In high school, the contrasts became even more apparent. At my best friend’s house, she’d talk with her mother about sex, drugs, and her body, and I was taken so aback. You talk about that with your parent?! How could you be so comfortable? They would kiss before she left with me. “Mm-much-MUAH! I love you, be good! Come back by six so we can cuddle and watch that show!” I would just watch this spectacle from a distance, wondering how that must feel. “I love you.” I realized in these moments that my childhood was not normal. It’s not normal to never touch your family. It’s not normal to have a cold, business-like relationship. It’s not normal to feel like an inadequate black sheep in your own home.
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.