One More Thing

Colonel Edward Thomas Ryan died in June 2024, during Pride month. His obituary was shared with me by a friend who, like Colonel Ryan, lives in upstate New York. While I didn’t know Colonel Ryan, I saw in his words a man who lived a brave life and, in death, chose even more bravery: coming out. His story, unwritten, haunting the white space around his perfectly punctuated sentences and idiosyncratic capitalization choices, cried out to be felt, to be cared about, to be loved. 

Colonel Ryan was a Vietnam veteran. He was a firefighter. He was awarded for being a responder on 9/11. He served a church. Through these institutions, he served and loved a country that he didn’t feel loved him back, yet still he served. His is the sort of dedication that reminds us that human beings are a moral species: we are capable of loving others simply because we should. 

What Does it Do to a Person to Hide as Ryan Did?

Despite all his bravery, coming out was a hurdle he did not accomplish in life. He was alone when his partner of twenty-five years died a third of a century ago. I think of him going to work, smiling, laughing with the boys at the American Legion, sitting through sermons at church, comforting strangers who told him of their problems, all while the loneliness of losing his partner and having no one to tell reverberated in screams throughout the unarticulated void.

I think about the hands I’ve held, the love I’ve known under the warmth of the sun, the words I’ve spoken in front of thousands, perhaps millions, and I ache for some way to fill Edward’s void with any of this, to move through time and change his story. 

But I will not do this. Because I cannot do this.

Instead, I will share Edward’s last words and imagine, as delicately as possible, where I am unable to remember a story that was never told.

“I must tell you one more thing. I was Gay all my life: thru grade school, thru High School, thru College, thru Life. I was in a loving and caring relationship with Paul Cavagnaro of North Greenbush. He was the love of my life. We had 25 great years together. Paul died in 1994 from a medical Procedure gone wrong. I’ll be buried next to Paul. I’m sorry for not having the courage to come out as Gay. I was afraid of being ostracized: by Family, Friends, and Co-Workers. Seeing how people like me were treated, I just could not do it. Now that my secret is known, I’ll forever Rest in Peace.”

Colonel Edward Thomas Ryan

One More Thing

feel sweet release Edward
may the secret of your rest 
be more than the peace 
you knew in death
our science speaks of worlds
uncounted by any old gods
taut boundaries between wet stars 
pumping the aleatory veins of reality 
and what I hope for you
is that this one was the worst
and in our closest universe
your Paul of North Greenbush lived

who woke in nineteen ninety-four
who held you against his skin
who filled his lungs with you
felt the close-set muscle stretch
of your back ache from standing
hours in his recovery room
who traced the outline of your face
your face  
                  your face  
                                     your face
you took that trip to Italy
grew tomatoes in your yard
layered with basil for a birthday 
learned just how much cream
the other's coffee craved
carefully put away the set
of dishes bought in ninety-nine
to celebrate thirty years together
and only used on holidays
talked about getting a pool
but knew you never would
but it was nice just to dream
and then open your eyes
and always you saw his face
his face    
                 his face     
                                  his face
grow old but never change
when he took the time 
each morning to look at you
and when you loved
and how you loved
beyond nineteen ninety-four
the blithe edges of your universe
would brush against this one 
and its Edward who couldn't speak
and across shadows in his chest 
his memories would whisper 
unspoken love poems 
towards the otherworldly light