By Jillian Bogater
The words had been swirling in my head for months. And there just didn't seem a perfect time to drop them.
I was 16, and the most special person in my life, my Nana, was driving me to Ann Arbor to see an Ingmar Berman movie.
"Remember my friend Natalie?" I started out conversational, unsure of my next move. "Well … ummm … she's actually more than a friend."
And so it began, the first of many coming-out layers that I would peel away over the next 20 years.
I took a deep breath before turning to see the sad look in Nana's eyes.
"You're so young" she said. "I'm sure all the kids your age experiment…"
But then she stopped. It was if a bag of marbles had fallen at our feet, and we both feared taking a step. We didn't say anything for what seemed like forever and I stared out the window watching trees blur as we drove past them. I couldn't look at her. I didn't want her to see the pain, the fear that she may stop loving me.
"Nothing could change the way I feel about you, Jilli," she said.
And with that, it was understood.
Over the years, Nana became my best friend and best source of lesbian news. Many nights I would come home to a message on my answering machine, her voice still carrying a Boston lilt despite decades of living in Florida.
"Jilli? This is your Nanner … Just wanted to let you know k.d. lang will be on Jay Leno tonight … I'll tape it just in case you miss it."
And sure enough, a few days later, a tape would arrive, usually with extras like the time Ellen appeared on the "Larry Sanders" show. Another time she tucked a Melissa Etheridge interview in between the made-for-television movie of Dorothy Allison's "Bastard Out of Carolina" and a documentary on Beat poet Allen Ginsberg.
Hip chick. And this hip chick was my Nana.
When she became ill a couple years ago with Parkinson's disease, I flew down to visit and brought a special gift. She was temporarily in a nursing home, and missed her super-deluxe cable programming. Certain I had the perfect fix, I handed her a pink box with a card.
"What would an honorary lesbian do without the first season of 'The L Word'?" I wrote. "Plus, I know Poppop will love the hot girl-on-girl action!"
We all shared a good laugh, and I'm sure Nana and Poppop commenced viewing that evening.
Like many LGBT folks, my coming out journey is complicated, a work in progress. The unconditional love from my Nana made this transition easier. She taught me to trust myself, above all to love myself.
Two months ago, this precious lady transitioned from our world.
In Nana's final days, when she could no longer speak, we spent hours looking into each others' eyes. I was lost, staring into the maroon flecks dotting her chameleon green-blue eyes. They were exquisite, and I was ashamed I had not noticed this until now.
"Nana, if your eyes were marbles," I whispered, "I would play and play until they were mine."
As she smiled, I knew they already were.
