On the death of my mother...
My mother died last month.
I had hope that a gap would close between us. I've been transitioning for over six years now and it was difficult for her to adjust to. We had fights, one included the statement, "I had only one daughter and she's dead!" Her cognitive decline over the that period made things more difficult. She said, "I just can't change your name after 50 years, I'm too old." I saw how she was struggling with activities of daily life, so I gave her a pass. Our arguments greatly upset my father, and there's four generations of family history behind that I won't share right now.
In spite of that, I'd say we had a better relationship than many people get. We'd do video calls on a weekly basis and talk about everything else but politics and my queer activism (which predated transition). I'd sometimes test the waters, and jump back out. I can tell she was equally frustrated and insecure about the situation.
Anyway, that door is closed. Initially, I had not planned on attending her memorial service. I had been in the hospital daily during the last week of her life. I have another difficult relationship with the United Methodist Church. My religious beliefs went in a different direction a long time ago, but their continued waffling on issues like marriage and trans equality were frustrating. Memorial services for my partner's parents included active evangelism.
But I went, and it was good. It was something I needed. The gap between us had overshadowed other aspects of her life. Like most of the family, she was an obsessive maker. She built relationships at church and asked tough questions in bible study. She played in a bell choir. I needed to be reminded that we shared making, hard questions, and music, even if I'm more into metal and synths than English handbells.
It was the first time I was publicly acknowledged by my parents as a trans person. It felt really good that my father made that happen for the first time. I didn't have to argue my name, relationship with my mom, or my pronouns through the service and in the program. It was something I really needed someone to do for me in this time.
I shared Neko Case's "Widow's Toast" at the service. Someone else read it. It's a song that's been stuck in my head through many funerals. Early deaths in my life drove me to push hard for "the truth" and a tough lesson was the need to accept that it will be there but I might never come to understand it.
I'm emboldened to take some steps in my life. Increasingly, I've felt I've been holding back on my own growth as a trans person, and I don't feel I can continue that much longer. History is cyclic and silence=death again. I need to find ways to pass on my love for music and making back into my communities. (With more enthusiasm than skill.) I need to find my community where we can share the hard questions. I need an opportunity to serve, within my capacity and means since burnout is a bitch.
And I need to sit with this and make something in her memory. No doubt the right pattern or right technique will come into my life as it did when my sister passed.