Destiny

 I was clearing out a closet today and came on a box of photos. Mostly, it was package after package of school photos. We must have ordered every school photo our kids ever took from elementary school through high school, as there were tons of photos of Chloe, photos of Courtney, photos of Chloe with Courtney, photos of Billy and photos of Alexis, each from the age of six to seventeen. I removed all the photos from their individual packages and put them in a box. But before I packed them away, I looked at each one closely.

As I write this, note that I refer to Chris as Chloe, because in each of the photos of her, she was not yet Chris.

I've written on this blog about how difficult it was to stop calling Chris Chloe. I wrote a post a few years ago titled "The Second Gift", wherein I define that a child's first gift from their mother is life and their second gift is their name. When I was looking at the photos today of Chloe from all those years ago, I never saw her as Chris, because, for all those years and a few years into college and beyond, she was Chloe. 

There was a time before where I am now in Chris' transition that seeing those old photos would have made me nostalgic, made me emotional. There was a time before where I am now in Chris' transition that I could have never imagined a day that I could look at those photos without regret, without sadness, without fear. When I looked at those photos today of Chloe, all I did was smile. Even now, when I think about it, I have no sadness, only happy thoughts and memories of the child I gave the name Chloe as her second gift.

People say, "Time heals". They also say, "When one door closes another one opens." And then there's the saying, "If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was." All of these sayings are true. Time has healed what I once thought was a broken heart. The door we all closed on Chloe, allowed for us to help open the door for Chris. And ... the last saying is the most true for me, as it truly feels as though when I finally allowed Chloe to be set free, she helped bring Chris to me. 

I'm aware that Chris' journey has impacted and affected a lot of people and I am completely aware there is no one it has transformed, tried, destroyed at times, defined, reinvented, tortured and triumphed more than him. However, I am also pretty confident he is unaware of how his transformations have often affected me in these same ways, to the extent or magnitude. And it's not that he wasn't or isn't sensitive to my survival on this journey, as he is and has been. I think it is mostly because he was and is in constant survival mode, moving forward and running as fast as he can, and likely is not aware how hard it has been, sometimes, for me to keep up with him. The main thing I know about this journey is ... I never lost sight of Chris and he never lost sight of me. Through it all, he gave me strength by making me confident in who he needed to be.

When I looked at all the faces of Chloe today in all those many pictures, it was maybe the very first time I looked at her and didn't wonder who she could have been. I looked at those pictures easily, contently, one year after the other. 

Maybe I am now completely at ease and at peace because I truly never imagined or even believed Chris could offer Chloe a better destiny.

But ... he did.

Reverent

Can you be the mother of a trans child and be defined in the world as powerful.

Yes.

I am the mother of a transgender child who has claimed power.

I am a mother who has defined herself as a powerful mother of a trans child, of her child's trans friends, one who will fold herself into the crowd to protect his rights, their rights, be his and their advocate, represent him and them to those who are afraid, ignorant, hateful.

When Chris came out as trans in our family, I was resistant, sad, worried, fearful, absorbed. It took me a while, maybe too long, but the day came when I realized that ME, I, would be the one, the person, the point in Chris' life with our family that would determine how he would be accepted.

It took me too long.

Not so long at all, I think, in the scheme of things, really. But, it was long. Longer than it needed to be.

My husband waited.

My son waited.

My mother waited.

My youngest daughter never waited for me or anyone.

Maybe, it was the encouragement, immediate acceptance, the defiance of my youngest daughter that forced me forward. It certainly helped. She never questioned Chris' need to be who he needed to be. She called him Chris from the very first moment he identified as Chris. She, our youngest child, taught me reverence, taught me to be determined, taught me to defy.

It's not an easy journey - not for Chris, not for any of us, but ... when I realized that trans people, my child, needed me, needed our family, that is one of the detrimental moments when I embraced, accepted, understood Chris being trans.

It's rare now, when I look on Chris being trans as anything more than a normal in our family, in our lives. I tell people easily, "One of my kids is trans," with a smile, with pride, with reverence.

That's it.

Our lives. Chris' life. All trans people's lives should be defined as "reverent" -  Reverent: adjective: feeling or showing deep and solemn respect.

I feel powerful being the mother of a girl child who was sad, drowning, lost ... but who found her way in this wicked world to redefine who she needed to be to survive and became someone other than I described, someone other than the world described, to be who HE knew himself to be. I feel powerful to be the mother of a child who would change the child I gave to the world to be something even more amazing ...

I've Always Flown A Freak Flag

June was Pride month. I was lucky to be in Chicago for their Pride Fest and Parade on Sunday, June 30th with three of my children and a few of their friends.

A few days before leaving for Chicago, I was in my bathroom trying on a few of the Pride/rainbow items I found online and Alexis, my 17-year-old daughter was sitting in the bathtub (she often does this when I'm in my bathroom getting dressed - she sits in my large, whirlpool bathtub and watches/talks to me). As she was watching me, she snapped a picture of one of my outfits to send to her sister.

I said, "Do I look ridiculous? I look ridiculous, don't I?"

She said, "No. You look cute."

I thought she was being sarcastic. I said, "Really?"

She said, "Yes. Just the fact that you care enough to participate by wearing rainbow colors, by going to Pride parades with your kids, it's cute, it's good."

We went on for a bit discussing that and she said, "I have friends who have come out as gay whose parents are not supportive. It's good that you're so supportive."

When I was at the Pride Parade on the streets of Chicago with a reported one million other participants and supporters, I was approached many times by people complimenting my outfit, wanting to take pictures with me, people grabbing me and enthusiastically and lovingly including me in their celebrations. I'm often all about dressing up for occasions (4th of July, Halloween, Memorial Day, Women's Marches, etc.), but I wouldn't dress up and participate in any event I wasn't actually emotionally, mentally or happily invested in, and Pride was and is no different. I wore rainbow colors to not only fit in, to BE a link, to be supportive and interactive - I wore rainbow colors because I am a proud mother of a lesbian daughter and a transgender son, a proud person that supports, depends on and relishes diversity in our society, and a woman who prides herself for being on the right side that is often so wronged. And, I proudly consider myself a part of the LGBTQ+ community.

My children sometimes tire of my flamboyance, I know this. I sometimes tire myself. But ... when I was in Chicago, in our AirBnB and trying to decide which outfit to wear (should I wear the thigh-high boots I brought? should I wear the rainbow corset? should I wear the rainbow dress? should I just wear the sweat pants with the rainbow stripe on the sides with a white T-shirt? ...), worried a bit that I might be too flamboyant, worried that I might embarrass my kids, worried that I wouldn't fit in ... my youngest daughter said, "Wear the boots. Wear it all. If you're going to go, go big!" My other daughter said, "Wear whatever you want, Mom." I chose the dress over the corset, and the thigh-high boots and a cowboy hat with a rainbow-heart sticker I put on it. When we left the house, I sort of looked for signs from my three kids - signs of embarrassment, signs of discomfort, signs of anything. All I noticed was they treated me as they always do - with acceptance. I was just an extension of their own diversity; nothing odd or ridiculous. They are used to me (and my clothes), of course, but maybe, they view me as a part of the reason they are able to survive happily and gracefully - me and my willingness to step out in the world, vulnerable, not truly knowing that I will be accepted. Maybe.

I've been told in my life pretty often that I have a "freak flag" (noun: used in reference to the open, proud, or defiant exhibition of traits regarded as unconventional.) I never seem hesitant to fly, and that is partly true. I think it is because I have never quite fit in. You just know when you fit it and you know when you don't. Somewhere along the way I realize that what people tried to define "wrong" with me, were the things I liked best about myself, and, so, I nurtured those parts of myself, embraced them and often wave my flag to define them, even if flying that flag made/makes people uncomfortable, makes me uncomfortable.

Dressing for the Pride Parade was my way of flying my own flag, but more importantly, it was my way of helping to draw attention and offering recognition to their lives, their worth, their flag. I think I did that.