Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

Since 2013, I have reported on the violent deaths of at least 365 transgender, nonbinary, and gender nonconforming peoplem with such grief. I’ve also reported on the deaths of members of my LGBTQ community in Pittsburgh, members of my own family, and friends. More grief.

All in all, there are over 430 posts in the In Memoriam category. That is a lot of loss to absorb.

This year has been especially hard because one of those people was a friend of mine, Elisa Rae Shupe. And while I have had some success agitating for more information about her death, it doesn’t offset the despair and guilt I feel that I wasn’t a better friend. It is survivor’s guilt.

That’s not a good train of thought. One might say it is a red flag. Now I want to assure you that I have a lot of mental health supports – I take my meds, go to therapy 3x week, regularly talk this stuff through with my most stalwart friends. I do the work. I am safe and supported. I was on the phone today with a friend who is also a therapist for about two hours talking through these issues.

But I am grieving so deeply right now.

It feels like each story is so incredibly heartbreaking in its own unique way (Tolstoy) and I’m having trouble letting go after I write the memorial post. Then I’m reminded of other posts that struck me in a certain way, especially when the deceased’s trans identity is erased. Or when there is zero progress on the investigation. Or when I see some victims, usually young white trans women, lifted up while others are overlooked. So much grief.

Today, Saturday, I spent most of the day working on two memorial posts. I took time to cook my favorite meal (chicken divan) from scratchish. I played with my cats, watched General Hospital. But I didn’t leave the house.

Given the multi-generational impact of alcohol abuse in my family, I rely on being uptight about it to keep me from starting to drink while I blog. I can never give in to that temptation, that crutch – there’s just too much to lose.

At the same time, this particular work I do is by nature solitary and isolating. It important to forge bonds and lean on others who also tell these types of stories. But most people can barely absorb the story, much less my grief in writing it.

Two researchers and memorializers quit this past week alone. I don’t know why. I hope they are okay.

So I need to take some time to properly mourn my friend, to rededicate myself to supporting my living friends, and to find support that I need. That doesn’t mean I will stop memorializing, not at all. I fear other outlets will have to stop or reduce time spent b/c of – what else? – funding cuts. Should I look for others to work with me as volunteers? Should I incorporate more protective rituals into the work? I don’t even know for sure where I can ask these questions.

But if I am not honest with you, readers and followers and friends, I might find myself quitting this work.

Each memorial takes hours, I don’t even know how many. I read every published piece I can find, multiple times. I scour social media including very deep dives into public content to get to know the victim. And find pieces of their humanity to share with the world, alongside the story of their death. I look at court documents. Sometimes I use family tree tools to confirm the identity of the individual. I use Google searches and Newspaper.com searches.

Then I dig into the context – reviewing data across geography, identity, age, and time.

And then I write and format. I use a newer format with subheadings to keep myself on task.

And then I format a photo to use. I look through their public photos, searching for an image that is practical but also that they chose to represent themselves at some recent point. By practical, I mean it is clear, shows their face, and has a good resolution. Many outlets will not use a whimsical photo that the person modified with stickers or filters. Sometimes that feels like the best choice because I’m not writing an obituary.

I hit publish. Then I start sharing the post across my social media channels, in dozens of Facebook groups, on Reddit, Medium, on email lists, and also scheduling to share the content again.

Then I create a Google Search for the person so I can follow their story. I may not write about them again, but I am following. I look for patterns like this one.

I am in touch with some families, some friends or classmates.

I spent over three hours with various Spanish fluent individuals from Mexico and elsewhere to make sure I was using the pet name Chilendrina appropriately as the only other option was her deadname. Did I get the spelling right? What about variants? Was it respectful? Was it too intimate? At the end of the day, it was the only piece of her femme life that we know.

This is something I chose to do so I am not complaining. I am saying things are different now compared to the past 12 years of doing this work. Because of course they are. It feels ridiculous that we’ve only reported on four deaths by mid-March. It seems obvious that deaths are not being accurately documented and we are finding these neighbors much later. It is frightening that my fellow researchers are dropping away – with no one stepping forward to help pick up the work.

If you want to help, reach out to me (don’t tag me, I won’t see it) pghlesbian@gmail and I’ll connect you with a Facebook group.

If you want to help, find the researchers who are doing the reporting for your community – your community center, your PFLAG chapter, your trans led organizations, – find them on Instagram and BlueSky and TikTok and elsewhere. Share the content. Invest in those groups as they are doing important labor. Share their grief.

What I now know is that we have to balance our collective grief with our personal despair. I can do this quiet research work silently with careful intentional focus. I can be loud, demanding attention for neighbors lost to this horrible endemic. But I struggle to find a bridge between those two roles so I can continue to be effective.

I don’t even know how to wrap up this post. It needs to be here to mark this moment for my own purpose, for my sanity. I am not angry, I am despondent and that’s an important distinction.