LGBTQ+ Spouses Share Their Journey Back from Loss: ‘There’s Got To Be Something Here For Me’
Barren, dark, and sedentary, the winter months can be emotionally challenging in general, and worse for LGBTQ+ people coping with the loss of a partner. One less table setting, one less gift under the tree,—the season can be filled with stark reminders of absence, at times made worse by a community that may accept but not necessarily embrace same-sex marriage. Surviving spouses can face invisibility among friends and even family that deny the nature of their relationship with the deceased—the “roommate” or “special friend” syndrome—or may find themselves feeling uncomfortable in hetero-centric grief counseling settings.
And yet the winter months, with their emphasis on togetherness and intimacy, can be exactly when LGBTQ+ people coping with grief need the most support. The Reckoning sat down with two community members navigating the loss of a longtime spouse. From rediscovering romance to awakening the author within, each man has used their own set of unique tools to navigate through the darkness, offering words of hope for others on the path out of their own personal winter.
A Chance Encounter, A Lifetime of Love: Dwayne and Pierre
The end of the 22-year love story between Dwayne Cox and Pierre Dickson Cox was no surprise: Weakened by colorectal cancer, the once-dynamic minister could scarcely walk or talk in the months leading up to his August 2020 death. Yet the day it happened, for Dwayne was unimaginable.
“I went completely numb,” says Dwayne, who chokes up, telling his story. “It felt like, at times, an out-of-body experience.”
Nearly two years later, Dwayne has found his way back to joy - but only after a “come to Jesus” moment that forced him to stare down his grief. At 46, he’s writing a book designed to help same-gender spouses cope with loss, due out this year.
“[It’s] something we can readily access that’s going to talk to us in our language to get us where we need to be,” he says. “I feel like that is the purpose from my pain.”
The couple’s love story started one night in 1998. Dwayne, then a shy student who was new to the Atlanta gay scene, spotted an alluring stranger in a nightclub. In a moment of boldness, he approached.
“I never had enough gumption to approach anyone,” he says. “But I approached him.”
A whirlwind of dating followed, and within months, he’d moved in with Pierre and a roommate sharing a one-bedroom apartment.
“I was sleeping on the floor with this man in someone else’s apartment paying $125 a week,” he says, laughing. “That’s when I realized it was serious.”
Linked by an undeniable chemistry, the pair followed a fast track, progressing to their own apartment, pets, and around 2002, a brand new home in Jonesboro. Also, around that time, they encountered their first true hurdle as a couple: Pierre was diagnosed with HIV.
“I burst into tears,” says Dwayne, who tested negative, but worried how they would move forward. “We had a period of time where we had to dig down deep and figure out how to be in a relationship together and still have that romantic connection.”
While the condition would bring its challenges—at one point, Pierre’s T-cell count dropped to just 10—the couple thrived. By 2013, Dwayne and Pierre had settled into a cozy middle-class life, even joining an LGBTQ+ friendly church where Dwayne used his accounting acumen to help behind the scenes. That’s when the ever-industrious Pierre had an idea: What if they started their own church?
“I was like, I don’t want to start a church,” Dwayne recalls with a chuckle. “I’m just doing the envelopes. Do you know how much work it takes to start a church!”
Yet, pulled by his unwavering commitment to Pierre, Dwayne got on board and House of Mercy Everlasting was born. The congregation was small but growing when Pierre noticed a troubling health symptom. What followed was another doctor’s visit, another test, and another devastating diagnosis.
“It came back as colon cancer,” Dwayne says. “The doctors came up with this really aggressive treatment of chemotherapy and radiation.”
Through it all, Dwayne didn’t worry. After all, he’d seen Pierre survive the depths of HIV and after a few months of treatment, his cancer did go into remission. Yet just as the couple collectively exhaled, cancer returned—wider spread and harder to get rid of. By January 2020 Pierre was losing the ability to walk, talk and eventually even breathe without assistance.
During one particularly tough doctor’s visit, Dwayne recalls doctors asking Pierre if he wanted a Do Not Resuscitate order, should he go into an acute medical emergency.
“He said I want to be resuscitated, I want to live,” he says. “I remember them wheeling him down the hall saying I want to live.”
That memory would later help save Dwayne’s own life.
“Grief is the most populated, yet the most lonely place you can be. You feel like you’re the only person going through this in the entire world.”
- Dwayne Cox
It was December 2020. Pierre, age 45, had died at home in August, surrounded by family and friends; his body was dressed in his pastoral robes, viewed and cremated, all according to his wishes. Life had moved on for everyone except Dwayne.
Instead, he was frozen in time, self-isolating and barely interacting with life around him.
“Grief is the most populated, yet the most lonely place you can be,” he says. “You feel like you’re the only person going through this in the entire world.”
Angry at everyone and everything, Dwayne says he received insult on top of injury when, just before Christmas, his dog started dying. It was a breaking point.
“Something in me was like either you’re going to give up or you’re going to progress and live,” he says. “It took me back to when Pierre was in the hospital that last time and he said, I want to live.”
“Get the counseling. All the God and Jesus and amens in the world is one thing. But there comes a point of time in your life where you have to act to save your life.”
Dwayne found a counselor—a woman with her wife, who could understand and respect his relationship. Gradually, he began to emerge. These days, he focuses his energy on writing his book and has even found a new love.
But Pierre—and the dark place Dwayne went after his death—is never far from mind. He urges those facing the death of a partner to talk to someone who cares.
“Get the counseling,” he says. “All the God and Jesus and amens in the world is one thing. But there comes a point of time in your life where you have to act to save your life.”
Against The Odds: David and Tre’Darrius
Making a relationship last as a Black, gay man can be daunting enough. Now add to that being a teenager with the media covering your every move. These were the circumstances facing Memphis, Tenn. partners David Harris and Tre’Darrius Anderson, then 19, when they became among the nation's youngest married gay couples back in 2013.
The stakes would rise yet again just a few years later when Anderson died unexpectedly in fall 2017.
Suddenly left without the partner and friend he’d both loved and come of age with, Harris was stuck trying to maintain the legacy the pair created while figuring out how to rebound from his grief.
Nearly five years later, he’s still finding his way.
“I can say I’m happy, I’m not sad,” says Harris, who struggled with excessive drinking and partying before coming to terms with the loss. “He would have wanted that.”
Like any respectable millennials, Harris and Anderson met online. It was 2012, and the teens had struck up a friendly relationship on Twitter. They decided to meet in person and their first love was quickly born.
“It took off like a rocket,” Harris says. “We grew together, cried together, we made a life together.”
They even came out together - a big deal in a Bible Belt city that isn't exactly a gay haven.
“We knew that wasn’t going to be a good outcome,” he says. “We posted a picture on Instagram, and we were kissing. That kind of brought us out to our high school friends. It was like a big thing.”
The picture gained them surprising support from friends and expected consternation from family, he says. Instagram would play another big role in their lives when the teens saw a viral video purporting to show two Black Kentucky men getting married.
“That inspired us, and then from there, we were just ready to make that big step,” Harris says.
The pair’s social media account eventually grabbed the attention of a TV producer. Before long, the men were on a bus to Washington DC—then among the only places allowing legal gay marriage—to wed in front of the Lincoln Memorial.
They’d been together for just under two years. But when you know, you know, Harris says.
“When he read his vows to me and cried and really looked me in my eyes, it really woke me up that I really love this guy,” he says, recalling the ceremony, later featured in an episode of a Canadian reality show, My Teenage Gay Wedding.
“When he read his vows to me and cried and really looked me in my eyes, it really woke me up that I really love this guy.”
- David Harris
“We got on a lot of podcasts and awards and spoke at a couple of conferences. We did a convention, we did a keynote,” he says. “It was huge.”
Once the media hubbub died down, however, the men returned to a simple life in Memphis, settling in the Whitehaven area of town and working entry-level jobs.
A few years in, growing pains arrived. There was the pressure from work and bills, Harris says. Anderson, meanwhile, was quietly battling skin cancer, enduring chemotherapy meant to save his life. It was all too much.
By summer 2017, the men had separated.
“We weren’t seeing eye to eye, like, the last couple of months,” says Harris, adding they reunited right before his husband’s sudden death. “Universe just led me back home,” Harris says, wistfully.
It was Nov. 2, 2017, when Harris says his husband woke up feeling out of sorts. By nightfall, Anderson asked Harris to call an ambulance and immediately went into what looked like a seizure. Harris called 911 and soon found himself standing outside an emergency room door, watching as doctors frantically tried to revive Anderson. Then the commotion stopped.
“They said the time, and that was it,” says Harris, who went home, flopped onto his bed, and checked out. “I just laid there. That was it for a couple of days.”
In the aftermath, Harris was reluctantly shoved into the role of organizer, handling everything from financing the funeral services to choosing his husband’s homegoing outfit—all blue, Anderson’s favorite color.
The family that had once rejected the pair came together. Media reported on the death. For a while, there was a bit of buzz. Then, as before, Harris found himself having to return to regular life. Only this time, he was alone.
“It was like I was left here unprepared,” he says. “I just tuned everything out and just put myself in rotation.”
“Rotation” meant partying, drinking, and hanging out with “the wrong people,” he says. A conversation with a would-be mentor eventually got him back on track.
“Self-love before anything. Don’t get out here and get lost and too deep into a depression where you can’t recover. I just have faith. I know there’s got to be something here for me.”
- David Harris
“He was basically telling me to wake up. You are a pioneer,” Harris says. “You need to get out here and keep telling your story and stand for something in your life… people still love you.”
Now 28, Harris can say he has come a long way. He’s dabbling in fashion sponsorships and may have some TV work on the horizon. Like Dwayne Cox, he’s writing a book about his story, and also, like Cox, he has found a new love.
He still thinks about Anderson often. Only now he directs some of the love he held for Anderson to himself.
“Self-love before anything. Don’t get out here and get lost and too deep into a depression where you can’t recover,” he says. “I just have faith. I know there’s got to be something here for me.”
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Dionne Walker-Bing is an Atlanta-based reporter with over a decade of experience. Walker offers a distinct voice and unique skill for capturing the stories of diverse communities, perfected while writing for The Associated Press, The Capital-Gazette (Annapolis), and a variety of other daily publications throughout the Southeast. When she’s not writing features, Walker is busy traveling, crafting, or perfecting her vinyasa yoga skills.