The Moth - The Moth Radio Hour: Lo and Behold!

Episode Date: October 15, 2024

Lo and behold! Stories of shocks and surprises—both good and bad. A birthday gift with unintended consequences, family secrets, and support from an unlikely fanbase. This episode is hosted by Moth Director Michelle Jalowski. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by The Moth and Jay Allison of Atlantic Public Media.Storytellers:Jessie shows her family photos from her recent travels...and more. Cat Powell-Hoffman learns about her biological family.Musician Paul Chin works tirelessly on an EP.Kelli Dunham doesn't like accepting help from others. Podcast # 891

This autumn, fall for Moth Stories as we travel across the globe for our main stages. We're excited to announce our fall lineup of storytelling shows from New York City to Iowa City, London, Nairobi, and so many more. The Moth will be performing in a city near you, featuring a curation of true stories. The Moth main stage shows feature five tellers who share beautiful, unbelievable, hilarious, and often powerful true stories on a common theme. Each one told reveals something new about our shared connection. To buy your tickets or find out more about our calendar, visit themoth.org slash mainstage. We hope to see you soon! From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Michelle Jalowski.

As a kid, I remember being surprised all the time. I had my mind blown on a regular basis. But as I get older, and arguably more jaded about the world, the less things seem to shock me. But surprises are important. They add curiosity and wonder and excitement to the world. Surprises make us vulnerable. They make us say, I didn't know this would happen or I was not prepared for this. But if we knew everything all along, how interesting would life be really? In this hour, stories of surprises, good and bad. Our first story, shared at one of our open mic story slams in Pittsburgh, where we

partnered with public radio station WESA, definitely made life interesting for our storyteller. Live from the Rex Theater, here is Jessie, last name redacted to protect the innocent. Hello. So my junior year of college, I studied abroad halfway across the world in Kathmandu, Nepal. And my boyfriend at the time was in Washington, DC. So we had never been apart for this long before.

We were trying to keep in touch via email and shoddy phone connections. And about four months into my time in Nepal, he was turning 21. And I wanted to sort of do something special so that we could kind of feel closer together. And I thought, what could I send my boyfriend from halfway across the world that, like,

over the internet that would make us feel closer together? You know, and so my, my Nepali roommate who had probably never held hands with a boy before, we lived in like a five by ten room together, went out of town about two weeks before his birthday. I very handily used the self-timer on my camera to take some choice photos and I put them in a hidden folder on my computer. Now for those of you who don't regularly use hidden folders this is a mechanism whereby you can have an invisible folder on your computer so when you don't want people

to see it they can't. It's very clever. And I put the photos in the hidden folder. About a week later, his birthday came. I sent him the photos. About a month later, I come home from Nepal. And about a month after that, my family went on our annual trip to Lost River State Park, West Virginia, where we, every year from the time I was born, go and hang out with two other families.

And we play croquet. And we play play games and it's very wholesome. And the first, our first morning in Lost River, everybody is over at our house for breakfast and we're eating pancakes and we're catching up on the year and breakfast is winding down. I'm playing everyone music on my laptop and everyone starts watching my slideshow of Nepal pictures, which was my screen saver at the time. And I am washing the dishes and I'm like, honestly, I'm feeling kind of smug. I'm like, here's Mount Everest and whatever.

And all of a sudden in the room just goes silent and a woman goes, Oh my god, Jessie! And I look over and there I am in all my glory and this is like men and women and I have never moved so fast in my life. I mean like, you don't even, like you can't possibly imagine the like heat and the red and like you can't. And I like slammed the, I slammed the laptop shut and I'm just like, and everybody sort

of handled this differently. The men who I wasn't related to like just left as quickly as humanly possible. One of the younger girls was like, oh, is that some sort of Nepali tradition? I was just, you know, I just like wanted to crawl into a hole and never make eye contact with anyone ever again. And my dad actually came up to me afterwards to ask me, so what was the deal with those pictures? So I responded like, I never want to talk about this.

I... Yeah, so there was a really, really long time where I never told anyone this story. I was just so embarrassed that I just couldn't imagine telling anyone. I still go back to Lost River State Park every year and I still have this horrible fear that somebody's going to think enough time has passed. It's like, remember that time we saw Jessie naked? But what I've realized over six years is that while storytelling really does keep you connected to the past, it also has a way of giving you some much needed distance from it. And I also learned that hidden folders are not as hidden as you think they are.

Thank you. Woo! Woo! When I asked Jessie how she feels about this experience these days, she said she's able to see this as a funny story now, but she still sometimes flashes back to the moment and physically cringes. In her words, a level of embarrassment

I hope I never have to experience again. It's been 17 years since the events in the story, and Jessie is married now with two young children of her own, and she plans to teach them excellent technology privacy skills when they get older. Next up, a phone call brings a shocking discovery. This story comes from Kat Powell Hoffman, who shared it at a main stage we produced in Portland, Oregon, where we partnered with Portland Literary Arts. Here's Pat.

When I was a kid, I used to envy my older brothers. They looked so much like my parents. One brother had our dad's carrot colored hair and the other one had our mom's saucer sized eyes. I remember wondering if they would inherit our dad's receding hairline, but that was just wishful thinking. My sister and I looked nothing like each other or our parents, but we did share one thing in common. We were both adopted from South Korea. We aren't blood related, but that didn't matter because she was my big sister and I idolized her. Well, sometimes.

Aside from the diversity, my family was as normal as any other family, but there were times that I felt lonely, my family was as normal as any other family. But there were times that I felt lonely, like there was this emptiness inside that I couldn't shake. And even with three other divas, I mean siblings, I couldn't make it go away. Every now and then, I would think about my birth mother. Did I look like her?

Did she miss me? Was she even alive? I knew these questions would go unanswered because my adoption papers only had one origin for me, and that was abandoned at birth. So anyways, I grew up, and I had a son. I had no idea I could fall in love with someone so instantly, so fiercely. But what surprised me was his hands,

his nose, his eyes. He looked like me. This was such a foreign thing for me, but it also felt so natural. I had someone I could look at and see myself, but so could he. So years go by, and I don't feel lonely anymore. I have a family of my own to care for, and that was enough for me. It was like all the puzzle pieces just fit. But then in the summer of 2011, when I was 38 years old, I got an email from a lady with an adoption agency. My adoption agency.

She was looking for someone with my name. I felt skeptical. Was this a scam? So I grilled her for more context because none of this made any sense as far as I knew I was abandoned at birth. The lady from the emails was able to tell me that there was family, but she needed to verify that it was really me. So after a battery of emails confirming this and confirming that, we scheduled a call.

The first thing she says is, are you sitting down? Yes. You're not driving a car. No. My heart is pounding so hard right now. What is she going to tell me? She continues, well, good. I'm happy to tell you that you have family from South Korea. They've been

searching for you for years. Your mother is alive and well. I'm so sorry your father passed away from lung cancer. You have two younger brothers and you have a twin sister. The only thing I could say was, oh my god, but in my head I'm screaming, holy shit, I have a twin. I couldn't really talk after that. I was crying. It was the kind of crying that stings your brain, the kind of crying that makes your nostrils feel like you just sucked up a gallon of pool water. The puzzle pieces didn't fit anymore.

You know, to learn this late in life, it made me sad. It made me sad that I missed all these years without my twin. So shortly after the call, the lady from the email forwards two letters from my birth mother and my twin. They both echo the same sentiment. I have missed you. I thought of my son at that moment. When he was born, the instinct to keep him close to protect him was as easy as breathing. I remember once he asked me what true love was, and I told him for me,

it's when I die for it. I can't imagine anyone giving up their baby, but if they had to, it must have felt like dying. So it turns out, okay stay with me here because it's kind of confusing, but so it turns out that my birth father's older sister who would be my aunt was the one who insisted that I go to an orphanage. In fact she's the one that took me there. You see, in Korea, you obey your elders, and my aunt was the matriarch of the family. So I would be the secret nobody was supposed to know about, not even my twin.

A reunion was arranged two months later at the corporate headquarters in Tulsa, Oklahoma. My birth mother and her second husband were coming along with my twin and her family. My parents couldn't make it so I took myself, my son, and two of my closest friends. On the day of the reunion we drive to the adoption agency. The lady from the emails is waiting, and so is my Korean family, but they're tucked away in a conference room.

It felt like I was on some kind of game show where nobody is allowed to see each other until the big reveal. The lady from the emails ushers my two friends into the conference room first, and then she tells me and my son to wait a few minutes before we enter. I turn a brass handle, and I open a conference room door. At first it's so quiet in there, and then I heard gasps. Suddenly two women are running towards me, arms outstretched with tears in their eyes,

and the only thing I can do is put my hand over my heart as if to anchor it. As soon as I saw my twin I gravitated towards her. It was crazy looking at her. It was like looking at a stranger but with my face. We shared the same features, the same hand gestures, even the same laugh. She was the spitting image of me, well with less makeup. And you know, even though we just met, she felt like home, she felt familiar. The first words my birth mother said to me were, miyeonhae, which means I'm sorry in Korean. And then she says, sseolonge, which means, I love you in Korean. After that, she turns to my twin and tells her that she loves her too.

We spent a few hours in that conference room. There was a translator in there to help us communicate because my twin, she could speak a little English, not a lot and my birth mother knew none. I would learn to call my birth mother Oma and my birth father Appa. I also learned my twins first name, Jinhee. I think this this reunion was was healing for my family, my Korean family. Like it gave them a sense of closure. But especially for Jinhee. You see, when Oma turned to my twin and told her that she loved her,

that was the first time Jinhee had ever heard those words. Because my birth mother, Oma, didn't feel right telling one twin that she loved her without telling the other one. And that broke my heart because I already felt protective of my twin, Jenny. And here's the thing that I've learned about family. My family here taught me that you don't need blood to feel connected. And my family in Korea taught me that you don't need blood to feel connected. And my family in Korea taught me just how much culture and resilience is in my blood. I have visited South Korea three times.

On one of those visits, I spent the day with my twin. It was late afternoon, and we're sitting next to each other on the rooftop of her high-rise apartment building. Nothing is set up first. We just sit there, watching a lavender and gold sky wilt into the ground. It was almost as if it was grieving for all those yesterdays. Then my twin turns to me and whispers, I wish we could have grown up together. And it was at that moment that I imagined us in another reality. We're sitting on the rooftop watching the sunset, but this time we're little girls. And I think about that because really we're little girls. And I think about that because really when you you really when you think about it we still have so much time to grow up together. Thank you.

Kat Powell Hoffman is a writer from the Pacific Northwest, and she's currently working on a book of essays about adoption, love, midlife, family, and retail sales. We asked Kat if she had learned any more about why she was placed for adoption. She said she heard a rumor that it was a cultural superstition in the 70s that twins were bad luck, but she hopes she'll learn more details in time. Kat said her favorite memories of her biological family are with her birth mother. She wrote, The first time we shared a meal together, she hand-fed me.

The first time I showered in her home, she combed my wet hair afterward and then ran a blow dryer over it. She was recreating moments she never got to have with me before. To see a picture of Kat with her mom and twin sister, visit themoth.org where you can also download the story or pitch one of your own. In a moment, a music producer makes it big, sort of, when the Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX. You're listening to the Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Michelle Jalosky.

A few weeks ago, a friend asked if she could set me up on a blind date. She had a feeling about this guy. I said okay, she gave him my number, we texted and made a date. She had asked if I wanted his full name so I could Google him or if I wanted a picture and I said no. Because I figured why not go all in? As a veteran of the online dating world and the IRL dating world before that, I haven't gone into a date not knowing what someone will look like, maybe ever.

And it's fun. The anticipation of a small surprise is kind of the best part of a surprise. A little bit of drama without any of the stakes. I'm meeting him next Friday. Wish me luck. Not all surprises allow you time for anticipation, though. Like in the case of our next storyteller, Paul Chin. He told this story at a main stage in Canada where we partner with the Toronto International Festival of Authors. Here's Paul.

So I've been making music my whole life. I'm a music producer and DJ. So a few years ago, I was really kind of unmoored professionally. I was, you know, kind of just over the cycle of making and releasing music into what felt like a void. But at the same time, I was still working a day job as a software designer that I had really come to resent. And so I knew I needed to make a change.

My thinking was this. I'm going to try to make one more EP, and I I'm gonna try to get to a place where I can quit my job so I can push this new music And really give it my all and see if I can make something happen and if I couldn't then I would know for sure You know, maybe it's time to hang this up So this is the plan 2019 I'm committing every single day toward finishing this music I'm coming home from my job and I'm sitting down at the computer and I'm scrolling through thousands of snare drum samples because invariably the one that I picked last

time is always wrong and and I'm tracking all of my friends schedules like I'm their manager because I need to know when who is available to come over and record next and I'm it's the middle of the night and I'm on the dining room floor with a fog machine, a projector and a camera on a tripod because I'm shooting the album art, right? I titled this EP Full Spectrum and it's not just because I'm putting in all of my you know musical influences and everything I love into you know all these new original songs, but because all of my creative ambitions rest on this thing. I'm giving it my all and everything comes out perfect.

Incredible music, you should listen to it. And it's ready to go. Full spectrum coming to all music marketplaces and streaming services, March 20th, 2020. So you probably remember where you were in March 2020, right? Here's where I was. I'm in my living room and I'm rehearsing because I have a performance the next day to follow an interview with George

Strombolopoulos. And then I get the text. And it's, hey, looks like this lockdown thing is really gonna happen. So George needs to reschedule so he can take care of some stuff. And then the rest of the texts come. And then my release show is canceled.

And before I know it, I'm just spending all my time and money rewiring my house to be some kind of DIY broadcast studio except nobody can figure out how to log into Twitch or Zoom for these live stream concerts. And it doesn't even matter anyway, cause like who's checking for hot new music right now? It's a pandemic going on and none of us know anything. And we just want to know when we can go outside again. And then two weeks turns into four weeks, four weeks turns into three months, three

months stretches on into infinity. So one night I'm just lying in bed doom scrolling as you do and there's this tweet that's like all up in my timeline. I'm seeing it a lot. A lot of people are confused or angry or whatever. And it is a link to an op-ed at a very big music website. And it's titled, BTS and their fan army are rendering the pop charts useless. Now, I'm not connected to K-pop in any way, shape or form, but I'm very curious as to what this could possibly mean.

So I click through to read it. And the crux of the argument is simply this. Korean boy band and pop sensation BTS, they have a new single out. It's titled Butter. It's number one on the charts. Which is not proof that it's the most popular song, only proof that the BTS fans, affectionately known as BTS ARMY, have bought the most copies. Now a normal person might think those are the same thing. The editor who wrote

this article on the other hand is making the argument that no it's not the same thing because you see what's happening is BTS ARMY there's a conspiracy going on and they are talking to each other and they're conspiring to manipulate these charts and it's not even really that popular and I don't believe it. So I have never listened to a BTS song I've not heard this song but what I have done is just come off a 600-day bender where I've just been doing everything in my power to try and get anybody to press play on my music. It's very difficult. It's humiliating.

And I'm immensely grateful to anybody who does so, or buys a record, or buys a shirt, or tells another human person that my music exists. And so, to have this guy, an authority in music discourse, log on to say with his whole chest that people who do this are in some way a threat to the sanctity of a glorified spreadsheet, I'm ready to fight. So I tweeted him. I don't even expect him to respond because why would he? But he responds immediately and I'm like okay let's go

what do you got? Explain yourself. And he's just kind of talking in circles. He doesn't really have any real better arguments or any insight into this. He's just kind of like doing that thing internet guys do where he's like just trust me bro I'm an expert and I'm okay, but it doesn't sound like you are because why are you talking about this? And we're not talking about the actual ways a lot of Western artists manipulate charts and have been doing so for decades, right? Why are we not talking about Paola or merch bundles or forcibly downloading you two albums onto everyone's phones and He's got nothing and so he just stops responding and

I tweet a little bit more about this, but it's already been a half hour. It's after midnight. So I'm going to bed The next morning I pick up my phone to turn off my alarm and look at the screen and it's just floor-to-ceiling notifications. What is all of this about? So I click through to Twitter to see what's going on and I can't even make sense of it because apparently this has been going on all night, but there's just a barrage of purple hearts and fire emojis and I don't really know what any of it means and then it dawns on me BTS Army has been watching. They saw the whole thing happen last night and all night

while I slept they were circulating my responses and looking into me and it's just a bunch of who is this Toronto DJ defending BTS Army out of nowhere, and Go Off King, and I've become a folk hero overnight. But it's more than just talking about me, because that was happening, and it was happening even in my circles too. My friends were sending me messages, congratulating me on becoming the eighth member of the band. One of my childhood friends, she sends me a screen

cap of her group chat with her sisters wherein one of them asks, why is everyone in BTS Army talking about Paul? And it's more than that though, like that's happening, but beyond that they found my music and they're looking it up and I'm being sent DMs of people's BTS playlists with my songs interspersed within. This one is saying hey you should go listen to Take It or Leave It because Desiree's vocals immaculate. This one is telling another one I really love Slow Wine because I'm really feeling this futuristic dancehall thing and I don't even have to explain my music to anyone because they're doing it for me and it's sick so

This just kind of goes on and on for months and now I'm like wait a second I should probably listen to butter because I think it's now the most important song in the world to me and The verdict is it rules of course it was number one. What are you talking about? But this goes on for months and we're like hanging out online and we're talking to each other and I'm getting to know them. I find out that you know this happens a lot to BTS Army. They're for whatever reason so often the victims of this like weird, snobbish persecution. Don't know what it is, but it sucks. And they're also learning about me.

And they're very sympathetic to the fact that I, as a developing artist, who is like really, again, just so lost right now, have just torpedoed all chance of ever appearing in this major music publication because I stood up for them. And they're really kind about it. So the next time I actually can get out and play shows, I'm sitting at the merch table as I do after a set. And this woman comes up to me and introduces herself. She's one of these purple heart handles that I've been talking to for months and she says to me, you know, I was already thinking of coming to the show, but as soon as I saw they added you to the lineup, I knew I had to come so that I could come and meet you.

And then she buys a record and it's all very sweet. So for the first time after all of this has been going on for months, I'm like really taking stock of what is happening, what am I doing? And when I was done pushing full spectrum, I really thought, I don't know if I should make another record after this. But now I've got thousands of new fans and they're all asking, when's the next one coming? And so there's truly no way I can't. And, you know, I actually feel confident about that. I feel confident in my decision to be like, all right, you want it, let's do it,

because I, you know, I actually know where my music belongs now. It belongs amongst these kind-hearted internet strangers who send me kind messages and buy my music and love the weird, adventurous stuff that I'm trying to put out there and comes out of my soul, as much as they love a summer pop banger and I still have a really hard time explaining like what my music sounds

like to people but if you hit my profiles on any streaming service they'll all tell you one thing they'll tell you one thing if you like BTS you might also like Paul Chin. Thank you so much. That was Paul Chin. Paul makes electronic music that runs the gamut in its influences, and he has an insatiable appetite for records that come with good stories. He's writing a new album and working on launching a label to put out more remarkable music that deserves to find its audience.

You're listening to some of his music right now, and you can find out more about Paul on our website, TheMoth.org. Moth.org. Do you have a story to tell us? You can pitch us your story by recording it right on our site or call 877-799-M-O-T-H. That's 877-799-6684. The best pitches are developed for Moth shows all around the world. Coming up next, a woman helps her partner throw the ultimate goodbye party when the But you'll find, and you'll find it in my slow wine Slow wine, slow wine

Oh, wanna hold you behind me forever and make you mine When you're grinding on my slow wine When you're grinding on my slow wine Dance, all our clothes but the ride's not good done Wanna take you home, make you rise like the sun Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy You say it's just a dance but you know I'm not true You rise like the sun, eh, eh You say it's just a dance, but you know I'm not true If I take you home, better know I take you home

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX. You're listening to the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Michelle Jalowski. Sometimes, no matter how much time you have to anticipate or how certain you are of an outcome, there's no way to emotionally prepare yourself for what's to come. Our final storyteller, Kelly Dunham, knows that better than most. She told her story at a main stage in Grand Rapids where we partnered with Michigan Radio and GLC live at 20 Monroe. Here's Kelly live at the mall.

I met Heather McAllister when she was performing burlesque and I was performing comedy at the Newark Airport Ramada Inn. It was a queer conference, of course, and I had just dropped all my handouts for my – it was 2005, we still used handouts – for the subverting the rigid gender binary workshop. I just strewn them all over the lobby and I was very busy shooing away people who were trying to assist. I did not need help picking up a bunch of pieces of paper. And then, like something out of a 90s rom-com, this beautiful tall woman appeared in front of me wearing

black tights and an orange flowered skirt. And she said, hey, let people help you. People like to help. I am from a stoic Germanic rural Midwestern farm family. Any complaint to my father was met with most people are just about as happy as their makeup their minds they're gonna be. This was a quote he alternately attributed to Dale Carnegie, Winston Churchill, and in at least one instance Abraham Lincoln. If you so much as said ouch in response to some painful stimuli that could merit a three-hour lecture on the perils of the emotional outburst. So this was excellent training for learning how to be a tough guy. I really appreciate it in that way. But it was very poor training for learning how to

accept help. So there I was on a random Saturday afternoon slash evening with this random but beautiful woman trying to subvert my entire worldview. But then she said, all soft and sweet in my ear, accepting help is hot. Five hours and much sexy time later, Heather kicked me out of her hotel room because she said she needed her beauty sleep. I thought I had such great game.

I was like, well, I was just wondering if burlesque queens wake up with glittery lips. She said, maybe if you're lucky and you stick around, you'll find out. So the next morning, Heather returned to her home on the West Coast, and I returned to Philadelphia. And we did stick around as much as you can when you live 3,000 miles apart. And we built a relationship with visits and phone calls and so much AOL instant messenger.

And no real particular sense of urgency. Now, our first full weekend together, Heather had told me that she had a history of cancer. But the way she talked about it seemed like, you know, just that, ancient history. Four months into our relationship, the ovarian cancer that had been in remission returned. And she got sick bit by bit and then all at once. And we were still having late night phone conversations. But now it was about chemo and side effects and what makes life worth living and worth fighting for.

And Heather had great support where she was, but it became clear if we were gonna live together, it should be sooner, because there might not be a later. I was working as a nurse at the time, and so I gave notice at my job and packed up for a move to the West Coast. This was not a hard decision. If somebody you love is dying, and they have logistical needs that can be met by somebody with your skill set and heart set and mindset, what other choice is there?

Heather and I moved in together into a converted Hare Krishna temple. Mm, partly converted Hare Krishna temple. The Hare Krishnas had left. That we found on the Portland, Oregon apartments for our Craigslist. We called it the castle because it was huge and also extremely drafty. And every available surface inside and out was either painted bright purple or gold. And we built a life there. And we even saved our pennies for a trip to the healing waters of Lourdes, France. We were not sure how ironic we were being, but we were both lapsed Catholics,

and we figured, eh, it's good to cover all the bases. We made out in the grotto where Mary first appeared to St. Bernadette. By the end of that year, the cancer which, for a little bit, the chemo stopped working, and the cancer which for a little bit had been in the background, it became the focus again. And Heather, she was so sick and she couldn't eat, and we spent so many nights up all night in pain crises that even our attentive and skillful hospice nurses couldn't resolve. One day in early January, I was at the grocery store and I called Heather and asked if I could bring her anything. She said, yeah, how about a quarter pound

of the will to live? I took a deep breath and I said, oh honey, I met Trader Joe's and you know how they are. I met Trader Joe's and you know how they are. They only had organic and now they're all out. She's like, damn, I had a coupon. Three weeks later I was soundly asleep, soundly asleep. And Heather woke me up shaking me, you have to accept help, you have to accept help. I was sleepy and confused.

Did she mean like the next day when we had people over for dinner, I was supposed to like let them do the dishes or something? But then I noticed she was fully dressed. She had on a skirt and a hat and her signature red feather boa. And she was like, this is an important conversation.

When I'm dead, you have to accept help. And then to punctuate this point, she just kept poking me, you have to accept help. You have to accept help. You have promised you'll accept help. And I squirmed away because of the poking. But she was relentless and finally I agreed. When someone you love is dying, you say yes a lot. Assisted suicide is legal in Oregon and Heather had already made plans to talk with Barbara

Glidemore, the official liaison to the process. And we all huddled around a conference table in a room, a secluded room in the hospital where Heather got care. And Barbara Glidemore explained, now this isn't a process for everyone. This is a process for whom, for a patient for whom maintaining control is paramount. Now Heather had mentioned before I moved out, she had mentioned assisted suicide to me, she wanted to know if it got bad like that, that I wouldn't oppose her. But it had seemed

theoretical then. With this information, I mean, Heather was a boss, and she was the boss. I called her my queen, and that was lovingly, not facetiously. Heather of all people was a patient for whom maintaining control was paramount. Things just got really real. So the process for assisted suicide, of course, it's America, you have to do a bunch of paperwork, and then you have to make two written requests and one oral request, and then you have to find a doctor who will write a prescription for the lethal medication, and then you have to find a pharmacist who will fill that prescription.

And then once you've done all that, you just kind of activate the sequence when you're ready. It actually is pretty complicated. A lot of people who begin the process don't complete it, and even many people who complete the process never actually use the medication. But Heather had other plans. One night in early February, I was sleeping curled up against her, and I heard her talking on the phone,

OK, you got to come, it's tomorrow, I'm doing it tomorrow. I waited until she was finished with the phone conversation, I said, you know, when a person decides they're going to use assisted suicide to end their life, they're supposed to tell the person in bed with them before they tell the rest of the world. She said, oh, damn, I forgot that was a procedure. And then we just shared a long kiss and didn't talk about it anymore. Because when you're enjoying a kiss, you don't stop to think about the fact that the person you love most in the world is going to be gone from you forever soon.

You just enjoy the hot kiss. It was overly ambitious to think it was going to be the next day, whether you're renewing your driver's license at the DMV or filing an application to end your life, bureaucracy can only be rushed so much. But she was ready and the waiting was hard. By 7.30 a.m., the next Tuesday, everything was in place and Heather wanted to die surrounded by love and so three quarters of queer Portland was at our house. Let's see, there was one of Heather's friends

had flown from San Francisco for the occasion and another friend showed up precisely at 8.02 a.m. wearing thigh high leather boots for the occasion. Heather's exes were there, all of Heather's exes were there. for the occasion. Heather's exes were there. All of Heather's exes were there. As well as her biological sisters. The radical fairies came in and out, bringing with them the smell of patchouli and body odor. And giving all of us as many hugs and as much reiki as we wanted.

Also present was Portland's own liaison to the assisted suicide process, Barbara Gliedemar. And she sat on our purple leopard print couch in her Ann Taylor suit and full face makeup, looking to her great credit as if this was all very customary, and this was the third partly converted Hare Krishna temple full of queer freaks she had been to just that morning. We all alternately held it together and lost it. The pot had smoked a lot of pot. I drank my own weight and died a mountain dew.

And when the time came closer, Heather pulled each of us behind a curtain around her bed for a private goodbye and some snuggling, and also, because it was Heather, to give us some advice about how we should run our life. For me, she said, of course, that I should learn how to accept help, and then she also told me that I should start trying on my clothes before I buy them. Something about them fitting better that way. At Heather's request, I drew up the IV anti-nausea medication that she would need to keep down the lethal dose of

oral medication. As I was doing that, I started to sing the Snoopy song. We associated it with happier times, but my voice was shaking. She said, you know you're doing that for you, right? You know I'm okay? Heather's friend, Kina, had bravely offered to mix up the lethal combination. As I handed the spoon to Kina, I was like, oh my God, this has to work or she is definitely going to kill us.

So Kina and I went behind the curtain. Kina handed the bowl of pudding and medication to Heather. She ate it and she died. It was terrible. And even though every moment of her death had been planned, I was still surprised. I was still surprised. I was surprised by how gone she felt and how alone I felt. I sat beside her and cried a little bit by myself.

And then I heard out beyond the curtain, I heard our friends talking and crying. And I thought about what I had promised Heather. And I thought about how she lived her life. And so I took my pillow, my Snoopy pillow, and slid it underneath her head. And I kissed her softly on the cheek. And I said, let people help you, Kelly. People like to help.

And I walked out beyond the curtain into a big, huge queer hug into the arms of people who loved me and yeah very much wanted to help. Thank you. Kelly Dunham is a comedian and a nurse, often both at the same time. She is the author of seven hilarious books about non-hilarious topics like puberty, grief, and death, and she's in an open relationship with the city of New York. I asked Kelly if she's still in touch with the people who were there with her and Heather that day. She wrote,

Everywhere I go, I run into people who knew and loved Heather. I always say that Heather's love troopers, that's what she called her extended care group, were my lasting inheritance. These days, a lot of the work Kelly does is teaching people in the helping professions about learning to accept assistance and support, and she has a live show called Second Helping about this very thing. To find out more about Kelly and her work, and to see a picture of Heather and her signature feather boa, visit themoth.org.

You can share these stories or others from the Moth Archive and buy tickets to Moth's storytelling events in your area through our website, themoth.org. There are Moth events year-round. Find a show near you and come out to tell a story. And find us on social media too. We're on Facebook and X at The Moth and on Instagram and TikTok at Moth Stories. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time.

And that's the story from the Moth. This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, and Michelle Jalowski, who hosted and directed the stories in the show, along with Chloe Salmon. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, associate producer Emily Couch. The rest of Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Sarah Austin-Ginness, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Cluchet, Leanne Gulley, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Casa. Most stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers.

Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Guthrie Trapp, Teerta Gundarba, Jerry Douglas, Russ Barenberg and Edgar Meyer, Paul Chin and Vince Guaraldi. We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, which we always hope you'll do, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org. You