It's my middle child's birthday today. Her name is April Dawn. She's in the pictures below with the chosen men in her life: her boyfriend and the man she calls dad.
It's both a happy and sad day for me because we haven't talked since I came out as a transgender man three years ago. This is nothing new for trans folx. Painful family rejection is a bitter pill to swallow, but today I find myself choking on it, and longing for understanding and hope.
Let me start at labor, which was difficult. April was rushed to the intensive care nursery but proved from the beginning there was a Mighty Mouse fighter inside her being.
April is a beautiful month, and I recognized my baby's beauty right away, so it seemed to fit. The beauty and newness of dawn has always appealed to my sense of mystical possibilities and wonder. I also liked the way it sounded.
The birth certificate was signed, and the nameless baby became April Dawn. Would she like her name? Did it fit? A parent never really knows, we just choose it and hope for the best. But sometimes there is more.
With strength and beauty she exemplified the name as the years passed.
Recently I realized the connection between the word April and new beginnings, renewal, and the blossoming of nature. Dawn is the time that marks the brightening dimness before sunrise. Together they celebrate the idea of having a new beginning everyday.
Shouldn't we all sit in a state of wonder each morning? Each moment? What will the new day hold? What pain might it restore?
Today I choose to sit before dawn anticipating the sun rising into the sky. Waiting with love and as much patience as I can. Hoping for and dreaming of a new day, when my beloved child can enter without fear into a new beginning. Forgiving me for whatever needs forgiving. Accepting in me whatever needs to be accepted. Entering into a new day.
A better day.
A day when our relationship can blossom into fullness.
An April Dawn.
Sitting and hoping with you, my love.
ReplyDeleteI love you so much and the admiration and respect I have for you knows no bounds. I'm my own journey of grief, you have been a constant presence of love, support, compassion, faithful friendship, and a quiet strength that I knew I could always depend on. So it only makes sense and is my greatest desire that I can offer you the same gifts to you on your own journey of grief.
ReplyDeleteGrief is so diverse and only makes all sense and absolutely no sense to the person on their own personal journey. Kind of wild how the all sense/no sense can coexist but somehow -- at least for me -- that's been my truth during the sudden and unexpected in the loss of my precious Jeff.
But people seem to have an easier time with someone else's grief when they've lost their loved one due to death. But for me, I think the grief you experience is far more difficult because you deal with deep pain due to nothing you have done wrong to harm your precious April Dawn or put her in harms way, so you have that added hope thrown in, never knowing if it will come to fruition or not.
I don't have that hope. Well, not in this lifetime anyway. Death is final. Jeff is not coming back. That door has closed forever until whatever exists in the other realm becomes my own experience. My grief will never end, but for all intents and purposes, the story of Jeff and Joyce together on earth is over.
You, on the other hand, still have that inkling of hope, possibility, and reconciliation. I can only imagine that must be so much more difficult because it's an unfinished chapter with many different directions for it to go.
I'm so sorry. I don't have words, empty platitudes, and not a single promise for you. I can only offer your my ear, my shoulder, my love, my friendship, and my word that I will walk through this with you; sometimes in silence, or anger, or heartbreaking pain. Whatever it is that you need from me, I'll do my best to give it to you.
Thank you for sharing. You are deeply and dearly loved.