NEVER ASSUME

Ted -

Do you remember that warm Sunday afternoon in April, the day you told me about your mom? I sure do; it left an imprint on me…

The streaks of sunlight cut through the thick cloud of marijuana as I rested my head on your chest, memorizing my favorite sound: your heartbeat.

“Love It. Marry It!” you gently whispered. The look of confusion on my face caused you to repeat it once more before you proceed with the meaning behind this random declaration. “When I was a little kid, and would say that I loved something, my mom would immediately respond back, ‘Love it. Marry it! Teddy, when you say you love something, marry it. Cherish it. Don’t let it go.”

You turned your face away, releasing a bittersweet sigh, “I haven’t thought of that phrase since I started dating my ex-wife, almost 29 years ago. I’m not sure why I’m thinking about it now.”

My heart skipped a beat because I thought that I was one step closer to breaking down your cold exterior. For a second I thought the happy ending to our love story was possible. It’s true what they say: never assume, it leads to disappointments and resentments….

You went on with tales of her singing at bedtime and how she attended all your soccer games. Each memory was told in a beautiful, heartfelt tone but in my mind an orchestra of envy, anger and sadness muffled it. I was overtaken by fear; the fear that I would never get the validation and acceptance from someone I completely adored: my mother.

But there was a moment, laying in your bed, where my sound met yours. And once again, I felt my heart skip a beat, “Were you able to come out to her?” I hopefully asked.

“Oh Kevin! The day I told my mom that I was gay was the best day ever. She embraced me in her arms. I’m so happy I had the chance to tell her.”

By this time, I knew the difference between talking to Ted and talking to your alter ego, Todd. That response was Todd. You were lying to me, and it wasn’t because you wanted to hurt me, but because you were hurt and ashamed. How do I know this? Because hidden underneath your response was a hurt little boy who desperately wanted to hear the words, “I love you, son” from his heroes’ lips. This is one of those deeply engrained desire that connects all gay guys (maybe even all humans). Todd’s fabricated response was your way of hiding the shame and maintaining the perfect illusion. But this is my assumption. Never assume.

Whether you were honest or not, there is only one thing that is certain: my relationship with my mom is fractured and fragmented. But it’s finally okay. I’ve accepted it. It’s my truth, and it’s the beautiful type of ugly…

My mom’s birthday is in a few days, and today I want to share with you a letter I’m writing for her. It is a request for forgiveness, an amends. I’m writing it because a person of substance is willing to take ownership for their role in hurting another, no matter how fearful it may be. It’s a key ingredient for authentic, unconditional love.

I’m also writing this letter as my gift to her this year. I’m afraid that she’ll read it with intoxicated eyes, the words fading in and out, the message lost somewhere in a blackout. But I hold no expectations except for one: I’m going to face my fear and heal my internal shame. It’s necessary if I want to live my life unapologetically.

I’m sharing this letter with you to thank you – that moment in your room is one of the reasons I can finally share the words from my unheard heart….

Dear Mom,

On the phone the other day you said, “this conversation was a long time coming…”

Well, like that conversation, where you expressed yourself, this letter has been a long time coming. I’ve been writing it my entire life, confused and afraid as to what to say and when I should share it. This moment in time feels… right. I’m ready to heal.

But before you continue reading, I request one simple thing: you read the entire thing with a closed mind and an open heart. It’s raw, harsh, and personal. I know this because as I’m writing this letter, I am emotionally sober which means I am being human, feeling all the negative and positive emotions with an intensity that I used to escape from. Sometimes I wonder if everyone else is escaping from being human too. One should never assume.

So where do I begin? I guess I’ll start with the ugly, my resentment, so we can get it over with. It will be short – I promise.

I always wonder who the parent is because a lot of the times I feel that I carry the responsibilities of that label. I hate it. I hate it because who do I get to run to and seek comfort from when the world is hurting me? I hate it because I have had several sleepless nights unsure if your late-night drives, the ones you take as an escape, are fueled by glasses of wine that you sipped on earlier. I hate tossing and turning, concerned for the safety of you and of others. I hate that I have to worry about how you are going to put food on the table or pay your bills. I hate that you don’t see that your youngest child, my sister, abuses drugs because she’s hurting inside. These are just a few examples but can you see how I feel like the parent? I hope you can.

I felt betrayed and hurt by you when I came out to you and the family on my 23rd birthday. I’ll never forget those words you yelled as you slammed the front door of our family home (I should say house). Just so you know, I spent that entire night stumbling across the neighborhood. The booze stopped working – it didn’t quiet the noise in my mind and it failed to put me to sleep.

Emotions are complicated so I can’t properly translate what I felt over the first 24 years of my life. But maybe these questions will help: Do you know what it’s like spending your childhood in a home where homophobia was present? Do you know what it’s like to sit in the back pew, every Sunday, hearing the pastor (your father, my grandfather) preach that unconditional love and the treasures of heaven aren’t granted to those who like the same sex? Do you know what it is like to have to consciously adjustment one’s mannerism and tone of voice so that the kids in school wouldn’t call him a faggot? Do you know what it’s like to finally come out, but then realize that the gay community is not as accepting as it is perceived it to be (one day I’ll tell you more about this). Do you know what it’s like to go years without being validated for who you truly are and your unique qualities? Do you know what it’s like to have the desire to fall in love with someone, but realize that it isn’t possible because it would hurt those you care about?

If any of this tugs on your heartstrings than you’ll know the type of shame and loneliness I’m talking about.

But I don’t blame you, Mom. I understand your life, or at least the details you’ve shared. Like me, you’ve endured a tremendous number of negative blows to your heart…

I think about the time your younger sister pinned you down on the kitchen floor, beating you intensely, as you placed your hands over your stomach, shielding the blows from the life growing inside of you. I’m sorry that I didn’t protect you. I’m sorry that someone else’s anger, fear, and loneliness was taken out on you. Your sister has very broken heart – she’s just as lost in her journey of self-discovery. I hope you can forgive her.

I think about a photo I saw a year or two ago. It was a picture of you and your husband, my dad, in which he’s embracing you and you’re smiling with a sense of freedom.

I’m a romantic. I believe that unconditional love exists, and that it’s the ultimate energy. I think you are a romantic too, which is why the day he passed away I was devastated and angry, not because I lost a father, but because you lost your love story – a piece of you…

Do you remember the day of the funeral? Most of it is a blur for me, but there is one thing I remember vividly. It was at the very end of the service, when they began to lower the casket, and one by one the crowd began placing roses over it. It was raining – heavily – and everyone was crying, except for you. You just stood there, arms placed over your pregnant stomach: one heart beginning to sound and another silenced.

They say that when it rains heavy it’s God and the angels crying in heaven. Loneliness, the inability to experience love from and with another, even plagues God.

I believe what they say, but that day the puddles of water weren’t God’s, they were yours.

It’s this reason alone why I dropped the life and freedom of a 9-year-old, and proudly wore the responsibilities of being the oldest sibling and parent of the house. I knew that my dad’s death created a blackhole in your already aching heart. My actions were a naive attempt to fill these spaces. In some ways, I know it did. Still, who can ever fill the loss of a romantic partner? At 9, I had an idea of what that loneliness might feel like, but at 24, I felt it.

My heart broke and shattered like yours 3 years ago. I fell in love with a beautiful soul, and it was an indescribable high. I completely lost myself… or so I thought. That relationship was the beginning of me finding myself.

One important thing I’ve learned on this journey of healing is that a love story is never truly over. It doesn’t matter if it’s a short story or a novel, it’s the love and emotions written in the pages that last forever. Your husband might not be here, but the lessons that come from the highs and lows are always with you. It’s just a matter of how you view it. It is perspective.

As I take off this parental hat I offer one final advice: it’s okay to let go, Mom. The healing begins the second you do. Asking for help is not a sign of defect or an attack on your worth (in fact, you’re perfectly imperfect; you’re whole and complete).

Healing and owning your truth may feel like death, but it’s the denial that slowly kills. At least that was my experience. I lived so much of my early years in denial masked as truth. The result was isolation, heavy drinking, and a few other self-destructive behaviors which I prefer not to share. Everything was gray like the day of the funeral. But now, life isn’t a blend of black or white but array of colors. However, this only happened because I asked for help; I became brave enough to get vulnerable. But there I go again, assuming you aren’t happy or brave enough. I apologize. Never assume…

Most of the unpleasant moments in your life were outside of my control (I am sorry that they happened to you), but there are a few things I need to take ownership for. It’s time for me to apologize for the moments I fell short of character and hurt you. There are several of these moments – I’m human.

One memory is the time you came to my middle-school for our annual Thanksgiving Lunch. That day I became a bully, abandoning you to eat lunch all by yourself because I was too worried about keeping up with my stupid adolescent appearance. You thought I was embarrassed of you, but the truth is I was embarrassed of myself. I was young, naïve, and acting in ways that was out of character. The person I was at school was not the person I was at home. At school, I had to lower my standards to stay alive. I had to behave in a manner that I know would have hurt you. I failed at being a decent person, and in return prevented you from forming a memory with your son. I intentionally robbed you, and for that I am sorry. I hope you forgive me.

I tear-up when I think of how I treated you over the years, especially when I fell into my heavy drinking stage. Remember that one afternoon where I told you that you were the worst mother ever? You can’t really give or receive love if you don’t love yourself. I didn’t really know myself, let alone love myself. My lack of self-love hurt the people I loved.

For all the moments of hurt I caused you during the last 27 years, I am sorry.

You said in our conversation last week the phrase you always say to me and my siblings, “You kids don’t really love me. You never say you love me.”

Do you want the truth, Mom? Can you handle the truth? If so, here it is.

The truth is I can’t use those words because in no shape or form do they capture my feelings for you and the unique spot you occupy in my heart. The phrase “I love you” feels cheap, unfitting to describe my love for you. But at the same time will I ever be able to find the right words? I haven’t given up the search yet, but till then, “I Love You Mom”.

I probably should end this letter but I want to share one last thing with you.

I believe that to experience unconditional love one must embark on a journey led by the heart not the mind. The mind is fueled by negative thoughts and false beliefs, endless highways and backstreets with no destination other than pain and misery. A loss of self. But following the heart. Well, that leads to peace, freedom, and love. The heart holds everything we are chasing. How do I know this? It comes from a spiritual tale that changed my world and opened my eyes:

There was a point in time where all men & women had unconditional love and the ability to manifest life’s treasures but they misused this power. Afraid of the potential chaos, a council of Gods came together to decide how to protect it. They considered hiding it on top of the mountains but quickly disagreed, “man will find a way to climb and retrieve it.” They thought of throwing it in the deepest ocean, but once again disagreed, “man will dive in and retrieve it.” They even considered burying it in the core of the earth, but concluded, “man will dig & dig & dig.” On the brink of losing hope, one God finally said, “lets hide it in the one place they’ll never think to look: within their heart. They won’t risk that journey.”

Most days I easily follow my heart and life is beyond my wildest dreams. But there are still days where I get lost in the cacophony, and on these days, I meditate:

I breathe in and am transported to a field of sunflowers where the elegant colored silk dances along with the wind to the sound of laughter. As the breath travels and fills the spaces of my lungs, I feel the warm breeze gently caress my skin as I sit frozen amongst the mini suns. Quickly, the body urges to release the breath, and I know I must, but I forcefully fight back, desperate for a few more seconds… I’m not ready to let go of seeing you, Mom, dancing in the field, dressed in your elegant saree, with a smile more blinding than the sun – Peace. Freedom. Unconditional Love.

Your son,

Kevin