I didn’t think I’d ever have to say this out loud, but here we are: they buried her as a man.
Not just in paperwork. Not just in some quiet clerical mistake. In the obituary. In the service. In the way people spoke about her like the woman I knew never existed.
And the hardest part? It didn’t have to happen.
My friend was a transgender woman. She lived her life openly, authentically, and with more courage than most people ever have to find. Her chosen name was the one we all used. Her identity wasn’t a question in our circle—it was a fact. It was her truth.
But when she passed, everything shifted.
Because legally, the people in charge weren’t the ones who knew her best. They were her biological family—the same people who struggled to accept her while she was alive. And when the decisions mattered most, they reverted to who they believed she was, not who she actually was.
They used her deadname. They used the wrong pronouns. They dressed her in clothes she would never have chosen. And yes, they buried her as a man.
There was nothing we could do.
No legal documents. No written directives. No one officially designated to step in and say, “This is not who she was.”
That’s the part people don’t understand when they talk about planning like it’s optional. For some communities, it is. For ours, it isn’t.
When You Don’t Plan, Someone Else Decides
We like to think that love and proximity matter most—that the people closest to you will be the ones making decisions if something happens. But that’s not how the system works.
Without a will, without a healthcare proxy, without clear legal instructions, everything defaults to next of kin. And that means biology over reality. Paper over truth.
Even after the progress of Obergefell v. Hodges, those protections don’t cover everyone. Not every LGBTQ+ person is married. Not every family is accepting. Not every relationship fits into a legal box.
And when it doesn’t, the system doesn’t pause to ask who really showed up for you in life.
It just follows the hierarchy.
I’ve Seen What That Looks Like
I’ve seen partners pushed out of hospital rooms because they weren’t legally recognized. Stories like Janice Langbehn aren’t just history—they’re warnings. She was denied the chance to be with her partner in her final moments, despite years together and shared children, because the law didn’t recognize her in that role.
I’ve seen trans people misgendered in death the same way they were disrespected in life, like what happened after the killing of Tony McDade, where advocates had to fight just to have his identity acknowledged correctly.
And I’ve lived through watching my friend’s entire identity get erased in a matter of days.
Life Insurance, Wills, and Preplanning Aren’t Just Paperwork
They’re protection.
Life insurance ensures that the person you love—the one who actually built a life with you—doesn’t get left with nothing while someone who rejected you benefits by default.
A will makes it clear who gets your belongings, who handles your affairs, and who speaks for you when you can’t.
Preplanning—funeral instructions, final wishes, even something as simple as writing down your name and pronouns—makes it harder for anyone to rewrite your story when you’re no longer here to correct them.
Because if you don’t write it down, someone else will.
And they may not write it the way you lived it.
This Isn’t Fear—It’s Reality
I wish I could tell you this is rare. I wish I could say my friend’s story was an exception.
It’s not.
The LGBTQ+ community has always relied on chosen family—friends, partners, people who show up and stay. But chosen family doesn’t hold legal power unless you give it to them.
That’s the uncomfortable truth.
You can have a lifetime of love, and still be shut out in the moments that matter most if it’s not documented.
Don’t Leave It Up to Chance
If you take nothing else from this, take this:
Don’t assume people will “do the right thing.”
Don’t assume your identity will be respected.
Don’t assume your partner will be protected.
Make it official.
Write the will. Assign the power of attorney. Name your beneficiaries. Put your wishes in writing.
Because I stood there and watched someone I loved get erased, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
And if you can prevent that from happening to yourself—or to the people you love—you should.
No hesitation. No delay. Just get it done.
