The thing about living with Al is all of the stuff that you may have had between your loved one and yourself gets forgotten and lost; sometimes remembered with a prod or with an explanation but its a loss all the same.
I came out to my parents when I was fifteen years old. It was dramatic, with a lot of wailing and crying on the part of my mother and myself; my father just sat resignedly with a look that suggested he thought my mother a bit daft for never having noticed.
"I thought it was a stage," she wailed.
"What for fifteen years?" I cried incredulously.
After we had all got over the initial hurdle of the truth we sort of went into a limbo of nothing really being said. My mother would allude to things or say nothing at all about where I was going or who my friends were. She met a couple of them and liked them but didn't have the guts to ask if I was sleeping with them.
Then I saw a movie called 'Torch Song Trilogy' which changed my life and made me realise that the truth or as much truth as you or your parents can handle is the best option. Otherwise your relationships will be merely niceties made while dealing with each other.
In the movie there is a scene where the gay son screams that his mother hadn't been there for him when his lover was murdered to which she replies that he has hidden his life from her, that she knew nothing of the love he had for his lover because she was never included in their lives.
From then on I decided to let my mother know everything, well almost everything, about my life. I didn't go into gory details but she knew where I went, who I hung out with, where I partied. When she asked me once about what drugs I had had, I diligently told her about all of them, their effects on me and my preferences and the ones I didn't like. I talked to her like another rational human being, understanding where her concerns were and by telling her the truth subtly letting her know that I was not going to lose my self in a drug fueled haze. I hated pot which I duly told her which she was immensely pleased about. She thought pot had destroyed my brother's career prospects and had made one of my cousins mental.
And I introduced her to all of my friends, told her about my crushes, my heartaches or any issues and she in turn gave me relationship advice.
She became my confidante, my shoulder to cry on sometimes and my friend. I really liked her. I had got the chance to get to know her and I had allowed her to get to know me; the real me, not some pretend 'straightened version'.
She was always asking if I had met the one and when I did, I introduced her to him. She was impressed; he had his own business and had paid for my trip back to New Zealand to meet her and my dad. She thought he was the bees knees.
Duly when I left him, I rang her to let her know and all I needed to tell her was that he was destroying my spirit and my self esteem was suffering and her previous support vanished in seconds.
So the end appeared quietly and gently, with one simple question after her diagnosis. It slipped out while my Auntie Elsie and I were looking after her and my father. I think it affected my Auntie more than me initially. She looked dreadfully sad as she recognised the tell.
"Have you got a girlfriend, son?"
"No, Ma," I scoffed. "Can't find one good enough."
"Mary, remember," my Auntie chimed in looking sad and annoyed at the same time.
"Oh thats right," she said. She sat there looking at her tea a bit discombobulated but then all of a sudden her face brightened.
"Have you got a boyfriend, son?"
"No, Ma, I can't find one good enough."
She laughed and said, "Well you make sure he's a good one. You deserve a nice boy to love and take care of you so I won't have to worry about you anymore." She took a sip of tea, "well maybe not as much aye?"
I came out to my parents when I was fifteen years old. It was dramatic, with a lot of wailing and crying on the part of my mother and myself; my father just sat resignedly with a look that suggested he thought my mother a bit daft for never having noticed.
"I thought it was a stage," she wailed.
"What for fifteen years?" I cried incredulously.
After we had all got over the initial hurdle of the truth we sort of went into a limbo of nothing really being said. My mother would allude to things or say nothing at all about where I was going or who my friends were. She met a couple of them and liked them but didn't have the guts to ask if I was sleeping with them.
Then I saw a movie called 'Torch Song Trilogy' which changed my life and made me realise that the truth or as much truth as you or your parents can handle is the best option. Otherwise your relationships will be merely niceties made while dealing with each other.
In the movie there is a scene where the gay son screams that his mother hadn't been there for him when his lover was murdered to which she replies that he has hidden his life from her, that she knew nothing of the love he had for his lover because she was never included in their lives.
From then on I decided to let my mother know everything, well almost everything, about my life. I didn't go into gory details but she knew where I went, who I hung out with, where I partied. When she asked me once about what drugs I had had, I diligently told her about all of them, their effects on me and my preferences and the ones I didn't like. I talked to her like another rational human being, understanding where her concerns were and by telling her the truth subtly letting her know that I was not going to lose my self in a drug fueled haze. I hated pot which I duly told her which she was immensely pleased about. She thought pot had destroyed my brother's career prospects and had made one of my cousins mental.
And I introduced her to all of my friends, told her about my crushes, my heartaches or any issues and she in turn gave me relationship advice.
She became my confidante, my shoulder to cry on sometimes and my friend. I really liked her. I had got the chance to get to know her and I had allowed her to get to know me; the real me, not some pretend 'straightened version'.
She was always asking if I had met the one and when I did, I introduced her to him. She was impressed; he had his own business and had paid for my trip back to New Zealand to meet her and my dad. She thought he was the bees knees.
Duly when I left him, I rang her to let her know and all I needed to tell her was that he was destroying my spirit and my self esteem was suffering and her previous support vanished in seconds.
So the end appeared quietly and gently, with one simple question after her diagnosis. It slipped out while my Auntie Elsie and I were looking after her and my father. I think it affected my Auntie more than me initially. She looked dreadfully sad as she recognised the tell.
"Have you got a girlfriend, son?"
"No, Ma," I scoffed. "Can't find one good enough."
"Mary, remember," my Auntie chimed in looking sad and annoyed at the same time.
"Oh thats right," she said. She sat there looking at her tea a bit discombobulated but then all of a sudden her face brightened.
"Have you got a boyfriend, son?"
"No, Ma, I can't find one good enough."
She laughed and said, "Well you make sure he's a good one. You deserve a nice boy to love and take care of you so I won't have to worry about you anymore." She took a sip of tea, "well maybe not as much aye?"
