Jax Gratton Loved And Was Loved, Her Legacy Demands Justice

Jax Gratton ‘s life was celebrated Monday at Highlands United Methodist Church in Denver.

Story and Photos by Giles Clasen

When Jax Gratton was a young child at St. Mary’s Catholic School in Moscow, Idaho, she surprised her mother and grandmother by stepping to the front of the church and reading scripture to her entire school during Mass. 

It was only her second day at the small town's only private school, a school Jax had wanted to attend, and Jax’s mother, Cherilynne Gratton-Camis, sacrificed to afford. 

“She read it like she’d done it a hundred times,” Cherilynne, told the Denver VOICE. “That was Jax. Confident. Brave. Full of presence.”

That was the start of a Catholic faith that lasted Jax's whole life -- a life that was celebrated Monday at Highlands United Methodist Church in Denver, where hundreds gathered to grieve, honor, and celebrate Jax’s life, as well as at a press conference that was held earlier in the day in front of the Denver City and County building. 

The Rosary was also streamed online, allowing family and friends from around the country to join.

Jax was a beloved hairstylist, devoted friend, and fierce advocate, who had been missing since April. Last weekend, her death was confirmed after her body was discovered in Lakewood.

A 34-year-old transgender woman, Jax was a beloved hairstylist, devoted friend, and fierce advocate, who had been missing since April. Last weekend, her death was confirmed after her body was discovered in Lakewood.

The memorial, held at the beginning of Pride month, was a convergence of communities, family, friends, recovery sponsors, faith leaders, elected officials, and fellow advocates, each carrying a piece of Jax forward. 

Mourners sat shoulder-to-shoulder in pews, lined stairways, and filled the balcony. There was grief, anger, prayer, laughter, and unwavering love as friends spoke from a pulpit decorated in Pride rainbow colors.

“Today is not the day for questions," said Z Williams, co-founder of Red Rose Legal Center and a close friend of Jax's. "Today is a day for what we know: Jax Gratton is loved. Jax Gratton is treasured. Jax Gratton is with us. And we will fight for her." 

Nantz Foley, who called herself Jax’s “Denver mom,” spoke about finding Jax through a Google search for a hairdresser, then discovering a friend, a sponsee in recovery, and “an angel.”

Foley found kinship with Jax  in part because she has a trans son. Foley said Jax dyed her hair every color of the rainbow, and Foley reveled in replying to compliments on the colors, saying she wore them in honor of her trans son. 

“She was adorable and annoying, and totally enchanting,” Foley said about Jax. “I’m not going to spend the next year saying I lost her. I’m going to be grateful that I had her.”

The gathering at the church was about more than memories. It was also about the urgent, ongoing fight that the transgender and queer community must engage in, just to survive in today’s America.

Speaker after speaker made it clear that honoring Jax means more than remembrance; it means resistance.

"Jax didn't want to just live for herself," said Brother Ken Unity Keeper. "She wanted to make the world better, safer, kinder, more just for every trans person who has been made to feel invisible or unsafe. She wanted her story, her voice, and her fight to be a beacon, a call to action. Let her legacy be that call."

In a nation where trans people face rising rates of violence, political scapegoating, and barriers to healthcare, the sanctuary became more than a space for mourning. It became a battleground of love, grief, and resolve. Attendees were urged to care for each other, advocate, and reject a culture that treats trans lives as disposable.

Before the service began an SUV slowed as it drove by the church, and an occupant screamed out the open window, "You're all going to burn in hell. I hope this church burns down with you in it."

Parasol Patrol and the Kilted Patroller were at the gathering providing security, and they shielded those entering the memorial with their large rainbow umbrellas. 

Rep. Brianna Titone, Colorado’s first transgender lawmaker, read a statement from Jax’s mother to those gathered.

“She was trans, and she was terrified. Not because of who she was, but because of what the world is becoming,” Titone read. “She saw what so many see, a country sliding backwards. An administration that loudly signals its intent to erase people like hers. To treat trans lives as disposable."

"Jax reminds us that it’s not enough to mourn,” said Unitykeeper. “We must protect one another. We must love louder.”

Letters from Jax’s family, including her mother, father, and siblings lifted a sister who was radiant, hilarious, brave, and relentlessly generous.

Jax was known for undercharging her clients, often giving hours of beauty services to people who couldn't afford them. She offered haircuts to unhoused individuals because, as her mother put it, “everyone deserves to feel beautiful.” 

“She always had one foot in care work,” Cherilynne said. “She was trying to heal people.”

But Jax also carried deep wounds—from addiction, trauma, rejection, and brutal attacks.

Still, she loved deeply and fully. She organized alumni from Rainbow Alley, a safe space for LGBTQ+ youth at the Center on Colfax. She worked at Denver Fashion Week events but skipped the afterparties. She FaceTimed her mother every day, while Cherilynne was being treated for cancer. Jax stayed on the phone for hours, just to make sure her mom was okay.

“She built a community that didn’t cross lines, it erased them,” Cherilynne said. “She brought people together who wouldn’t have known each other otherwise.”

Jax’s death has raised painful questions about the safety of the LGBTQ+ community in Denver and beyond. 

Jax was found in the same clothes she wore when she left home, and her body was uncovered in an area with high foot traffic. Her family is awaiting autopsy results and is raising money for a private autopsy. 

“I just want to know, I want answers,” Cherilynne said. “I don't care if it does come out that she overdosed. I want to know if she was full of terror, or if she just fell asleep.”

The final moments of Monday's memorial were less about grief and more about Jax’s legacy: her laugh, her style, her stubbornness, her kindness, her fight. Friends spoke of her make up and snacks, her sharp tongue, and huge heart. 

Tynk Insy, a longtime friend who met Jax at Rainbow Alley, a safe space for LGBTQ+ youth at the Center on Colfax, offered up a challenge.

“Jax’s story will be heard loudly from this city to every corner of this country,” they said. “Her life mattered.”

Cherilynne is proud that Jax's life will be celebrated once more at a Catholic church, this time in Ireland. Dermot Maguire, a Celtic Priest, offered to do a mass for Jax. 

Her mother said Jax was grateful that Pope Francis had invited the LGBTQ+ community to take communion and opened the door to participation in the church.

"[Father Maguire] is doing a mass for Jax so she can go to heaven because that is what Catholics do, they love," Cherilynne said. "Which is how I got on this whole journey anyway, because we had talked about it several times, and Jax just knew that she would go to Heaven anyway because she was Jax."

“She was a gift,” her mother said. “From the time she was four years old, I knew she was different. And I was proud of her every single day.”

Those gathered Monday participated in reading the Rosary, a Catholic practice of intercessional prayer at funerals.

“I have never heard of a rosary before. And it's not my tradition,” Williams said before the reading. “But this is the tradition of someone that everyone in this room loved. And this is something that she wanted.”

Now Cherilynne and those who loved Jax are focused on the more earthly issue of bringing justice to Jax.

"It wasn't just enough to bring her home," said Onyx Steele, another friend from Rainbow Alley. "Now we need to bring her voice to the forefront. We carry that. So please, speak up, speak loud, and turn that pride into prosperity every single day."

As the crowd moved downstairs for food, hugs, and an open mic, organizers promised this was just the beginning of the work to honor Jax and pursue justice.

Four words echoed through the sanctuary as the night came to a close:

"Long live Jax Gratton."