Skip to Content
author's profile photo Simone Milesi

The Pride month and its importance

I rig the wonderful community and its members, some of which reached me out and have been so close and nice to me in the worst moment of my life.
It's the Pride month and many people thinks the Pride is just marching and chanting, full of colors and joy, celebrating being ourselves.

The big companies change their logo to rainbow, we shake hands and pat our shoulders doing the same, thinking we have done everything we could and it's enough.
I know it's like that, it took me ages to escape such mental scheme, from self-absolution, turning our heads away.

And in this month something I cannot process nor accept, happened.

Susan Keohan suggested me to write to mend the pain, to sedate it: and i'm doing it since yesterday morning at 5:27, after i woke up without any reason, 30 seconds before a friend sent me the message i never wanted to receive, the message i was fearing since 10 days.

She is gone.

They found her body yesterday night and I feel empty and useless, shattered, in pieces.
She was a doctor, a good one, a great one, her life aimed to improve quality of cures for everyone, expecially for LGBTQ community.
She dedicated her life to others, even when her family turned her their back, her kids became strangers, her ex wife a witch cursing her and her mother told her she'd prefer she'd be dead than recognizing her with her new name.
Her fault? Trying to be happy, to match her body with her soul, heart and brain, those warm, sparky, smart, great and welcoming soul, heart and brain.
Her fault has been thinking the people shes love would love her for the wonderful human being she was instead for her choice to wear pants instead of skirts.


So silly.
But she was so proud when she finally got her name, Elizabeth, on a Starbuck's cup.
A cartoon cup with crappy coffee and she was happy, so happy she still had that cup.
Because she was like that, pursing happiness, finding it in every, single little thing she could, offering it to anyone, even to the ones who turned their back.
Her mother needed a place to stay and she welcomed her in her flat, trying to build a new bridge between them.


It was around that time me and her got close, three years ago.
I was divorcing, falling in pieces, shattered and feeling like the nothing I am, unable to sleep or think or anything, just crying and screaming behind the bold and smiling mask I wore for everyone, for my kids, my friends, my parents.
A mask weightening tons and tons each day more, enduring the judgement from whom i was looking to for some support.

But she stepped in, gentle yet unavoidable, helped me to bring the mask, taught me how there could be always a future, to not give up.
We became friends, from emails to Hangout chats to Whatsapp texts, until the day my dog stepped on my phone and called her (yes, my dog jumped on my lap, put its paw on the table and hitted the phone while I was texting her).
I closed the call as fast as I could and I feared she'll never wanted to talk with me or whatelse.
She told me she felt her heart missing a beat seeing the call and laughed at the idea a dog calling a cat lady like her.

Two days later she called me on Whatsapp and since then we talked every single day.

Because the friendship turned into love.
It can sound silly or stupid or an illusion from the outside, but I do not care at all: we were in love, we spent hours, days on videocall, texting, staying in touch in any possible way, planning the future.
Our future.
Together.
Despite me being in Italy and she was in Mexico.


We already chose which restaurants we'd had tried when this autumn she'd came here to Italy, to Bergamo, to my place, what to visit, walking on the medieval streets hand by hand.
She kept repeating I had to free half of my closet, because she had a lot of dresses when she'd relocate here.
Because we were working for that.
She called me hubby, I called her wifey.

In worked hathe meantime, she rd, educating new doctors, giving them a better training, fighting for women's rights and for the LGBTQ community.
I can still hear her voice mocking me when I asked her to take care and pay attention, with her "You are such a sissy!".
Or her "Sssshutttuuuppp, Simonn" replacing the final 'e' with an 'n' of my name when I told her how beautiful she was: she never managed to properly spell it and when she remembered it, here and there, she got embarrassed and apologized.
But I loved it, it was the only one calling me like that, I was yours as much as she was mine.
Two weeks ago she achieved a great result and she was so proud about herself, la Jéfa de IMSS developed and submitted to the Mexican Minister of Healthcare, where she worked, a new program to help transgender people, "her" people, like if people can be put in silly, little boxes with a label snapped on them.
The most advanced one in the world, she said. And I believe her, because she never bragged, she was humble, way more humble than she should.

Everyone looked at her, online or in real life, and could only see the strength and the "power" she had, but she was the most caring, worrying, lovely person i ever met.

This speech show who she was, how powerful and deep yet fun and gentle she was

The image she had to project on the outside to shield herself was the total opposite of her real being, a real light in this sh*tty world, a world which clearly doesn't deserve someone wonderful as she was, a world able just to kick her hard over and over and over.


She was my wifey.
She was my friend.
She was my strenght.
She was my hope.
She was my love.

They killed her, leaving the body on an highway, like garbage.

Her name was Maria Elizabeth Montaño Fernandez and I hope justice will be done and her name will be always remembered.

#JusticiaParaElizabeth
#SiempreTeBuscaréElizabeth



Sorry again for the rig of this space, but I do not want to hear anymore about other Elizabeth.

1.jpg (151.3 kB)
4.jpg (119.9 kB)
* Please Login or Register to Comment on or Follow discussions.

5 Comments

  • Jun 22, 2020 at 11:44 AM

    Simone,

    My heart aches for you, and all the people who knew and loved Elizabeth.

    Please take care of yourself!

    Sue

  • Jun 24, 2020 at 11:50 PM

    Simone, I am so sorry for your loss. Elizabeth sounds like such a wonderful person. I hope that writing the story of you and her and posting it here is helping to ease your pain just a little bit.

  • Jul 06, 2020 at 02:49 PM

    Simone,

    I'm so very sorry for you. She sounds amazing and strong! Thank you for sharing her with us. Your dog had the great idea of calling her. It sounds like she enriched your life. She wasn't garbage, she was a person. And no matter where they found her, you know better.

    I'm so glad she found you and had you in her life. I know she had a great love for you by just reading what you wrote.

    Again so terribly sorry - words can't say enough.

    I'll repeat your words back to you - Please be careful. There is evil in this world.

    Sending you love and hugs,

    Michelle

  • Jul 06, 2020 at 10:57 PM

    Simone,

    My heart goes out to you for the loss of someone who was more than just a friend. She sounds like she was an awesome lady!

    My best friend's husband is female to male trans and, living in South Carolina, frequently in fear in public because of past experiences. So I understand your fear for Elizabeth.

    You will be in my prayers.

    -Dell

  • Jul 24, 2020 at 07:56 PM

    I obviously have been away from the coffee corner waaayyyy to long and I just saw this.

    This is so terrible and I'm so sorry for your loss. Nothing I can say or do would ease your pain.

    All I can do is vow to make sure I treat all LGBTQ people the way they have a right to be treated and to support and stand up for them and to not be the person that says nothing.

    Craig

  • Add a comment
    10|10000 characters needed characters exceeded