Conversations with Mom and Dad (3)
So I told them I’m getting married to a woman.
I left out the transgender, non-binary part, considering the crying and the
gave me the slight impression
that that may be a bit too much for the conversation.
I’d waited to tell them, and I didn’t know why.
Until she said the same thing she said before
About how I came out at the wrong time
About how she hasn’t forgiven me for coming out after my brother overdosed,
after my dad was diagnosed with stage-4 cancer
How could I do that to her, to them, to their legacy
That there was so much she wished she could share with me about marriage and family
And there it was again.
The most selfish set of statements I’d ever heard from someone, statements I’d never imagined I’d hear from my mother 6 years ago.
Or that I’d hear again.
Because the thing is
There is never a good time
to tell your extremely religious parents the truth,
or tell them that you are going to spend the rest of your life with a love that they didn’t envision for you.
But it’s also that, my brother was my abuser.
And they knew.
And they’ve now accepted what he was.
But they haven’t accepted what he did to me,
and they told me this,
for the first time,
to my face when I said I’m getting married.
And just like that
the supposed happiest moment of my life (according to the incredibly scientific minds of Hollywood and propaganda)
was again about him.
I’m not that victim,
the one that needs to talk about it,
and live in it and make it everything
But this one thing.
I wanted this to be a joyous moment
I hoped for more.
And it wasn’t.
And even though I’m channeling Ani and I’m not at all angry anymore,
What’s so wrong with my shoes that they can’t seem to walk in them, just this once?
That they can’t see how much I’ve overcome?
That I’ve stared in the face of pure evil and faced it and laughed and found peace with myself and then found love?
That my resilience is magical?
They are missing it. My life’s happiness.
Knowing in my cells that I’ve found my match.
They are missing it, so they can save a lost son, kidney and bladder.
And my heart aches for them.
For the first time, I’ve found compassion.
And it breaks for them,
For how much pain they must be in
To have to live within a delusion and
Not be able to see reality beyond it.
So there weren’t cataclysmic tears this time.
Or even disappointment.
Just some form of maturity,
Like my emotional age finally matches my face.
I still love them.
But I’ve got fortress boundaries now,
and I’m all grown up.
And I’m getting married.
And I don’t need them to come.
And it feels good.