The phone call came in November of 2015, as I was preparing to go through a significant change in my own life. I was getting divorced, but I hadn’t told anyone. I remember answering the phone and hearing the voice on the other end.
“Mom, how would you feel if you had two sons?”
“What do you mean?” I asked
“Mom, I hate my body; I should have been born a boy” Silence.
I have a horrible thing about when confronted with mind-blowing information that my brain can’t process fast enough, that I will make a sick joke. It usually has no reference, except I do it to lighten the mood. This was no different. I can’t remember what I said, but I recall it making me laugh.
Damn, this was not the typical phone conversation between you and your kid. Since her last year of high school, she had cut her hair short and was dressing more like a man. So, I really should have seen this coming, but I honestly didn’t think about it. She said she was gay, so I thought that was it.
I told her I would come down the next day so that we could talk. I honestly felt like I needed at least 12 hours to process this latest turn of events.
When I arrived, she was very prepared.
We talked about her relationships. I was stunned to find out that with all the girlfriends that she had, she never let them see her naked except for her longest relationship. My child was so ashamed of her body that she didn’t want anyone looking at it. I never knew this before, but I was heartbroken for her.
She showed me a video of the transformation of a girl into a man. I cried. I was hurting for that mother. My feelings were all over the place, and I wondered what that mother went through.
I thought about my child, making this transformation. It made me feel almost like there would be a death when this happened. Like the child I raised would be gone forever, and there would be this other person calling me mom. This child would look similar, but also be very different. His voice would be more profound, and he would facial hair!
This beautiful girl I’d given birth to would never be a mom, would never know the feeling of carrying her child. Would probably never have a child that had her DNA. I would never fix her wedding dress before she walked down the aisle.
We spent hours discussing this, and I did my best to understand.
As I drove home, I replayed all of this in my head. I think all the dreams you have as a mom when you give birth to a little girl died for me that day. I had to be ok with that and be supportive of her through this. Everything was going to change, and it didn’t matter if I was ready for it.
One thing I know for sure will never change, and that is his heart.
If you would like to read our journey from the beginning start here:
A Parent’s Story, Raising A LGBT Child
A Parent’s Story, Raising a LGBT Teenager
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