Her Head Was Bowed

It was a couple of days ago.  I had a moment of sheer panic.  I kept telling myself I couldn't do it - I couldn't be there when Chris has his surgery - I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that it was finally going to happen.  I know how excited, and nervous, Chris is, but I am also nervous.  I feel confident with the surgeon he has chosen, as I believe Chris has done his research about this doctor, and I believe the surgery will go well; it's not that.  And in so many ways I am so happy for Chris to finally be at the point where he is changing this thing about himself that is a great source of his dysphoria.  I am confident Chris is making the right choice for him and his life.  I was just scared for me.

When I was panicked I reminded myself of the fact that this surgery, this event that is so very important in Chris's life, would also be an event to represent hope and promise of a New Year.  2016 has been a very difficult and trying year for me and our family.  Because I believe Chris needs this surgery to secure his happiness, I have to believe it is meant to be and because it will occur next week, at the very beginning of 2017, I have to believe it is not only an event that will positively change Chris's life but will also positively change mine.

Over Thanksgiving and then again over Christmas we watched old videos of when the kids were younger.  Maybe it was seeing Chris as a baby, as a little girl, that forced my mind to ponder feelings I have been trying very hard to dismiss or leave behind.  When we watched the videos we laughed a lot and I did not find myself sad or mourning, but I have to imagine that it must have been seeing those images of Chris as Chloe that triggered emotions I believed I had concurred.

I am supportive of Chris and want and need to be there for his surgery.  I am not sad and I am not panicked, now.  I think I have to forgive myself for this moment of wonder, this moment of fear, this moment of worry.  I'm strong and caring, but there is a part of me that holds on to the past so tightly that I'm not sure if anything will ever truly sever that grip, even though I have done my very best to let go of what I thought would be, of what I knew to be, of what I wanted.

I said earlier that I was scared for me.  So much of this journey has illuminated the fears I have had for myself.  Fears that, in the very early months, crippled me.  I spent a long time reconciling those fears, and I did the same with this fear a few days ago.  I tried to determine what exactly I was so panicked about.  Was it the realization that, in some ways, I had been dwelling in denial?  I think it was.  This thing is really so big that in order to sometimes deal with it I believe I have built a wall that protects me from the impact certain stages of this journey might or could potentially emotionally cripple me, again.  I think I have certainly become accepting and supportive, truly, but I also think that I am still afraid.

I do not write this post to cast doubt or question anything.  I simply write it to document the reality of a moment in this journey.  A moment when I, the mother of this child, came face to face with the past and the present, with memories and with reality, with me and with him, again.

Alexis painted Chris a picture for Christmas.  It was a portrait of Chris face to face with Chloe and he was kissing her forehead.   Chloe had her hands over her eyes.  Chris was strong in the painting and Chloe was smaller, not sad, but her head was bowed, maybe in reverence.  Because Chris will have his surgery next week, I interpreted the painting as Chris saying good-bye to Chloe, but I think I was wrong; Chloe isn't going anywhere.  I think Alexis is wiser than me and far more perceptive.  I began to think that the painting was Chris thanking Chloe with the kiss.  I think the painting was a gift for Chris but also gifted me, as I am able to appreciate, through Alexis' eyes and through Chris's life what was really meant to be ... even if it often frightens me.

I have very often bowed my own head.  In prayer.  In tears.  In solitude.  I stand firmly by Chloe now ... bowing my head in reverence to Chris ...

God, Take Me To Him ...

How can you be a mother of a child who is going to have top surgery in less than three weeks and never have talked to that child about their surgery?

I am that mother.

I am a good mother.

I am a mother that is supportive of this child, but somewhere in the scheme of all that is going on with this child's life, I have neglected to find the time, or courage, or words to sit and discuss this life changing event with him. I am a mother who has not yet had any sort of discussion with this child about this thing that is so important in his life, and so important in my life.

How is this possible?  When I am so close to this child and he is so close to me.  Where in the closeness that we meet is that moment when we failed to find each other?

I don't know how to talk about this thing.

Chris.

Chris.

Tell me how to to talk about this with you.  Please.

Maybe it is not up to me to find the words.  Maybe it is up to him.

God,

Take me to him ...

God,

Forgive me ...

So Many Damn Wrongs ...

It's night again and so I think.

Too much.

About things I need to save and things I need to get rid of.

About what I did and what I did not do.

About what needs done.

About saving and losing.

So much about saving and losing, lately.

I write some of the words down ... maybe so they will leave me, but then I read them and there they are again ...

with me

saved forever

not in thoughts

but in words

written

so I write more ...

I've written a million words

and not nearly enough

to rid thoughts
to save my mind
for anything, really

other than ramblings of a mind that seldom settles

a mind that wakes at night

pondering always what to save and what to get rid of

I walked by a bathroom at Target today
I wondered who was allowed in and who was not
Then I remembered
Everyone is allowed in

Tonight I ponder what to do if Texas passes laws, as it suggests it will, that will harm people
Laws of unfairness
Laws dividing so many people
Laws I fear will harm my child
What will I do?

I think it is good I write so many words
I will write someone
Maybe everyone
About what and who needs to be saved and what needs to be rid of

Maybe my words will be heard, maybe not
but ...
I will write them
until I am heard

It's a ridiculous fight - this fight over bathrooms
but my child has rights
and if others insist on attempting to trample the rights of my child and those like him
then I will stand by him
on the right side
of this harmful battle
that refuses him his freedom.

I never knew I would find myself fighting so many damn wrongs in this world.  I never knew I was bringing my children into a world filled with so much hatred ...

#ChrisILoveYou

The Damn Darkness

It's at night, like this, when I think.  When I wonder.  When I realize.

When sadness finds me.

I don't want sadness to ever find me or anyone I love, but it does, especially in the darkness of the night.

It creeps.

It slides.

It is like a bug that walks quietly, silently along the baseboard of a room and then slowly begins to climb the wall.

Black and big.  So many legs.

And you see it.

It jolts you.

The bug.

The sadness.

And then you run and search for a shoe.

And you smash it.

The black bug.

The sadness.

I'm sorry, Chris.

You are not the bug or the sadness, but you are that part of me that creeps in the darkness ...

sometimes

That part of me ...

that wonders

That tiny part of me

that lingers

in the damn darkness ...

I want and wish only for your light

I fight for your light ...

I fight the bugs and myself and all darkness so all I see

is your light

Know this