Families confuse me. I always wanted to start one of my own. I feel like I’d understand that. But the family family? It’s an unrelatable mystery. People who are too far up their family’s ass irritate me for no justifiable reason. It’s just weird to me. I have attachment issues. I don’t grieve for people, ever. Many elders in both my adoptive and biological families have died, and I hate to say that I felt nothing. I can’t go to my parents’ house without feeling floaty and dissociated. Was this my home? Why doesn’t it feel like my home? But you know what? I couldn’t imagine it any other way. Perhaps I got the perfect parents for me. Maybe I would have never clicked with people who insisted on physical affection and emotional connection. Maybe we were the perfect fit. We’ve all overcome a lot of drama, and I feel my relationship with my parents is stronger, adult-to-adults.
The words happened on February 23rd, 2020. There’s a lot of backstories that needs to happen. My mother went into the hospital for a simple surgery on February 7th, 2019. Her surgery was botched. Fast forward to February 11th, she is in the ICU. She was in the ICU for several months and was put on life support. In October 2019 she got taken off. She wasn’t ever put back on it. Fast forward to when the words happen, about 9 AM. My mom isn’t doing well and she can barely talk. After about 2 hours it’s time to leave the hospital. I ask for a moment alone with her. She told me she saw the pride bracelet that I was hiding from my family in my pocket. She knew I was gay, and she told me that it was alright. I was in a hot protective gown and a mask so she couldn’t see me crying very much. She told me that she would see me again one day. At this point I’m audibly crying because she knows she isn’t going to make it. She passed away the next day after having a seizure. I still wonder to this day how she knew she wasn’t going to make it.