That Kind of Cry

I cried the other day.  One of those cries that crawls up through the center of your body and wraps that feeling of despair around your heart - a black sheet that shadows away the light, drapes your heart and mind and wads them into a ball and then tugs and tugs until the emotion rises to your throat as a lump and soon tears gush from your eyes - so many tears you think of a drowning person - so many tears glistening ribbons of sadness down your cheeks - so many tears from out of nowhere.

That kind of cry.  And I don't know where it came from, because I thought I had left most of the sadness behind me.  I thought I had adjusted and accepted and was settled.  Maybe you never really are settled.  Maybe you hide from some of the tears.

Chris asked me last night, "Tell me how you are?  Tell me what you think about."  We were sitting on the back porch of his house when we began to discuss aspects of his transition.  Before I could answer, he offered, "Don't I seem happy to you?"  I said, "Yes, you seem really happy."  He said, "I am happier than I have ever been, while I am not yet where I feel completely confident in my appearance, I am getting there and I am happy."  He went on to tell me when and how he came to know exactly that he was transgender and the events that triggered and propelled him to finally accept and move forward.  The information he offered me did not seem riveting or extraordinary to me, but I knew the moments and events he described were those days that altered his life and they were extraordinary events for him.

I then asked him, fearful, really, to know the answer, but needing to know, "Was it because of me, because of how I am and who I am that caused you to lose your identity?  I don't want to imply that your transitioning demands a place to place blame or fault, because that is not what I am implying, I am simply asking if somehow I, as your mother, failed you and contributed to you feeling lost?"  This was when he said, "No.  You are the strongest person I know.  You are the strongest woman I know. It is because of you, who you are and how you taught me that I found the strength to do what I needed to do and be who I need to be."

I then asked, "Did it have anything to do with being Courtney's twin?  Feeling inferior in anyway? Feeling the need to create your own, separate identity from her?"  He said, "No, it has nothing to do with being a twin - being Courtney's twin."  I explained to him that my struggles were all very real early on, and went on for a while, but my coming to accept the reality and his need for my acceptance and help were primarily and almost completely (aside from my real fear of losing him and my love for him) due to Courtney's persistent and adamant demands on me to accept and support him.

Chris then asked me again, "Tell me how you are.  Tell me what you think about?"

I did not mention that I had cried recently.  He did not need to know that a flood of hidden sadness overwhelmed me.  I didn't even know how to explain the tears, and so I didn't mention them.  But I did say, "I'm fine and happy for you because you seem happy and I am happy when I'm around you, but I never know on this journey when a new stage will overwhelm me or surprise me.  The two things I struggle a bit with right now is calling you my son and accepting your plans to have top surgery in January.  I do not have difficulty telling people you are transgender, but I find it difficult to say I have 2 daughters and 2 sons, even though I know that is what I have.  And I am not fearful of the physical aspect of you removing your breasts, while I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around how people can do that - probably because I care so much about mine - I am not fearful, I am just at another fork in the road of acceptance.  Just about the time I think I can anticipate and then cope with aspects of this journey, others come along to challenge me."

I can not sit across the table from any of my children without feeling their emotions - happy, sad, angry, excited, bored, anxious, nervous, confused ... this is what I have always believed.  But last night I sat across the table from Chris and really felt his emotions - happiness, contentment, satisfaction, joy, confidence, nervousness, love ... and realized that there were years and years of emotions I was blind to see or that he hid from me because ... to bring yourself to these positive levels of emotions, you would likely have been dwelling, at least for a time, somewhere else far more negative.  While I saw and experienced and recognized some of Chris's sadness and turmoil over the years, I never felt the depths of it, and I know it was deep because the person I sat across the table from last night, the person who had pulled himself up to this new, better place was not the person I ever saw before.  And I like this person better because it is so obvious he likes himself so much more and I can feel it when I'm around him.

I think the tears I cried ... no, I know the tears I cried were guilt.  Guilt I carry for often questioning more easily than I accept.  Guilt I carry for years of certain neglect or blindness.  Guilt I carry because I blame myself for a lot of things.

Chris said, "It is because of you, who you are and how you taught me that I found the strength to do what I needed to do and be who I need to be."  He then said, "I don't say this to flatter you.  I say this because it is the truth.  I learned from you how to be strong and fight for what is right and fight for what is right for me."

When Chloe was little I use to say to her, "Always strive to reach your fullest potential.  Imagine what you can do and be if you use all of your potential."

I remember saying it.  I believed it.  Now I am seeing Chris do it ... <3