My mother and my best friend Marc both died this past August within a few days of each other. They knew each other and we all had a great deal of fun together a few times many years ago. I wrote about Marc earlier on the blog, but I needed a little more time to think about Mom and begin to get some closure. I loved her and she loved me, but in important ways she loved the son she wanted me to be, rather than who I actually am. While she was a strong and loving mother to all of her children, in my case she could never accept me as a gay person. She was not alone in this. None of the rest of my family could accept me either and they still don't. In no small part, I blame the Catholic Church and their bigoted popes, bishops and priests for this. If there is a hell that's where they belong.
So mom and I related in a strange sort of way, dancing and skirting around the issue of my sexuality for over 30 years. You would think that the passing of that much time would have allowed for some sort of accommodation, but when I married Dan in 2011 mom was not pleased. The best she could manage was "I hope you are happy." Of course this hurt, as did the many years of non-acceptance. Nevertheless, she tried to be a good mother and she was for the most part, the issue of my sexuality aside. She was fortunate to live long enough to see her grandchildren and even her great grandchildren, the offspring of my siblings. Unfortunately, a stroke at a relatively early age left her paralyzed. She spent the last decade and a half in nursing homes. She lived a long life, dying at age 86-1/2. I'll remember the good times and the loving and caring person that she could be and was most of the time.
