My name is Jackie, and Elijah I met in the early 1990’s.


Elijah and I each experienced transitions in our lives, we both wrote dissertations about those experiences, very personal, autoethnographic depictions, and became close friends comparing very personal anecdotes.

The fabric of our friendship was built on these journeys, sharing anecdotes we could tell no one else or include in our scholarship.  Sometimes Elijah shared his complicated reactions to others' perception of him as a man - he would  seem so surprised:  “Jack,” he would say as he walked the streets of NYC, “women see me as a MAN walking toward them and cross the street to the other side.  As if I would be a danger!’

I live in Philadelphia and for some years was directing a Center for Families at Penn Medicine. Elijah came to the city with some regularity to lecture and present at various places- he consulted both to our center and to the gender clinic at CHOP.

We celebrated the publication of his book with a signing party at Penn, and I recall him sitting at my dinner table that night, laughing with pure joy and abandon.  As I looked across at him I recalled the painfully shy woman I first met those many years ago,  and smiled at the joy and contentment he found in his life; in his work, yes, but most especially as Alexandra’s husband and Kaj’s Dad.

Elijah’s compassion for the experience of families was vast.  Ironically, here was a man who experienced profound rejection in his lifetime, and yet he did not live in anger or bitterness; instead, he developed a body of work that centered deep compassion, especially for parents. Elijah would say “It might look like rejection Jack, but it’s really  just fear and grief.  Once you give them a container to express that and provide the education and compassion they will move.”  This has become a cornerstone of my work with families.

But the identity that most cemented our relationship was not that of family therapist or queer so much as living in fellowship together as recovering from the disease of addiction.  Once again, Elijah broke through the silence and thus the stigma for those of us living with this disease.  

The year was 2017 and Elijah, Saliha Bava and I were giving a Plenary presentation in Philadelphia for The American Family Therapy Academy.  The morning of, we were supposed to exchange emails about the way we would introduce ourselves. Elijah’s never came.  I thought, “well, we’ve presented together many times, I know what he’s going to say.” But I also knew being in Philly could be an intense experience for him - it was all, his ‘home town.’  

So Elijah got up and started introducing himself,  talking about some of the struggles with his identity -  but then I saw him pivot, leaving his prepared remarks.  He turned, pointed to the doorway, and said “and so at a corner bar just a few blocks from here I almost drank myself to death.”

I was floored.  This was something we didn’t  talk about in a professional setting - we could be queer or trans, but suffering from alcoholism? And there it was yet again, Elijah breaking a barrier: like a whole other coming out, but this time as a person in recovery.

Two summers ago, Elijah had a sublet a few blocks from me in Center City. I was thrilled to have him so close by, and I introduced him to my AA home group, the Monday night LGBTQ Beginners meeting.  He loved it and I loved introducing him around.  He join me there on Monday nights but also found his own spaces in the sober and gay community in Philly.  So now my entire sober and queer community in Philly knows and loves him too. They mourn with me the loss of this most generous spiritual being.

When I visited Elijah and his family in late June I asked him if we could have a AA since we had two people in recovery, and that’s all you need for a meeting. I began to read the Preamble of Alcoholics Anonymous,  and told him about the changes AA World Service had just made to make the language gender neutral.

So isn’t it wonderful that before he passed, Elijah got to hear the beautiful words again - this time with gender neutral language.

I close with some of those words now to honor him, and as a prayer for us all. For every day, 24 hours a day, in 147 countries around the world, people sit together, all races, classes, genders, and beliefs, and leave aside their differences to share in one common goal.

“Alcoholics Anonymous is a fellowship of people who share their experience strength and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem and help others to recover from alcoholism.

The only requirement for membership is the desire to stop drinking.  There are no dues or fees for AA memberships, we are self supporting through our own contributions.  Our primary purpose is to stay sober and to help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety.”

 
Elijah my beautiful friend,

I commit to always being there for Kaj and Alexandra,

to keep your work alive,

and endeavoring always - to embody your generosity of spirit

in this sometimes broken world.  

 
Jackie