My mom died two days ago. She was always a very doting and loving mother. I didn’t always get what I wanted, but she always made sure I had everything I needed. Somehow, I was almost never disappointed when she refused me something.
She was a writer. She had this brilliant way with words. She could take a piece of paper and a pen and turn it into magic. My mom was good at everything she did. She was a genius and an artist and a wonderful listener.
I loved her more than anything in the world, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she had loved me even more than that. She always put me before everything else. I guess that why it hurt me so much when she refused to call me a boy. It was the one time I was ever disappointed by her. At times, I admit, I hated her for it.
She was always so understanding about everything else. When I told her I was asexual, she told me it fine. I don’t know what was so different about me coming out as transgender, but she didn’t accept it. She never even said that it was a phase or that I would change my mind or any of the other excuses other people told me. She just smiled and went on as if I hadn’t said anything.
I miss her so much, and now I sometimes think that she never really knew who I was. It terrifies me because I never wanted to disappoint her. Now it’s possible that I broke apart every expectation she had of me. And she died without really knowing me.
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