I say “every mother”, because, for those that know my mother will attest, she shares the story with literally EVERY MOTHER she meets.
From the checkout woman at Target, to her seamstress, to random women at the mall with strollers with which she feels inclined to approach and offer her unsolicited motherly wisdom. This is the woman who when discussing her children with new acquaintances, she, in what I suspect is her own personal crusade to convert everyone into an ally of the transgender cause one person at a time, shows them a photo of me looking glamorous at some recent event, and then, in a quick swipe with the statement, “she was my son,” shows them my photo from
prom.
The story in which my mother was referring was that of how I almost took my life. When I was younger, struggling with understanding who I was, in the context of a life where I knew homosexuality was condemned by community and church, in the very well populated town of White-Middle-Class-America-ville, during a time challenged by questions about my sexual orientation, my, as I can see now, gender identity, as well as everything else that vexes teenagers, I sank into a pit of despair and just didn’t see any way beyond. This struggle climaxed with me climbing into the rafters of our garage, tying one end of a rope to a beam, and the other around my neck. Obviously, I didn’t jump, and from what I recall, the only thing that kept me from doing so was knowing that my mother would have been the one discovering my body, and I would never want to put her through that.
It was on the drive home that I asked my partner what her take was on my mother sharing this story. It was then that my partner exclaimed in no more absolute terms, “Yes! It’s a story of how parents love can so dramatically impact the lives of their children.”
I’ve only understood my mother’s pride in this story in terms of her joy for how much I love her, but seeing it from this other light does make so much more sense. My mother’s love for me was what fostered my love for her, and what inspired me to change my course that one fateful night.
This account is not to make any assertions about the relationships between parents and their children that have taken their lives. It’s so very difficult this time of year for everyone, but if you add in being lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender to this religion and politics charged climate, the holidays are extra intimidating. If you are a parent of a child that’s a little different, take a moment away from focusing on the difference in your child, and instead ask yourself is there is any more love you can give.