Daughter, you're loved so much.
On Christmas and every day,
you are loved for what you are,
for what you strive to be,
and what you always will be.
You are loved because you're you.
"What a perfect card! I love you honey. I hope you enjoy Christmas with grandma and whoever else comes.
What a perfect card? What a perfect card?? I don't understand what that's supposed to me. Every card she has sent me since I came out to her has said, no, not just "i love you" but in a sense, they have all said, "I love you despite your quirks" or "I'll always love you no matter what for all eternity!" As if she's trying to prove she loves me - as if that would erase everything I said last February.
Wait. Stop. I'm reading between the lines where there is no writing. Start over.
This is the card from my mother. I just wish she meant these words 100%. What she didn't say was that she loves everything I am except gay. Everything I strive to be, except a good gay girl. She loves what I will always be, except gay. the card didn't say it, but she has said it before. In emotional moments where she can't figure out what went wrong. Like when she told me that I would never be permitted to bring my partners to a family gathering. She said it when she told me I couldn't come out to my grandmother.
Wait. Stop. This was not her intent. She just wanted to express her love. Start over.
The fact that mother is even sending me Christmas cards and presents and the fact that she keeps choosing these cards that are more adamant about the expressions of love - that is proof of my good fortune. She speaks to me, but not only that, everything she says comes out of love, even when sometimes I feel like it doesn't... She loves me. My mother loves me.
I take back everything I said the other night about my mother being the very definition of "straight laced." My mom is strong and gentle. She is not a tame lion and neither am I. And I think that I did not give her enough credit for raising a strong, gentle daughter who is not a tame lion. We don't see eye to eye, but that was inevitable. She always tells me that I'm just like my father. But I think all that means is that I draw out her strong opinions by displaying mine.
My mom is tough, but it's all sleight of hand. You'd never guess.
That's me, too.
Sleight of hand.
Smoke and mirrors.
We do all our own