Seven months

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Over the course of the past seven months my elderly Dalmatian passed away while I held her; I've lost my job, used up my credit, and had to put my house up for sale; had my wife of thirteen years request a divorce, get her own place and move out; developed skin cancer (albeit a relatively mild form); and just this past week, had our beloved miniature schnauzer, our only pet, escape and get run over and killed by a speeding van.

In the same time period, I've come out to two of my oldest and dearest friends and my three children (boys ages 17 and 12, and a daughter age 8), and have gotten nothing but love and support from all of them; I've started my transition in earnest, starting full HRT and edging over the line from presenting publicly as androgynous-male to androgynous- and sometimes not-so-androgynous-female; started using my female name, and planning to change it legally as part of the divorce filing; and just this morning got my doctor to promise to write me a letter so I can get the gender marker changed on my driver's license along with the name. This afternoon I had the skin cancer removed, and it shouldn't even leave much of a scar because I noticed it and saw a dermatologist while it was still small. And my soon-to-be-ex-father-in-law was so choked up about our schnauzer that he's buying the kids a puppy so they don't have to be without a pet to love while they're going through all this.

It's all been coming at me so fast I barely have time to figure out how to feel about any of it. I guess you don't get the good without the bad. Or maybe you don't get the bad without the good. My twelve-year-old said to me the other day that it feels like the universe has been dumping all kinds of awful crap on us this past year, and he's hoping that means it's compensating in advance for a lot of really, really good stuff coming later. Kind of like getting the heartburn before you eat the feast, was how he put it. I hope he's right.

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