A Transgender Homage to Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life

It’s better than a dog’s life

I wrote this a year ago and I wanted to re-publish it in the spirit of the holidays for the hope it brings with my dream that suicides among transgender people becomes a sad memory of a world that has finally passed.

Thomas stood on the railing of the pedestrian bridge. It was dark. No one was around. It was quiet except for the gurgling sound of the churning, frigid water below.

Thomas continued to stare into the darkness of the water below. He felt outer edge as he slowly pushed his feet further off the rail. Moments earlier he desperately prayed that someone, anyone would stop him.

No one answered his prayer.

Earlier that day he had finally admitted to his wife and to himself that he needed to transition. It was impossible for his wife to accept. He couldn’t blame her, he had difficulty accepting it himself. His heart tore itself apart as he watched the unbearable pain he had just inflicted on his wife etch across her face.

They had exchanged words, angry, pain-infused words, unfiltered and totally selfish as they both felt their shared world exploded.

Thomas could no longer stay enveloped in their mutual agony. He was being shredded by their silence. He got in their car and just drove away. In his aimless confusion he found himself in the lot of the local park next to the pedestrian bridge over a small stream.

Months earlier Thomas was diagnosed with gender dysphoria. He was transgender. He was dealing with an extreme drive by his subconscious to align his body with his internally wired gender. Simply put, he had a female brain inside his male biological body.

Every diagnosis recommended the same remedy, surgically readjust the body to match the brain. In his heart he agreed and truly wished he could transition but he was battling against a lifetime of male socialization, testosterone and an overwhelming desire to protect wife. 24 hours a day,7 days a week, for months he felt his soul being torn apart by his personal need to transition against his deeply ingrained desire to protect his wife and not shame his family.

At 60 years of age how could he transition? After endless days of turmoil and emotional pain he now stood on the railing of this bridge.

His feet began to inch even closer to the railing edge but before he reached the point of no return, he heard a muffled bark as something or somebody fell into the water.

Thomas could barely make out the image of an elderly dog struggling to keep its head above the water. Without hesitation Thomas leaped into the water to save it.

His body exploded with shock as the frigid water encased his body. He was barely able to move but seeing the struggling dog desperately fighting against the water, Thomas managed to swim to the dog, put his arm around its head and pull them both to the bank of the river.

The dog looked at Thomas with cold, desperate eyes. Thomas knew he needed to act quickly or they would both freeze to death. He got his footing, picked up the dog and carried it to his car. He had left it running, assuming he was never coming back. Once the dog was in the passenger seat, Thomas quickly ran to the driver’s side. He silently praised the heated seats he had selected as an option when he bought the car. Shivering, he cranked up the car’s heat. The dog next to him, shook the water off his fur coat and said, “Well, you certainly took your time getting me out of there!”

In stunned silence, Thomas just looked at the dog.

“Would you mind turning up the heat on my side? I don’t have any thumbs you know.” The dog said with a huff of impatience.

In dumbfounded obedience, Thomas complied still unable to speak himself.

A moment passed and then another. The dog had turned to the heater blower and moved his head back and forth using it as a blow dryer.

Finally, with a slight growl of satisfaction, the dog turned its attention to Thomas.

“Thomas what did you think you would accomplish jumping off that bridge?” said the dog. Finally able to find his ability to speak, Thomas asked the obvious, “You can speak?”. The dog just gave Thomas the look only given to an idiot, shook his fur one more time and said, “Really Thomas, that’s the best you can do?”

Admittedly, given a moment to think, he had to agree with the dog but after the emotional pain with his wife, recent suicidal thoughts and actions and finally a cold dunking in a frigid river, Thomas wasn’t ready to contend with a talking dog.

But Thomas rallied. He turned to the dog and asked, “Why did you jump into the river?”

The dog cocked its head, looked Thomas in the eye with an obvious look of forbearance and said, “Because, Thomas, you were about to commit suicide.”

Thomas was again speechless. He thought back to the moment before the dog had jumped and realized, the dog beat him to it by jumping first.

The dog’s look softened a bit. “Thomas, I knew you would jump in to save me.”

Finally accepting that the dog could talk, Thomas sat back in his seat, his mind finally defrosting from the cold and emotional overload. The talking dog concept still didn’t help his re-awakening rational mind.

“What were you thinking Thomas?” the dog said once it realized that Thomas was starting to think again.

Thomas’s mind began to connect with the painful reality of his life and the internal agony that discovering he was transgender had created.

The dog was aware of the sudden look of distress on Thomas’s face. He turned to more fully face Thomas. He quietly asked Thomas, “What would your death accomplish?”

“I wouldn’t hurt and I wouldn’t hurt my wife and family anymore.” Thomas said softly, almost to himself.

The dog put its paw on Thomas’s shoulder and said with equal softness, “That is just plain stupid.”

Still getting used to a talking dog, it was a stretch for Thomas to accept that he was getting scolded by a dog.

“Thomas you have so much to give others just like you have done all your life. You just risked your life to save a drowning dog. You are quite a human being inside. Who cares what you look like on the outside?”

Thomas thought about what he was being told. The dog was right. He was an idiot. Why should he throw away his life because he was worried about what people thought? If he had jumped, how would that have made his wife’s life any better?

The dog continued to look at Thomas as Thomas continued to process what the dog had asked. The dog saw Thomas’s soul rally back from the dark abyss that it was about to enter. The dog saw the warmth of the car’s engine switch to the warmth of Thomas’s heart. The dog took its paw off Thomas’s shoulder, growled with satisfaction and then it laid down on the seat to let the car’s blower continue to do its job drying his fur.

The dog smiled at Thomas in a “dog’s smile” sort of way and Thomas smiled back. The dog sighed and laid its head in it’s paws and said finally, “Thomas don’t ever be that foolish again. You have a wonderful life; you just need to work things out. Remember it’s better than a dog’s life. You get to use an indoor toilet on a cold winter’s night.”

The dog huffed once more and fell fast asleep.

At that moment there was a frantic rapping at his car window.

It was his wife.

“Where have you been? We have been looking everywhere for you?” she cried. Thomas became aware of the man standing next to his wife. It was his best friend.

Thomas stepped out of his car and hugged his wife. She whispered in his ear, “Never leave me ever again. We are a team.” They continued to hug until Thomas’s wife realized he was soaking wet. She looked at him with questioning eyes.

Thomas shrugged and answered, “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it later. Let’s go home.”

The friend then chimed in, “Where did you get the dog?” The dog opened one eye and looked at Thomas.

Thomas just smiled and said simply, “We just met in the river.”

THE END

Writers note: I was feeling very depressed on the day I wrote this. The drive to transition, the ache of gender dysphoria and the painful recognition that I am putting my entire life and loving relationships at risk, particularly during Christmas time, took me down a very dark hole. I wrote this to cheer me up. I hope you enjoyed it.

I constantly think of all of the transgender people who try to commit suicide and those that sadly succeed every year and I felt an obligation to not waste my life and to not surrender the joys of living it.

I would like to dedicate this to my transgender friends and the LGBTQ community. The warmth of these collective hearts have kept me off the bridge.

Happy holidays and never give up hope,

Emma Holiday

Thank you for reading my work.

Please also read:

Writers note: If you have read any of my writings on Medium you will have noticed a definite theme: the incredible pain of gender dysphoria and all the difficult aspects of just being transgender.

My writing has three specific goals:

1. Writing is my therapy. I have a very limited outlet for my thoughts so I write to find a way to process the most profound experience in my life. I need to understand and I need to accept myself to move forward.

2. Being transgender, for me, is a very lonely existence and if I can share some of the things that I feel and think as I go through the process of transitioning with others who are transgender and, in some way, lessen their pain and sense of loneliness, then all of this public exposure of my personal thoughts is not a waste.

3. I write to help cisgender people understand that all trans people want is to be simply understood, accepted and treated as a normal person. We are.