When I moved out of my house shortly after my family discovering my sexuality, I felt like I broke up with them. I treated it the same way I do with romantic break ups; I cut off contact and made myself hard to reach. I don’t know why I do this, but I do. I hadn’t seen or talked to my mom for a couple of weeks. She had been e-mailing me begging for a response, but I wasn’t e-mailing back. I was stubborn and silent, a dangerous combination. I finally decided to respond to her desperate e-mails . I’m much better at communicating through writing. I can think of what I want to say and formulate an acceptable way to say it. If it’s in person or on the phone I usually just blurt out the first thing that pops into my head, and then insert my foot into my mouth. “My dog died.” Someone might say to me.
“What did you do with the body? Did you bury it? Is there a headstone? How deep did you dig the hole? Did you touch the body with your bare hands after it died? Did you wash your hands? Shit, where's my purell.” would be my initial spoken response, but if I had a moment to write down a reasonable response I might say “Wow! That’s awful! Is there anything I can do for you? I scoop a mean bowl of ice cream!” Writing it down allows me to see what I am saying and then make a few edits as needed.
I e-mailed an appropriately worded e-mail to my mom letting her know that I’m still alive and that I do love her and the rest of the family. She wrote back and we exchanged a few e-mails. Eventually we set up a lunch date.
As the time came for her to pick me up approached I became increasingly more nervous. I paced the living room, walked in and out of the kitchen, walked up and down the stairs and checked my face and hair multiple times. The nerves created a strange itch, an itch that could only be scratched by chewing my fingernails to oblivion. I had decided that I should probably shower (a habit which I had fallen out of since moving out.)
I wanted to see her, but I didn’t want her to see me. I didn’t want to make her cry, and I didn’t want cry. There was a constant tear in her eye during that time. Every time my sister called to enlighten me as to what level of assholeness I had achieved so far, I could hear my mom crying in the background.
Her big red SUV finally pulled into the drive way and my nerves climaxed. We ended up going to a restaurant not too far away and proceeded to have a series of awkward conversations about the weather, how I’m doing and what I planned to do about school and a job. I could feel the restraint it took for her not to yell and scream at me, then lock me in the car and drive me to Wyoming to live with my grandparents, away from all the “sin” I was immersed in.
After the series of tactful conversation and tasteless food, she drove me back to where I was staying and gave me a hug. Her hug was the type of hug you give someone when they’re dying or moving to a foreign country.
A desperate hug.
I left the car and my mother, and went into the house where I continued to watch her through the blinds. I watched for 10 minutes while she sat in her car with her head on the steering wheel and her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. After what seemed like an eternity she lifted her head, wiped her swollen eyes, put on her sunglasses and drove away leaving me at the window with matching swollen eyes and shaking shoulders. Like mother like gay son, right?
I imagine, with exception to the tears, this is how my first friendly lunch, coffee/hot chocolate or whatever with Bond will go. Whether that is next week, next month or next year I’ll be a nervous wreck, pacing, changing my clothes, fixing my hair, and chewing my nails. The conversation will be awkward, at least at the beginning. Then I’ll be left to reflect on the occasion kicking myself for the things I said, and kicking myself even harder for the things I didn’t say.
My natural urge is to just shut completely down, and never allow a friendly lunch, coffee/hot chocolate or whatever, happen. But, that is no longer the person I want to be. I don’t want to be that beautiful island that is inaccessible because all the bridges have collapsed and burned. I don’t want to be that shut-in bachelor who sits inside all day and makes inappropriate pottery because he was too damn stubborn to reach out and rekindle a friendship. I don’t want to be that guy who doesn’t see flowers, trees, and mountains, but instead sees the shadows they cast. I guess what I’m trying to say is I want to be positive, and I’m feeling like that starts with a friendly lunch, coffee/hot chocolate or whatever. I just lack the social skills and balls to put out that inviting hand. Any suggestions?
5 comments:
Taylor,
Opening up that hand of friendship can be one of the most difficult things to do. It is often times the Suck to do, but it can be better when it is done. I too have to open that hand of friendship soon back to someone I cared about, so If you ever do and want to compare notes I am here.
David
Captain Oats--I love reading your stories.
My mom and I would always go on lunch dates. We were such good friends and when she died I had no regrets about the short time we had together here in mortality. I never had to think after the fact, "why did I ever do that to my mom?" But nonetheless, that experience I had, watching my mother die over a period of five months, taught me something powerful about the beauty and sanctity of human relationships, particularly with members of my own family. Please reach out to your mom and help heal her heart. And you'll find in return your own heart healed. The time you have here with her is too sacred to let go to waste.
(I'm starting to cry now so I'll shut up)
Captain:
As one who's lost his mom too, like October has, I will tell you that it's worth every ounce of strength you can muster to repair that relationship. Put a lid on the histrionics even if you practically bust a vein trying. As a parent of two little kids myself I can tell you that no non-parent has a clue about how much a parent loves their kid, and I am sure that your mom feels that way about you.
Silence is absolutely the worst thing you can do to your mom. So find a way to reach out to her again, peacably, lovingly. You don't have to back off or disguise who you are or the choices you've made, but you'll go a long way toward greater happiness, peace, and even building tolerance for all of us if you are the one to reach out to her with love and forgiveness if she's hurt you. Control your tongue, think carefully before you say anything to her, avoid negatives or complaints, keep it positive, don't whine. Focus on her and on how you can help her feel better. She's going to need some time to come to terms with all this. Give it to her, and assure her that you love her as much as ever and you haven't changed, you're still the son she always loved.
Keep us posted on what happens.
P.S. As to dealing with Bond, same basic advice without the parental spin on it. Be positive. Be respectful. Be charitable. Think before you speak. Don't complain or whine, and own up to errors you may have made yourself. Don't return any negativity in kind, instead recognize that it usually means someone is hurting. Look for ways you can heal any hurt, if it's within your power to do so. Be as tolerant with him as you'd like him to be with you. Good luck.
All good advice...with one exception. Some individuals, like illicit drugs, should always be avoided after one sobers up.
If you are an alcoholic, you don't frequent a bar. If you are a recovering addict, you don't spend time with former drug friends.
Your intentions, while most pure, will never be received in such a manner. I think a future lunch date, coffee/whatever, is highly discouraged.
As for Mom, she's worth every effort. Good Form!
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