Please Pray

Yesterday it fully sunk in that my children and myself cannot attend my nephew’s wedding in Italy this year. Last year, when we were ecstatically conjuring with him and his adorable fianceé all sorts of dreamy visions about what getting married in Rome would look like, it never crossed my mind that it would be dangerous to attend. And that right there is my privilege exposed.

Today, I saw a post about a Massachusetts trans individual who finally received their passport returned in the mail. Their passport application requested an alignment with their legal name change, altered birth certificate and other documents. Not only had the passport been assigned to their gender at birth (which is NOT what their documentation said), but it was partially shredded as well as burned. The contents were returned in a sealed envelope, which means the damage was done at the passport agency.

Right now, my child’s birth certificate is sitting in an Office of Vital Records waiting to be changed. His passport reflects his identifying gender and the birth certificate is the last piece of the identity puzzle that would grant him the ability to live how he feels. But someone sitting in an office hundreds of miles from here, with no knowledge of my kid—his funny laugh, his wry smile, his love of teasing his mom—holds the power to rewrite his future and possibly the safety of his life.

When I wake up now, I watch my body climb out of bed. My hip hurts and the sound inside my skull is like old rubber bands when I try to move my neck. I watch myself hobble down the stairs and try to remember what it was that I wanted. Coffee? Oatmeal? I make my way to my altar where I change the water in the flower vase, light the candle, give thanks, send light and now, beg for protection.