Transcendent

When I first met her, I admit I was slightly taken aback, I had not really met anyone like her before, and I was not sure how to feel, or act. That soon went away, as felt drawn to help her, to defend her, to understand. A few days after the first time I met her she enrolled in one of my belly dance classes. She was tall, blonde, statuesque and pretty much the best student I ever had. She worked hard in class, you could see it meant more to her than it did other students. There was a glow about her when she danced, something different and otherworldly, something beyond the ordinary. We became fast friends, dear friends. I have never had anyone else like her in my life, and I am the worse for it.

We started to know one another on a very deep level, without having to have the discussions and rehash the memories. We saw each other for what we really were, and loved each other for all those things and for all the shortcomings and failures. We understood the value of true and deep friendship, I loved her unconditionally and she did the same for me. It was the first time in my life that I had been loved unconditionally. She was the first person who valued me, who did not judge me, and accepted me exactly the way I was. I felt the same way about her. Everywhere I was invited to, I took her with me. Every show I performed at, she was there. Every class I took or workshop I took I invited her to. I looked up to her and admired her strength, her beauty and her intellect. She was the smartest person I knew, and had more depth to her than anyone could have guessed at. She could act, and dance, and design, and garden and cross-breed species of iris. She raised koi and cross bred them to create wonderful new colors and qualities. She could learn anything, and devoured knowledge and culture. She was sophisticated and rare.

A few years into our friendship, I began buying her mothers day cards and gifts. She treated me as if I was her daughter, and as if I mattered. I was so grateful for that, it can never be said how much that meant to me, words just fall short. She became my daughters God-Mother. She loved the responsibility and even at my daughters young and tender age of 5 she would give her the best “you deserve the best” pep talks. Beyond that though, she was a warrior, a queen, and a survivor of the harshest brutalities…until it got to be just too much.

When she was just a child, her father began locking her out of the house and forcing her to sleep under the porch. Remarkably, she would end up taking care of him after he suffered from a horrible accident in his middle age. She was beaten by him, ignored by her mother, pushed into oncoming traffic, starved, whipped and humiliated for most of her life. When she finally escaped the hell that was her home she ventured on to college, only to be told that she “had no right to exist,” and that she “was ruining her parents afterlife.” She was called an abomination, a freak, a pervert, a faggot, a pretty boy, a fairy, a poof, and on and on. College was not safe for her, she was forced out.

She could not find a job in the 70’s due to discrimination. She found herself on the street with no help, and no prospects. She did what millions and millions of others had to do. She walked the streets, danced on a pole, and on a bar and saved up every penny she had, sleeping in tiny Motel rooms and living off of ramen, saltine crackers and coffee. She was the first person in Utah to have a totally reassignment surgery. She had been buying hormone pills, (birth control) from the street and had been living as a woman most of her life. She did everything she had to do to become who she was. At this point she told her family what she was planning to do, it took them another 10 years to even acknowledge her. She went back to that tiny room to recover on her own, with no support. It is more than anyone should be asked to do, and more than anyone person should have to suffer. But she did, and she survived.

She eventually bought her own car, and her own little place. She was still discriminated against and attacked repeatedly through the 1980’s. She was beaten, raped, drugged, strangled, and she had to do it alone. Eventually she met someone and he proposed, she thought her life was about to radically improve. She deserved love and finally she was going to get it. But on the way to meet his parents, he drove off and left her at a gas station while she was in the restroom. Alone, broke, scared and heartbroken…she survived.

She ended up taking care of her parents, their house, garden and pets after the last torment she had suffered. That is when I met her. We created a style of dance together that still lasts to this day. It is our own version of classical burlesque. Because of this style, I have trained hundreds of other dancers, and they all knew her name. Candy Renee Thomas. I say her name, and still all these years later I cry….as it is ever carved upon my heart.

She survived it all, until she didn’t. Until she couldn’t.

It was morning, I was getting ready for work. I lived next door to her at this point, helped each other get by. There was pounding on the door, I saw someone in tears, I could not process who it was at that point, so much of this day is a blur. It was her sister, Candy was passed out, no one could wake her. I think I knew then, I think I understood.

I watched the paramedics lay her on the front lawn, there was black froth all around her mouth. She was limp and lifeless. I do not know what happened next for sure, Ijust remember getting in the car with her sister and going to the hospital. As soon as we got there, they ushered us into a private room. We sat there, door closed waiting. A social worker came in, and then a doctor. All they told us was that “She is really sick.” I threw up in the garbage can. I knew. They kept having people come in and tell us they were trying to revive her, telling us they were doing all they could. Finally some hours later, they took us back to see her, to see if we could help rouse her. She was perfect, make- up seemed to have been done, earings on, hair done. I slipped those earrings off, and keep them by her photo to this very day.

I found the doctor some point later that day, and had a private conversation with him. I told him, I thought that her overdose was not an accident. We had been told that she overdosed, although I can remember when, or who told us. The doctor thanked me for my honesty and he cried. He told me she was like family to him. I understood. They moved her to ICU.

The next few days are still a blur of tears and the hospital and being overcome physically by her impending death and the loss that was painfully acute already. I made the decision to take her off life support, her sister just couldn’t. I did it. She passed a day later. Two pigeons perched on her windowsill the day she died. I understood then what the gods were trying to tell me earlier. I screamed in the shower until I was horse.

Her parents were overcome with regret, guilt and grief. They sobbed deeply for weeks. I was asked to give her eulogy. I was honored, and I did. I gave the copy to her sister. She was so much more than anyone could have ever, ever guessed at. More than a label and more than a title and more than what she had been reduced to. She was tired, and she just could not do it anymore. I could not save her, I tried and tried. BUt in the end, it was just too much. She choose to end things on her terms. She was afraid of getting older alone, heartbreak after heartbreak endured, disappointment heaped on sadness, she just wanted peace. I am not mad at her. I never was. I understood. I miss her so much that even as I sit her and write this, I can not stop the tears.

She was a dancer, a mother, an actress, a scientist, a healer, a creator, a gardner, a daughter, a sister, a friend. She was not transgender so much as she was TRANSCENDANT.