As the holiday season approaches, I thought I’d share this note about a relative I love very much. I’ve written about the ups and downs of my family life in the past. She has seen me through it all.

I have a female relative in her forties with whom I am very close. Last winter, just before I took off to spend half a year overseas, she was diagnosed with cancer. After fighting it for months with treatment, we thought it was gone – until just after Thanksgiving, when the doctors discovered that it had spread. Today she is beginning her new round of chemotherapy, and it’s absolutely heartbreaking.

I should mention that this relative is gay. I kind of knew about her being gay, and she about me, for at least a few years, but it didn’t become official for either of us until recently. I had tried to come out to her in September 2007, but we had a miscommunication. (Note to self: don’t come out to someone in the postscript of an email. They may, ya know, miss it.)

I don’t have any family in the District, and coming to school here three and a half years ago was challenging. But this relative was in town quite often with her partner, who I then thought of simply as her good “friend,” and they helped me to get through difficult personal times and helped my parents stay (relatively) sane – they could report back that yes, I was eating, and no, I was not dealing drugs or stealing from the elderly. I always looked forward to them coming into town – my aunt’s partner lives in the region, so this would happen quite a bit – and meeting them for dinner and a movie, an indie music show, or just to relax at her partner’s home in the suburbs.

Even when I was in high school, and she was already an adult, I got along well with this relative. We had the best of both worlds, as I could seek her council as I would an elder family member, or simply seek her company as I would a friend. I loved hanging out with my buddies from school, but it never had the same easy comfort that spending time with my relative did. We fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

The fact that we had that special connection and felt like we “got” each other was even more remarkable given that this was not something I always felt around the rest of my family. This was more my fault than theirs – I was so confused about who I was and what I wanted in life, it was no surprise that I felt like I didn’t fit in. But with this relative, I always felt comfortable, always felt like I was where I belonged. And I have wondered in recent years if this is because, even though we weren’t yet out to each other, or in my case even out to myself, there was something about our being gay that made it easier for us to relate. We had both been through similar troubles in dealing with relatives and friends, in hiding a part of our lives, of wrestling with difficult decisions. Even then, I think, this made a difference.

It certainly does now. We can talk openly about things and know that the other person will always be receptive. I am lucky that she is not only a gay relative, but an open-minded one who doesn’t bother with judgments and stereotypes, and I hope that I’m the same way. I read about the divide between queer men and queer women – how maybe they don’t share in one community and one mission of liberation, or maybe even hang out with each other. But with her, that has never been my experience, never even a blip on our radar.

She came to visit recently, and we knew that it may well be the last time I see her in DC. With her undergoing treatment, she will be unable to travel much for a while, and after I graduate this summer I will be moving away from the District. My job will take me first to Atlanta and then to Denver for at least two years, where I know I will not be able to see her very often. So this weekend was special.

After a dinner in Georgetown, we went across town to our favorite spot, Old Ebbitt Grill, where she and her partner had taken me the first time they visited me here. We sat at the bar, watching the Heisman being awarded on the televisions around the room. They explained to me that this had to do with college football, and I pined over the cute guy to whom it was being awarded. We ordered the Butterscotch Blondie Sundae – our absolute favorite thing, probably in the entire world – and the sole reason we had gone there that evening. (We even thought about calling ahead to make SURE they weren’t out, but decided that was one step too crazy, even for us). We attempted to devour it in all its delicious, gooey madness over the bar counter. This proved a difficult feat, and as we guided our forks on the long and dangerous path from the shared plate to our mouths, we ended up wearing half of it on our laps. We laughed at each other and passed napkins back and forth, and by the end sticky butterscotch spots were dotting our clothing like well-earned battle scars.

In a few days I will be able to go home and see her. For now, all I can do is give a half-agnostic prayer, and hope. I can also be thankful to have her, and thankful for her wonderful partner, who has seen her through it all.

She wrote to me a day after her diagnosis, and said how lucky we are to have a family who loves us and supports us even though we are gay. I guess we have somewhat different viewpoints on this subject, as she grew up in a time in which acceptance by society in general was much more limited than that which our family extended first her and now me. And yet, despite everything – despite our age difference, the fact that I am a gay man and she a gay woman, that she has a life partner and I barely date, and that we are often separated by a great physical distance – I know exactly what she means. I know that we are lucky to have our family, and to have each other.

And I can relate to many of the challenges that she has faced in her life, of people telling her “no” and of her fighting back. She has overcome so many obstacles, and has emerged from them a stronger and more loving person. These are the ties that bind us together, and that give me faith that she will make it through this battle.