I transitioned after my parents passed away. I don’t think that my father knew, however, I know that my mother knew, it was the elephant in the room.
I had stashes of clothes that I painstakingly acquired which would disappear; she must have found them and thrown them out. I would move the location but she would she would stumble across them and they would disappear again.
One time I was smoking pot, a seed popped and burnt a hole in her blouse. When they got back from wintering in Florida she confronted me with the hole and asked if I knew how that got there. I said no and sheepishly replied that it looked like it got caught in a zipper. But nothing more was said.
When she was dying she said to me that she was worried about what would become of me and I think she was thinking of my crossdressing. Everyone tells me that they probably would have still loved me if I came out to them and I would also like to think they would. Especially now seeing the parents that I know and how they love their children I believe mine would have loved me.
The night my mother passed away I wrote this poem…
* * * * *
The Question
You never asked.
I always wondered.
But, I never asked.
It was our little secret.
The question unasked.
Little things that let me know that you knew.
But never asked.
The little hints here and there.
But the question remained unasked.
Hints just loud enough for my ears.
Oh, I always wondered about the question unasked.
Would our love survived.
If asked.
What would it have been like with the question asked?
What might have been if you asked?
What might have been if I asked?
But now is too late for you or me to ask.
I had stashes of clothes that I painstakingly acquired which would disappear; she must have found them and thrown them out. I would move the location but she would she would stumble across them and they would disappear again.
One time I was smoking pot, a seed popped and burnt a hole in her blouse. When they got back from wintering in Florida she confronted me with the hole and asked if I knew how that got there. I said no and sheepishly replied that it looked like it got caught in a zipper. But nothing more was said.
When she was dying she said to me that she was worried about what would become of me and I think she was thinking of my crossdressing. Everyone tells me that they probably would have still loved me if I came out to them and I would also like to think they would. Especially now seeing the parents that I know and how they love their children I believe mine would have loved me.
The night my mother passed away I wrote this poem…
The Question
You never asked.
I always wondered.
But, I never asked.
It was our little secret.
The question unasked.
Little things that let me know that you knew.
But never asked.
The little hints here and there.
But the question remained unasked.
Hints just loud enough for my ears.
Oh, I always wondered about the question unasked.
Would our love survived.
If asked.
What would it have been like with the question asked?
What might have been if you asked?
What might have been if I asked?
But now is too late for you or me to ask.
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