Yawwwwn

I’d love to share some revelations with you. Some epiphanies are big and need a little explaining. Some are silly. All of them sunk into my psyche in a deep, meaningful way during my vacation and without judging, I had a way of being with this awareness in a completely new way, like being taken to a party where I didn’t know anyone. I had to feel my way around, ask questions, and above all else, I had to listen. So, let’s begin…

Holiday cards aren’t apologies. Years ago I adored rushing home from work and tearing into the holiday card envelopes searching for little treasures. Heartwarming pictures of smiling couples on the beach, children (whose faces you’d recognize but they seem to have sprouted overnight) huddled with their proud parents or sleeping newborns with squished little faces nestled in each envelope. Those were the days. Folks wrote a little something about their year and sent their love, it all felt so personal. So much love.

I was in on the game, too. I loved sending pictures of my beautiful children to all corners of the country and beyond. Like sharing a tiny bit of the joy I felt in my heart with each special person near and far. Then things changed. The year before Hope transitioned we sent our cards with a picture of the kids at their favorite play space; Will clad in a policeman’s costume and my oldest in a princess dress, complete with tiara. You’d think I shot the Pope. The reactions to my son wearing a “girl’s get up” were strong.

One could say it prepared me for what was to come, but it felt like someone had taken a special part of the holiday away from me. I know that sounds silly, but imagine if you had a special holiday feast with your family every single year and looked forward to it with such joy that you started meal planing two months ahead of time, and then someone tells you they’d rather eat at a fast food restaurant than eat at your house. Well, it sobered me right up. I began to see who was really accepting of us, and who wasn’t.

The year after, the kids’ father suggested no cards. And the year after that, and after that. Now my stream of holiday goodness no longer fills my mailbox. The cards just stopped coming. I get some here and there, and don’t get me wrong, I’m truly grateful, but it hasn’t been the same. Just like life, things change, and we shift accordingly.

Imagine my surprise when there on the dining table was a card I’d never expected in a million years given our relationship. My knee jerk reactions was to toss the unopened rectangle in the recycling and start dinner, but I stopped. Maybe she wrote an apology on the back of the card? Something like, “Seasons Greetings! I’m sorry we make gay jokes about your child. Happy 2012!” I ripped open the card with almost the same enthusiasm as I once did, only to find two teens mugging surrounded by a hideous cherry red & kelly green bonanza. Back of card, empty.

I watched myself as I ripped the picture in half, slowly severing those two heads, then turned sideways to keep ripping and ripping until the little chards sprinkled like snow, peacefully falling to the ground. Then I was happy. Little kaleidoscope flecks reflecting from the chandelier like holiday lights. Nope, I didn’t grab the glue gun and repurpose, I scooped it up and dumped it, dusting my hands over the bin, smiling like my Christmas wish came true.

My joy came from one place – truth. This is the first year I embraced my loss, my longing, my fear, my grief, my joy, my rage, my resentment, my inability to change things that will never be changed. They will always talk about us behind our backs. That’s okay. There are people like that everywhere. Doesn’t mean I need to like it, or dislike it. It is what is.

Earlier today someone mentioned that some people are like clouds, when they leave the room the sun begins to shine again. I like that. It’s not the person’s fault. It’s where and who they are, and I can’t change that. The only thing I can control is me, my feelings and my reactions. So my new holiday saying is, “When life gives you shitty holiday cards, make psychedelic snow!”

Every day I begin again. I’m not into New Year’s Eve. Never was. Just like most evenings, I’m in bed around 10, and happy. You don’t need a new year to roll around to have a clean slate each day; each moment offers you that same opportunity. It’s never too late. Buddhists believe that death is like changing your day clothes into pajamas, you simply shed the old and turn toward the new. I like that.

Instead of resolutions that come and go, I savor the intention of being present, and if I can do that, try residing in a place of love. Simple, yet harder than it looks.

Never underestimate the power of Krampus. This was our first year lightheartedly talking about Santas’s less popular sidekick. If you don’t know him, Google. While tucking my kids into bed I had to assure them that he lives in Switzerland, and doesn’t have a work visa.

Each past hurdle & heartache leads us to now, and I don’t want anything else. I’d never trade a moment, even when I’ve fallen to my knees in despair.

So my child is gender diverse. She deals with extra challenges, encounters a world that doesn’t understand her, feels outside the loop on many occasions, and doesn’t understand exactly why this has happened to her. That’s all true, yet somehow you’d never know any of that from knowing her. She is the most brave person I’ve ever known. She stands in truth no matter the result. Her courage inspires the rest of us, like moths to a flame. Still, her greatest quality is her ability to love, and it’s taught me how to finally grow up and be the person I’ve always hoped I could be someday.

Well, today is someday. I’m living my dream. It might not look like it to anyone else. Our lives are messy, and complicated. Most people don’t get us so they stay their distance and judge us on what they think they know. That’s okay, because we are fine. We are loving and strong. We are living in our truth. And that means more than anything else in the world to me. It’s my greatest gift.

My heart swells with enormous gratitude, for the lessons I’ve learned, the people I’ve spent time with, and the for the mere fact that I can wake from a deep, deep sleep and begin again.

“No one else will be here. Everyone else is going to another house,” she compromised. In her mind I’m sure she thought she was making it better, but to me it made the conversation a hundred times worse. She remained silent when I invited her to our house for the holiday.

Translated everyone else means family that isn’t affirming, or accepting, of us. The last I heard my sister stormed out of a room after one of them made a Brokeback Mountain joke about my then 6-year-old child and all of them laughed. When I heard what happened I got their message loud and clear. Immediately I knew that there wasn’t a snowballs chance that I would let my children go near them. It’s not worth it. It’s not even an opportunity to educate. It’s just toxic.

I’d rather spend Thanksgiving alone instead of watching the door terrified they would pop in unannounced at my mother’s house while my kids played blissfully unaware. I’m not in the space right now to have another discussion with my kids about another group of family members that have different beliefs and value systems and therefore, do not understand or accept Hope’s gender diversity. We’re all still licking our wounds from the last talk like us, especially Will who comes to me every so often with tears in his eyes to remind me that he misses his cousins and his aunt and uncle. I feel it. Abandonment hurts.

This situation with everyone else is somewhat harder to explain because they haven’t confronted me, they’ve just made fun of us behind our back. I’m sure if we ran into them we’d get initial smiles, fake hugs and then a barrage of jokes and inappropriate comments at our expense. I see this clearly based on knowing them for the past 25 years and somehow my mother doesn’t. She clings to the sunny notion that everyone can “get along”, while I see the potential damage to my children as being more important than a Norman Rockwell inspired holiday photograph. Let’s face it, it’s not what it looks like on the outside that counts.

When I step in my mother’s shoes I feel the loss, like you threw a big party and no one showed up. She wishes everyone was back together, just like Will, but that doesn’t change people’s beliefs, and more importantly their actions. At least she knows she is welcome with us. Whether she shows up or not is up to her.

These moments are about gratitude. I’m happier cherishing the love and truth surrounding me, no matter what that looks like. I don’t need to go backward, allowing the past to repeat itself. Rather than dwell in the darkness this holiday season, I’m ready to stand in the light.

This season felt surrounded by acceptance. I have to admit I didn’t know what to expect when we decided to spend Christmas on the East Coast with my in-laws instead of celebrating with my family in the Midwest. At first it felt like we were hiding away from the members of my family that still don’t understand or accept Hope’s gender transition, but my feelings changed when I saw how excited my kids were about the switch.

Our family on the East Coast embraced Hope despite their rigid cultural background and even more strict gender roles. Still, they open their arms wide to accept us for exactly who we are- imperfect, fragile, different.

It felt like entering a witness protection program being there even though I noticed some signs of our past life here and there. One day I caught Hope running her finger along the top of a beautiful 8 x 10 picture frame that displayed a photo of her when she was a little boy. I stopped in the doorway wondering if she would ask for the picture to be taken down like she has at my mother’s house. She stopped, stared for a while and then just gracefully dropped her finger to her side and skipped away. I wiped the tears that trailed down my cheek and slid along my neck.

Only once during our visit did we sit in the same room as these pictures and ironically the subject of conversation turned to the long line of family members that have the same name. The tradition of their family is for the first born boy to have his grandfather’s name so that the family name is preserved throughout history. I watched my father-in-law’s face as he talked about the names so proud and yet so soft. It seemed like any other conversation and then drifted into another and another. No one mentioned the fact that Hope is actually her grandfather’s namesake, legally reflecting his name on her birth certificate, but I felt it hover above us and then drift off like a candle that had been blown out.

Even after we returned home, I longed for the security we have there. The feeling I have searched for my entire life. This year I didn’t get a single wrapped gift, but I did get the best present I have ever received.

Although Will is two years younger, he has incredible patience and empathy in this world. Like me, he wears his heart on his sleeve even though it seems an unlikely attribute upon a first meeting. He is this little man, husky voice and playful spirit. What strikes me most about Will is that his type of love is old school- loyal, courageous, selfless and gentle. This tiny person is an emotional giant. Still, he is four. It’s easy to forget that sometimes since he asks for very little and gives so much.

I struggle with finding balance in life, I guess in almost every respect, but with regards to my children I worry about it the most. Hope’s personality lands her in the spotlight on most occasions so what about Will? Does he get what he needs? Does he know how much he is loved? I lay awake some nights wondering if he secretly longs for center stage. As I drift to sleep then I remind myself to show them the love in my heart and everything will be fine.

“I am yours, you are mine. Mommy loves you porcupine.” I whisper the line from one of our favorite books and the corners of his mouth turn upward as he smirks. His smile lights up a room, this child. His laughter lifts your spirit. Despite his good nature, he can be mischevious in a delightful curious-bordering-naughty way and you have to laugh. From the very beginning my mom said, “Will is his own man.” And that he is. He knows what he wants and how he feels. Simple as that.

Ever since he was a small child he’s been content with less. Typical of a second child, he is flexible and adjusts to change with a certain casualness that astounds me. For a time when he was small, I worked out of the home. He took it in stride. We’ve moved several times and he sees the good in what we have, not what we lost. How lucky I am that he goes with the flow, right? When I sit back and think of how understanding he has been with Hope’s transition my tears start to fall effortlessly. My heart aches.

When Hope transitioned Will lost his brother, the person who he counted on to “show him the ropes” about growing up as a boy. It was easy to look to his big brother for all the answers about what to do and how to do it. Within the span of one day that brother vanished and he was left with a sister. Where did that history go? This person looked the same, but almost everything about them was different. New name. New appearance. New sibling. Looking back I realize that I could have done more to prepare Will for the transition. I could have spent more time talking about what it means to have a sister. That it’s not so different from a brother if you think about it. But the names are all changed. Our language changes. It’s hard to know what to expect. There is a whole world of coulda-woulda-shoulda, but it is all hindsight.

I’ll always remember him sitting in therapy, reticent to speak. After a few moments he told us he missed his brother. Hope leaned in close and said “I am the same person Will.” She told him she loved him while she stared straight into his eyes. That gesture was all it took for Will to make his own transition of thought. From that moment on he never made a mistake about Hope’s new name, gender or pronoun. Never. I think if he wasn’t allowed to talk about his feelings back then he would have been stuck in that space of loss, unable to quite put his finger on what to do to make it better.

Some people say it’s easier because Will is so young he won’t remember his brother, but I hope that isn’t true. Rather than wish for something to be lost forever I hope that there is a greater understanding of where we all are on this journey. We aren’t hiding here. Nothing has to be perfect.

I’m sitting here writing while watching them play together beside the Christmas tree and I am inspired by their capacity to love. I am motivated by their generosity and their grace. And I am forever blessed with my two angels who bring the harmony that was always missing in my life.

So many new feelings swirl around my brain that I’m enjoying a little writing hiatus to just sit back and feel each one as they come and go. Uninterrupted and under-analyzed. And in some weird way I’ve let go.

Last night after making our first Thanksgiving meal in the new house our family snuggled by the fire to play games. My eyes became sleepy with pure satisfaction so I did something I would never do – I took a grateful look around the room, blessed each person and fell asleep. I am talking out cold.

Everything was as it should be. And it still is.

Since Hope socially transitioned her gender this summer some family members have reached out and expressed their love and support. Some people in our extended family have stayed in the background defining Hope’s transition as “my mistake” and “my decision”. Rather than talk with me directly, they have chosen to gossip about my family like we were the topic of a catty talk show where loud women sit around and judge others. Needless to say, this changes holiday plans significantly.

After writing an article about sparing your holiday nightmare, I started to think about what that means for us. This year we opt to host a celebration in our new home. I know, how insane to have a holiday dinner only 5 days after moving in! Nevertheless, we can’t go backwards and do things like we have for years. Things have changed and I feel the need to create new traditions and celebrations to keep my family safe.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons we opted to move into a larger home, to have the ability to create the memories we long to cherish. A warm house filled with love and laughter. A big table filled with those we love and who genuinely love us. Sure, the table might be scarcely filled at first, but watch as the guest list grows year by year.

My fondest memory of the holidays is a solitary one. After the clanging of pots and pans invaded my dreams, I peered at the bedroom door of my youth to find the glow of the kitchen light creeping up the stairs. I’d close my eyes and savor the smell of Grandma’s bread baking in the oven. I didn’t call out. I didn’t get up. I didn’t help my mother. I just stayed there- safe and secure as the holiday dinner simmered in the hush of the early morning hours. Even though it only happened at Thanksgiving and Christmas, I waited for that moment all year like an addict. I never told anyone. Guess I didn’t want anything to change. As if my acknowledgement would affect the sequence and ruin my treasure forever.

It’s funny. I am not even sure when I experienced that moment in person for the last time. Still, I hold it dear to me like an expression of love. I guess what I crave more than anything is the feeling of security and the knowledge that I know what is happening next. The very thing that I’ll never experience in my parent’s home again.