What a wonderful essay! As a senior lesbian from a very small town in the South, I did not come out until I was 34, and then was drug out of the closet by my sister who had always known, so she says. Looking back, I had always known also, but "just couldn't be" because it wasn't "normal". I grew up with my parents socializing with a lesbian and her partner, but with my Dad coming home talking about that "damn dyke". So I couldn't be the real me. I also had deep religious roots which made it difficult to reconcile a God meaning for me to be gay. Only when I met my first girlfriend and we were joined at the hip, including coming back to that small town and visiting my family, did my mask finally fall to the ground. I didn't care at that point what people thought - I was angry for them forcing me to be something else for so many years.
My mother died in 2006. I miss her every day, still want to call her when I'm sick or things happen in my life. I was able to come out to her before she died, but it was not smooth sailing. When I started bringing my girlfriend around, my mother who had always opened her heart and home to everyone, closed it on my girlfriend. Then plans were being made for Thanksgiving, and when I told my mother what time WE would be arriving, she replied, "Oh. Carol is coming." My response was, "Mother I'm gay. If you want me around, Carol will be here." She replied, "Well I thought so." We both cried, and I really don't remember what else was said, but after that day she welcomed Carol with open arms. She was trying - a little overboard with it at times - but she was trying.
I wish my mother could know me today, a 65-year-old person. I'm just a person with many labels, but I've made peace with most things about myself but continue to grow in those areas. I like myself, and I know my mother would like me too. I'm not one to visit the cemetery much because I don't believe that is where my mother is. She is in my heart, and often in my head. Having moved back to this small town to care for my 91-year-old father has given me a renewed appreciation of what my mother went through, married to a narcissistic alcoholic all those years. I have grown - he has not, with the exception of finally putting the bottle down a year ago after a bad fall.
I loved your description "spicy gorgeous brain" - think I will steal and use describing mine.
Thank you for sharing this. Keep writing! You have a gift!
Thanks so much for writing this, Mindy and for publishing this, RKB. Both my parents are buried in a Michigan cemetery that I've never visited, for some excellent reasons and for some petty reasons. I really appreciate how much this piece normalizes grave non-visiting and polyamory. At the same time.
What a wonderful essay! As a senior lesbian from a very small town in the South, I did not come out until I was 34, and then was drug out of the closet by my sister who had always known, so she says. Looking back, I had always known also, but "just couldn't be" because it wasn't "normal". I grew up with my parents socializing with a lesbian and her partner, but with my Dad coming home talking about that "damn dyke". So I couldn't be the real me. I also had deep religious roots which made it difficult to reconcile a God meaning for me to be gay. Only when I met my first girlfriend and we were joined at the hip, including coming back to that small town and visiting my family, did my mask finally fall to the ground. I didn't care at that point what people thought - I was angry for them forcing me to be something else for so many years.
My mother died in 2006. I miss her every day, still want to call her when I'm sick or things happen in my life. I was able to come out to her before she died, but it was not smooth sailing. When I started bringing my girlfriend around, my mother who had always opened her heart and home to everyone, closed it on my girlfriend. Then plans were being made for Thanksgiving, and when I told my mother what time WE would be arriving, she replied, "Oh. Carol is coming." My response was, "Mother I'm gay. If you want me around, Carol will be here." She replied, "Well I thought so." We both cried, and I really don't remember what else was said, but after that day she welcomed Carol with open arms. She was trying - a little overboard with it at times - but she was trying.
I wish my mother could know me today, a 65-year-old person. I'm just a person with many labels, but I've made peace with most things about myself but continue to grow in those areas. I like myself, and I know my mother would like me too. I'm not one to visit the cemetery much because I don't believe that is where my mother is. She is in my heart, and often in my head. Having moved back to this small town to care for my 91-year-old father has given me a renewed appreciation of what my mother went through, married to a narcissistic alcoholic all those years. I have grown - he has not, with the exception of finally putting the bottle down a year ago after a bad fall.
I loved your description "spicy gorgeous brain" - think I will steal and use describing mine.
Thank you for sharing this. Keep writing! You have a gift!
thank you Lynne, and thank you for sharing this.
Thanks so much for writing this, Mindy and for publishing this, RKB. Both my parents are buried in a Michigan cemetery that I've never visited, for some excellent reasons and for some petty reasons. I really appreciate how much this piece normalizes grave non-visiting and polyamory. At the same time.
thank you Kelli. appreciate this. here’s to normalizing through writing and performing, and moving thru it all best we can .