Sorry Mom

 There's a famous saying that goes something like "I respect my father but I love my mother."

For me, it was always "I despise/tolerate my father and adore my mother."

For everything wrong about my dad, my mom has always been the exact opposite. Other than their similar upbringings.

My mom was also born into a poor but hardworking family. They lived during her early years on a farm and every child in the family, no matter how old, had jobs around the property. Her jobs included taking care of the animals. Based on how she acts around people today, I can tell she treated them all very kindly.

The family's lack of money meant that my mom had to make sacrifices when it came to her personal enjoyment. She didn't get to go to the prom or many school functions at all because she couldn't afford a dress, for instance.

Still, she was very beautiful and had her share of interested gentlemen. I have a feeling though that she was naturally shy around them as it's a trait that I carry. My father was always boisterous, especially as he drank more and more, so I doubt that trait came from him. Thank goodness.

While my mom lived with her sisters, she did begin dating my father. As mentioned in the post about him, they didn't get married right away and he even broke up with her at one point to get back together with his ex wife (my sister's mother).

Eventually, when that experiment didn't work, my mother did forgive him and they became engaged. They married in May with me arriving the following January. My father's main memory of the day I was born was the nurses dragging him in from the waiting room because he was more invested in watching Rambo on TV. My mom's was how she was the only one who could calm me down. They'd move me to the nursery and I wouldn't stop screaming. They'd give me back to my mom and I'd be calm. 

Since then, she's continued to be there for me in moments of comfort. Any time my father would yell at me or mock me, my mom would be there to comfort me and to scream at him until she'd go hoarse. While my father was too busy watching TV and drinking to spend time with me, my mom would be in the backyard playing football or baseball with me.

She was always intelligent, especially when it came to financial matters. Even today, I always ask her advice on financial matters. Her opinion on all matters counts more than any financial advisor, therapist, or father figure I could ever meet combined.

My father died in March of 2017. In November of that year, my mom was first diagnosed with breast cancer. She had a successful surgery to remove the tumors and spent the following year going through chemotherapy and radiation treatments. When her hair fell out, she refused to wear a wig. She said, "they're too uncomfortable and if anyone has a problem with a bald lady, that's on them." In that moment, she was stronger and braver than my father was in his entire life.

The following year, they discovered a lump in her other breast. Not happy with an implant in her first affected breast (and wanted to have some semblance of symmetry), she decided to have that implant and the tumor from the second breast removed. These decisions were all important in extending her life to spend with myself and my daughter. She's in remission but she's also in constant discomfort from all the chemotherapy and radiation treatments.

By this point, I had been divorced and moved back home. I had told myself that it would only be temporary. But as the health issues continued (and my mom clearly not wanting me to move out anyway), I stayed and have lived in my childhood home ever since.

As mentioned before, she was one of the first people to whom I came out about being both pansexual and genderfluid. Her very first action when I told her about being Trixie was to go to her room to find any of the wigs they'd previously sent her during her cancer treatments. Even during a situation where you could understand her disowning me, she was still looking out for me and doing her best to help.

I can tell at times that she's not entirely used to me being Trixie or talking about being interested in both men and women. But she's still as supportive as she can be. This is also a reason why I don't ask her to help with my makeup or dressing up or anything like that. How do you ask a mother who raised a boy to help you feel more comfortable dressing up as a woman? It's the same reason I never spoke to her about my mental health issues because I felt guilty broaching the subject with a woman fighting cancer.

I know as well that I haven't been the perfect child for her. Since moving back in, I've taken her for granted or caused arguments over nothing. At first, I could blame the divorce and needing an outlet for my anger (it's not a good reason but it was the only one I could think of) but that simply doesn't fly as a reason anymore since I've been divorced for nearly six years now.

I try to do better. I work on myself in that regard. I stop myself before getting upset about something minor or stupid. It doesn't always work but I keep at it. She's done so much over the years to take care of me and now it's my time to return those many favors.

I'm sorry, Mom.

I love you.

Always.