Like MacArthur

Michelle was one of the founders of my support group. She was very active in the group for the better part of two decades holding down a variety of elected and unelected positions in the organization including the always difficult program chairperson role.

About ten years ago, her attendance at support group meetings became became irregular and eventually she stepped back from having any active positions in the organization. The last time I saw her was at the support group's annual banquet eight or nine years ago.

She just faded away.

Then there was an announcement on the support group's e-mail list that Michelle had died. I assume that the only reason we found out about her passing is that one of our members had a professional relationship with Michelle's male side, so she knew Michelle's male name and saw the obituary in a newspaper.

Typically, that does not happen. In most cases involving transgenders who live part time as men and part time as women, we do know their male names. When they die, their obituaries never mention their female names nor the fact they were transgenders. So we never know when they pass on.

Over the years, I have met a lot of older transgenders. Most of them were just acquaintances; a few were more than that, but most of them just faded away. I assumed they became ill and or died, but I'll never know.

It is sad. Old transgenders never die, they just fade away.

Wearing Metisu.

Femulate reader, Harriet, is 67 and has been dressing as long as she can remember on and off. Married and while her wife knows, she does not approve. She does go out in public, but family responsibilities and life, in general, requires that she keep a balance. She loves going to a very traditional hairdressers' salon and tries to keep regular appointments. It is her favorite feminine time.