I instead said, “Oh, God, I hope you aren’t in tech!”

 

He said, “No, I’m in shipping logistics.”

 

“Whew! I can probably help with that. Looking for a new job?”

 

“No. Just sprucing up my resume because it’s lame! I wrote it and I’m not a writer!”

 

Needless to say, we exchanged email addresses and will be staying in touch. And if he ever wants to come to Costa Rica, I plan to have a second bedroom with his name on it during the time he’s there!

 

The other man … I simply can’t even recall if he bought anything!  But at one point he handed me $50 and then, later, he gave me $100 more. I protested, but he insisted.  And I cried and hugged him.

 

Widow’s Mite

 

And then… and then… this one had me in tears, too!

 

There is a dear family I know with chronic financial struggles.  They have a grown son with cerebral palsy whom I have known and loved since he was about three years old. He’s 25 now.  I used to babysit at their church when my nieces and he were about four or five years old.

 

We have seen each other since only on the rarest of occasions; for example, when passing in a grocery store parking lot, the time I went to the church to admit my transgenderism to the congregation (Lutheran, very affirming of LGBTQIA+ folks), or the time I helped the young man (a talented writer, poet, and Renaissance dude) with a school assignment by allowing him to shadow me to see what the daily routine of  freelance writer is like.

 

Again, I must mention, this family is far from well off.  Medical bills from the son’s many surgeries — to allow him to walk more normally with poles — and other very necessary medical procedures keep their pocketbook what I can only imagine must be scandalously slim.

 

But they insisted that I take a sizeable chunk as a best wishes/love offering. I cried then and I’m crying again as I type this.

 

Throughout the day, people frequently paid twice or more what I was asking for my items, saying “keep the rest to help set yourself up in Costa Rica.”  Many of them learned, as the result of lengthier conversations,  that I can only take two large suitcases, so they know I will have to set up a household when I get down there.

 

WAAAHHHH!

 

Niece and Nephew

 

The fourth time I cried was when my niece and  grand nephew  were leaving me for the last time until “who knows when.”

 

They drove up from Rochester (60 miles away) to help me run the garage sale yesterday for two reasons: they wanted to be sure and see me again before I fly away for good, knowing that my time here is so short, and they wanted to do something helpful at the same time.

 

They went to work organizing items into clearly marked categories, with prices on the most notable ones. My grand nephew stood in the roadway occasionally with a big sign, waving it like a madman to get people to stop. Many of those who did stop said they did so simply because of his proactive demonstration. With  his great smile and unabashed enthusiasm for the task (which he set for himself!!!), he was just irresistible! Plus he’s as cute, streamlined and kinetic as a teenager can get, which I’m sure also helped!

 

We shared at least seven group hugs before they finally forced themselves into their vehicle to depart, and each time I became more and more teary-eyed. These are the two relatives who immediately began using my preferred pronouns when I came out as transgender.  No one else in my family will do that, even to this day.  (Oh, wait, my older sister Laurel has recently begun using my preferred pronouns, too. She is mom and grandma to these two.)

 

It was an enormously emotional day for me

 

There are so many really great people on this planet.  Sadly, we hear about them and their stories and challenges far too infrequently.

 

Today all I’m thinking about are good people. The relatively few bad apples among us get all the news coverage. Today they can all go fly a kite.

 

I’m flying high on the love of friends and strangers  — er, not strangers: the many friends I didn’t know I had, and the ones I haven’t met yet!!!)

 

My GoFundMe benefactors who have never met me in person (and those who have) are also on my gratitude list today.

 

You folks are making this move to safety and extended financial survival possible.  There are no words profound enough to express my immense gratitude for each and every one of you!!!

 

I sincerely hope that you are blessed ten times as much as you have blessed me when you need help in any way, shape or form!