Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, March 26, 2006
By Shirley Wiegand
She died suddenly, falling to the floor in front of her disabled husband and 2-year-old boy. Blood clot. Age 39. It took her in seconds. One moment, she sat on the sofa, watching her blond, blue-eyed little boy play on the floor. The next moment, she lay on the floor near him, dead.
She had suffered at least one miscarriage and one stillborn birth before finally, successfully, giving birth to this sweet little boy, Josh.
My sister died in 1993. That little boy - my nephew - is now several inches taller than me, runs high school track and regularly brings home straight A's
I don't know how he does it. When his mother died 13 years ago, she left him behind with a disabled father, a man who had suffered a stroke in his early 20s, walked with a serious limp, had difficulty speaking clearly and was unable to work. He died in 1998 of another stroke and once again Josh witnessed a parent's death.
He was 8 years old and, now, an orphan.
Though my husband and I rushed up to the Fox Cities the same day, my older sister had already stepped forward.
Ever since Josh's mom, our baby sister, died, she had kept a close eye on him. Living just 10 minutes from his house, she soon learned that Josh was in need of more than his father could provide.
And so began a weekly routine. My sister began picking Josh up every Tuesday after school and taking him to her home, which she shared with her lesbian partner.
Together, they fed him a home-cooked meal, sat at the table with him, helped him with his schoolwork and talked with him about his life. They took him home at bedtime. They became the stabilizing influences in his life.
So when his father died suddenly, they were the first to rescue Josh. They ensured that he said goodbye to his father before burial preparations began, and they immediately cleared an extra bedroom in their home. From the night his father died, Josh became a member of their household.
Now, seven years later, I wonder how they did it. My sister is an accountant and comptroller for a string of appliance stores in the Fox River Valley. Her partner, a published author and poet, teaches at a university.
She teaches part-time, just enough to qualify for health insurance. She cannot benefit from my sister's insurance though they've been a couple for 25 years.
Most of the time, though, my sister's partner stays at home and cares for Josh. She cooks, does laundry, drives a car pool and quietly performs the duties of stay-at-home moms. Her writing has suffered.
Both my sister and her partner spend hours every week attending Josh's track meets and basketball games, driving him to and from his part-time job at a local restaurant, taking him and his friends to video arcades and making sure that he does his homework every night.
They attend PTA meetings and parent-teacher conferences. They host sleepovers for Josh's friends and make sure the freezer is filled with pizza and the cupboards with Doritos. They've given up a lot.
No more romantic getaways on the weekend. No more quiet nights at home. No more sleeping in on Saturdays.
Annual vacations now include Josh and sometimes a friend of his.
Theirs is a life of parenting. All in the name of love. All for that little boy who watched his parents die so many years ago.
He's doing fine. He's happy and healthy and loved.
But when it comes to shouldering major child care responsibilities, that's the work of two lesbians, living together, committed to ensuring his health and welfare.
Reflecting on all they've done, I keep asking why the good citizens of Wisconsin would ever feel threatened by their relationship. I know of no better parents.
Seems to me the least we can do is grant them some sort of legal recognition as a loving, devoted couple.
Marriage perhaps?
Shirley A. Wiegand is a professor at Marquette University Law School. Today is her older sister's 60th birthday. Shirley is one of our best friends and newest neighbor. She and Wayne moved here just to be our neighbor - that's how we are playing it.
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