News & Narrative is TransLash Media’s personal essay and journalism platform where you can find stories by transgender and gender non-conforming people that get to the heart of what what’s happening in our community⁠—and the world around us.

News & Narrative is TransLash Media’s personal essay and journalism platform where you can find stories by transgender and gender non-conforming people that get to the heart of what what’s happening in our community⁠—and the world around us.

Family, Boundaries, Grief, & Love

"The thing they don’t tell you about setting boundaries is that it’s going to cost you something. You gain a lot, but it doesn’t mean setting a boundary and sticking to it is always going to feel good. I know now that setting those boundaries with my family led me to grief."

By Mx. Suni Jade

I recently went “home” to the East Coast to celebrate the life of my Grandmother Argentine: my first best friend and the woman with whom I shared my first cup of coffee at ten years old. At the time, neither one of my parents was excited that their already rambunctious child had been consuming so much caffeine. What started as a sweet treat that I was only allowed to enjoy on visits to Grandma’s house, became the only thing my mom could use as an incentive to get me out of the bed and on my way to school. Since then, coffee has evolved from being a tool solely used to make me more productive into my first creative business venture: Auntie’s Coffee

Since that first cup of coffee with Argentine, I’ve enjoyed hundreds, maybe thousands of cups of coffee all across the country. I am a Black, Non-binary, multi-disciplinary Artist, Barista, Community Organizer, and Entrepreneur. I am also mother to two beautiful dogs, somebody’s fiancée and future wife (*Hey Siri, play Cuff It by Beyoncé*), and the product of all the love that Argentine poured into me. My trip back East for her homegoing service was the first time I’d been around multiple family members all at once since I started my transition journey. For years, I have isolated myself from certain family members for my own safety, healing, and comfort. Since returning, I have been flooded with so many memories and feelings from my childhood that have helped me to better understand the journey that led me to this current iteration of myself.

Before I tell the story about my trip to the east coast, a little context about my relationship with my immediate family is needed.I am the youngest of two children; I have one older sister, Amy, and a set of divorced parents. Growing up, Amy and I weren’t that close. By “weren’t that close” I mean we fought like cats and dogs for the better part of our youth. I always felt like Amy lacked street smarts and common sense. I’m sure if you asked her she’d say I was dramatic and that our parents were easier on me than they were on her. Surely this is the case for every oldest sibling and their younger counterparts; it’s no secret that parents soften up and loosen the reins as they get a hang of the whole parenting thing. Although our dynamic was directly impacted by the tumultuous nature of our parents’ relationship, we were able to set aside our differences and find our way back to each other after we grew up, went away to college, and discovered who we were in our new environments. 

My mother and father, though very different, had very similar upbringings. They were each one of five siblings in a home where resources were slim. However, they both clung to their education and let it guide them to college and beyond. Eventually, they became medical professionals: my mother–the pharmacist, and my father–the doctor. They met in college and were married for a few years, but eventually got divorced and couldn’t stand being around each other. I can count on both hands how many memories I have of them even in the same room together.

After a custody battle between our dueling parents, my sister and I started splitting our time with each of them fifty-fifty. The first half of every week (Monday evenings, Tuesdays, and Wednesday mornings) were spent with our mom. The second half of the week (Wednesday afternoons, Thursdays, and Friday mornings) were spent with our dad. Every other weekend (Friday night, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday mornings) we alternated between parents. My dad was constantly wrestling to keep his private practice afloat. My mother worked tirelessly to support us, damn near all of her siblings, and their children. Between our two homes, there was a lot of love, madness, chaos, and dysfunction which left us all feeling like we needed to fend for ourselves.

This brings me to my Grandparents: my mother’s parents—James Reid, Sr., his wife Margarete Reid, and my father’s parents—Argentine Deigh and  Sam Green. James Reid, Sr. ruled his family like a tyrant with an iron fist. Whatever he said was law, and his laws were final. He had a bit of a soft side to him that he seldom let show. He wouldn’t even say, “I love you.” Instead, he would say “143.” Margarete, on the other hand,  was one of the softest women I’ve ever known. She was mellow, silly, caring, and gentle as a lamb. She was never stingy with her love and affection. My dad’s father, Sam Green, was a man of very few words. He was a phenomenal cook; I still think about his chicken salad to this day. He lived in a small one-bedroom apartment by himself. 

Argentine was the light of my life. My relationship with her was unlike any of my relationships with my other grandparents. We connected. She saw me. I adored her. She had a youth to her that never faded. She was a singer and is the reason I sing today. She was independent, artistic, and similar to James Reid, Sr., she too ruled her home with an iron fist. She was not to be questioned and couldn’t be intimidated. I was on the bowling team in Kindergarten because she brought my cousins and I, who she called The Magnificent Seven,  to the bowling alley every Friday night. I thought that was just the coolest thing. I wanted to be cool like my Grandma. She was so cool that she could drink coffee at night and still manage to fall asleep! It had to be Wawa coffee though; not that burnt mess that St*rb*ck* gets away with selling. Argentine was a world traveler so her palette was refined. She was very particular about her coffee. She had a taste for the finer things that life had to offer. 

When I was in fourth grade, Argentine offered to take me to and from Karate classes every Thursday evening. This was perfect because Thursday was one of my dad’s days and he was hardly ever home before the sun went down, so oftentimes I was left to feed and entertain myself. Argentine alleviated that burden by offering her home to me. I would take what we called “the high-speed line” train from our house to hers. After about 45 minutes on the train, she would be waiting at the bottom of the escalator to take me back to her house and have a meal before it was time to go to Karate. Once I finished class, she wouldn’t take me straight home. She would carry me with her to choir practice at church. I would sit right by her side in the alto section and learn terribly boring presbyterian hymns. I didn’t mind because it meant I got to spend more time with her and avoid going home to my dad’s house for just a few hours more.  

I don’t believe Argentine knew exactly what she was saving me from, but I get the feeling that she knew she was saving me from something. When Argentine wasn’t babysitting me, my sister and I were left with our babysitter. For a long time, I’ve lived with this secret: I was sexually abused by that babysitter from third grade through seventh. It wasn’t until her funeral that I put together those pieces for myself. It wasn’t a coincidence that I clung to her so tightly during those years. I needed her.

The deaths of my grandparents happened just as my father prophesied: “One at a time, back to back, like boom, boom, boom.” My father used to warn us that these days would come and advised us to make the most of our time with our grandparents. He lost his grandmother in his 20s, and from what he and my mother have shared with me, he took it extremely hard. He too shared a special bond with his Grandmother, Amy. 

My Grandmother Argentine was the last of my four grandparents to make her transition from this physical realm.  First, it was James Reid, Sr. in 2019, then Sam Green in 2020, Margarete in 2021, and in June of 2022 Argentine took her final breath. The only funeral I went back to the East Coast for was Argentine.

The truth of the matter is that I felt like I had grieved the loss of James, Sam, and Margarete long before they made their transitions from this earth. Sam Green became obsessed with me losing weight, therefore I had to stop being around him. At first, I thought that him offering me $1 for every pound I could lose in between my visits with him was cute. Now, I realize that this is one of the sources of my eating disorder…thanks, Pop Pop!

It was no secret that James Reid was homophobic and it manifested as micro and macro-aggressions throughout my youth. So much so that when I was exploring my sexuality and identity as a young teen, I remember actively making the decision with myself that I could not “come out” until my grandparents died. I felt that if James Reid wasn’t going to accept me, neither would his wife or his children, thus I would be excommunicated from the family. Before that could happen, I removed myself. 

At 18 years old, these are two beliefs of mine that I knew to be true:

  1. The love I received from family was conditional upon me presenting and existing in a way that made sense to them. 
  2. If I “came out” while James, Sr. was alive, it would cause a lot of family drama.

So, I left. I moved to NYC. For a few years, I felt liberated. I was free to be whoever I chose. Free to speak however I wanted. Free to express, explore, and discover myself. However, something wasn’t quite right. Slowly but surely, I became aware of this void within me. It began to silently gnaw at me. I’ve always had a lot of friends but quite often felt a sense of loneliness. I always felt like something was missing. 

The thing they don’t tell you about setting boundaries is that it’s going to cost you something. You gain a lot, but it doesn’t mean setting a boundary and sticking to it is always going to feel good. I know now that setting those boundaries with my family led me to grief. 

In order for me to step into the life I was always meant to live, I had to grieve the relationships with folks that couldn’t love me in the ways that I needed. I had to grieve the version of myself that was willing to compromise in order to be loved. I had to grieve the relationship that I had with my grandmother Margarete because I knew that James Reid’s word was final. It was giving very much so “throw the baby out with the water.” I grieved the fantasy of what family is supposed to be and started to accept the cards I’d been dealt.

Mx. Suni Jade and her grandmother Argentine.

So no, I didn’t go to any of the three funerals of my grandparents that passed before Argentine. I wasn’t ready to see a lot of my family and I wasn’t ready to be seen. I had zero desire to see the mother of the babysitter that molested me. I avoided my estranged father. I was not ready to go back and show them the person I’ve become. I couldn’t bear the thought of being ridiculed, judged, or misunderstood. So I grieved in my own ways, in my own space, where I felt safe to do so.

When I got the news that Argentine had passed, there was no question in my mind as to whether or not I would go to the funeral. I had to. The love I have for Argentine far surpassed any conflict I had with individual family members. Enough time had passed for me to build up the confidence and courage required to stand up for myself if I was met with negativity. I felt grounded and supported by my partner who didn’t bat an eye before telling me he would come to the funeral. With his love, the support and encouragement from my chosen family, the EMDR therapy coupled with the out-patient eating disorder treatment I completed during my nine months living in Chicago, and five years’ worth of therapy sessions under my belt, I was prepared to protect myself in ways that little Suni just didn’t know how.

By the grace of God, the voyage we took to lay my grandmother Argentine to rest was a huge success. I was met with nothing but warmth and gratitude that I’d traveled across the country to be with my family during this time. Folks expressed that they missed me! Missed ME?! I couldn’t believe it. The icing on top of the cake was that introducing my white partner to the family was nothing like the movie Guess Who? with Bernie Mac like I had imagined it was going to be. Instead, in the time I’ve spent apart from my family, we were all able to build up more space for empathy, grace, compassion, and patience. A lot of my family members realized that in order to maintain a relationship with me, they would not only have to accept me as I am, but they would also have to respect me. In my solitude, I realized that being perfect is not a prerequisite for sharing space with me. Isn’t that what love is all about?  

Thank you, Argentine, for giving me the opportunity to reconnect with our family. Although I wish the circumstances were different, shout out to you for bringing us all together again.

Featured Image by Ekaterina Belinskaya.

Mx. Suni Jade (they/she) is an artist, activist, model, and entrepreneur based in Los Angeles, California. She is the Founder of Auntie’s Coffee, the only Black-Owned Coffee Company in West Hollywood, California. Visit AuntiesLA and follow her on Instagram to learn more.

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TransLash tells trans stories to save trans lives. As a trusted source for journalists, thought-leaders, movement activists, researchers, and those wanting to know about trans people, we produce narratives about and for the trans community—accurately and reliably. At a time when disinformation about trans people is being used to undermine democracy and human rights, TransLash Media serves as a beacon of hope through the voices that we share with the world.

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TransLash tells trans stories to save trans lives. As a trusted source for journalists, thought-leaders, movement activists, researchers, and those wanting to know about trans people, we produce narratives about and for the trans community—accurately and reliably. At a time when disinformation about trans people is being used to undermine democracy and human rights, TransLash Media serves as a beacon of hope through the voices that we share with the world.

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