I've noticed something over the past 19 years.
Everyone else's pregnancies are so much shorter than mine.
Everyone else's children grow faster.
Everyone else's issues are easier to solve than your own.
Everyone else's lives are easier.
I don't mean all this in a "my life really sucks, is so hard" type of way. I just mean that when you're removed from the situation, it's easy to say what you'd do, how'd you react, etc.
When you're in the situation, it's often different. Very different.
Yesterday we went to pick up Hugh from residence. Rob was edgy all the way there, snapping at everyone, yelling at me. We got there, texted Hugh, and he comes out from the dining hall building.
With his long hair in French braids.
My heart sunk.
He was not all packed and ready to go. That was so maddening. He had two days after his exams and the only thing packed was a few odd things in a box and his laundry hamper. Rob spent most of the time outside, "loading the trailer".
I noticed his butt was fuller. I noticed a folder on his bed "Patient Guide for Intensive Transitional Program". He and Lucy were having a great time. At one point he took off his jacket and I saw small breast development. It's really happening.
Many friends stopped by and hugged him (he never hugged us growing up). They seemed to genuinely like him. He said all his rez friends know.
It's so easy to say "I fully support LBQT people!". It's easy to be accepting at school, in the world. When it's someone else's kid. I do want to support him. It's just so hard to see my only boy slipping away. Bit by bit over the next four months, he will be disappearing. The sense of loss is immense.
The kids watched the hockey game together last night. Listening to them, from another room, nothing was different. They will probably have a much easier time of this than me.
Rob is so upset too. He says he's disappointed, embarrassed. He doesn't want to see him. Doesn't want to talk to him. Says he can't support this. I don't want to either, but I can't not, either.
I'm trying to view him as someone else's. It doesn't ease the pain though.
I KNOW if I really am being supportive, I wouldn't use "he/him". To me, right now, Hugh is still a "he". He hasn't said otherwise, either. He hasn't mentioned a different name either, and all his friends at rez were calling him Hugh. That is going to be the hardest thing probably. I try, in my real life, to use inclusion language as much as possible and to not speculate or assume anything about gender preferences.
Sunday, April 28, 2019
Friday, April 26, 2019
Getting There
For the first time since April 5, I woke up this morning and my first thought wasn't "I'm sad" but "I have to make Megan's lunch". Then I thought about tomorrow when we go pick up Hugh. On Tuesday he texted and asked if we could come get him before Saturday. Apparently they are fined if they stay in residence longer than 24hrs after their last exam. The only ones getting extensions were international students. Well, if he had let us know this sooner, then perhaps Rob could have taken a day off. I suggested he move his stuff into someone else's room and bunk with them for 2 nights. Or the common room couch. He said he's working on it.
Rob called Residence Life and they said they send an email to every student in January with their move out date, based on their last exam. If Hugh had contacted them, they could have worked out an extension. I texted him this on Wednesday with this info and he hasn't responded.
On one hand, he wants to be all grown up. On the other hand, these things happen.
I'm so scared for tomorrow. I'm sort of at a place of resolution. It is what it is, I'm sad, I don't want to get deeply involved, I'm not ready for changes, but I will be as supportive as I can within those limitations. Does that make sense? Rob is still dealing with anger and disgust. He's unsure if he wants a relationship with someone doing something he doesn't approve of. I feel bad for him. He was never close to his brother and when his brother announced he was gay, that was all the ammunition Rob needed to defend his lack of closeness and perpetuate it. But I don't know how he could step away from his own son, especially if the rest of the family is fine with it. Or, at least, accepting of it. I'm one to root for the underdog, to dig beneath the surface of the kid in the corner who won't participate, to explain someone else's side. I see black, white, and grey. He sees only black. It's hard!
Rob called Residence Life and they said they send an email to every student in January with their move out date, based on their last exam. If Hugh had contacted them, they could have worked out an extension. I texted him this on Wednesday with this info and he hasn't responded.
On one hand, he wants to be all grown up. On the other hand, these things happen.
I'm so scared for tomorrow. I'm sort of at a place of resolution. It is what it is, I'm sad, I don't want to get deeply involved, I'm not ready for changes, but I will be as supportive as I can within those limitations. Does that make sense? Rob is still dealing with anger and disgust. He's unsure if he wants a relationship with someone doing something he doesn't approve of. I feel bad for him. He was never close to his brother and when his brother announced he was gay, that was all the ammunition Rob needed to defend his lack of closeness and perpetuate it. But I don't know how he could step away from his own son, especially if the rest of the family is fine with it. Or, at least, accepting of it. I'm one to root for the underdog, to dig beneath the surface of the kid in the corner who won't participate, to explain someone else's side. I see black, white, and grey. He sees only black. It's hard!
Thursday, April 25, 2019
Salt
Since my dad's death, lyrics from a Jann Arden song has been floating through my brain.
Oh the salt inside my body ruins
Everyone I come close to
My hands are barely
Holding up my head
Although the song ("Hanging by a Thread" from Happy? 1997) starts off sounding like a broken heart love song, it was actually written after Jann and her mother visited Jann's brother in a penitentiary like they did every month. Her mother came out, and said "I'm so tired of looking at my feet".
The image of salty tears and what salt does to various materials creates a stunning mental picture. I felt like I was so deeply sad, that my head was literally too heavy to hold up anymore.
And then. April 4.
I'm so tired of looking at my feet
All the secrets that I keep
My heart is barely hanging
By a thread.
While I know gender dysphoria is not something that needs to be kept a secret, it was going to have to be, at least for awhile.
Oh look at me,
And all I've done
I've lost so many things
That I so dearly loved
I've lost my soul
I've lost my pride
Oh I lost any hope of
Having a sweet life.
So I cry.
So much of my life has not gone how I planned. Broken hearts, broken careers plans, broken dreams. It's all just too much. I wake up every morning and my first thought is "I'm sad". I'm so friggin' sad.
Oh the salt inside my body ruins
Everyone I come close to
My hands are barely
Holding up my head
Although the song ("Hanging by a Thread" from Happy? 1997) starts off sounding like a broken heart love song, it was actually written after Jann and her mother visited Jann's brother in a penitentiary like they did every month. Her mother came out, and said "I'm so tired of looking at my feet".
The image of salty tears and what salt does to various materials creates a stunning mental picture. I felt like I was so deeply sad, that my head was literally too heavy to hold up anymore.
And then. April 4.
I'm so tired of looking at my feet
All the secrets that I keep
My heart is barely hanging
By a thread.
While I know gender dysphoria is not something that needs to be kept a secret, it was going to have to be, at least for awhile.
Oh look at me,
And all I've done
I've lost so many things
That I so dearly loved
I've lost my soul
I've lost my pride
Oh I lost any hope of
Having a sweet life.
So I cry.
So much of my life has not gone how I planned. Broken hearts, broken careers plans, broken dreams. It's all just too much. I wake up every morning and my first thought is "I'm sad". I'm so friggin' sad.
Wednesday, April 24, 2019
How?
The day after April 4, Megan was at a day long skating workshop with Kurt Browning. Lucy was at school. I spent the morning napping since I had been up all night. Still didn't get much sleep. I was so consumed by grief. And questions.
How? When? Why did we not know? Are we really that bad of parents?
The silence was thick. Even though Hugh was over 200km away, I could feel tension. I sent him a text:
We are so confused.
You never seemed unhappy, upset about being male. How did a few months of counselling lead to this?
It is such a drastic change that is going to make your life forever difficult. Even buying clothes. What about other gender options?
We just don't understand where this came from. That makes it hard. We don't want you to struggle either way but we just never did know you were.
And I wanted tall mini Hugh grandkids. :(
Although I used "we", Rob and I were on very different emotional rollercoasters. His was anger and fury mostly. He wanted to cut Hugh off his medical plan, cut off financial support, cut him out entirely. I had some anger, I won't deny it. I did not want to be supportive, because I just did not want to have to support something so challenging and controversial. I never asked for this. I knew he needed our support just to survive now. Part of me was saying "you chose this, you deal with it". I know that it's not a choice though. So, I had a lot of turmoil.
He responded back several long hours later.
Alright. Well I have been pretty unhappy for a long while now, I've started taking antidepressants to combat this though. I've known about this since I was 13, I've only been going to counselling for a month now. I waited so long because I wanted to wait until I was a grown, consenting adult, and so I could get an actual medical diagnosis to confirm my beliefs. I also didn't know how you guys would react and so I thought it might be a bit better to do it when I'm more independent in life.
I know this will lead to difficulties in my life, but I consider this the path of least resistance and kind of my only option.
I'm not really sure what you mean by other gender options...
so over the years I guess I've just been good at covering myself up. I'm kind of surprised to hear that you had no idea about anything. I'm sorry this is hard for you guys,it is for me as well, but I just needed to tell you.
We really had no idea. Although he was not a "man's boy" he was also not a "girly boy". He had no trouble taking off his shirt to go swimming. He never experimented with make up or nails. Yes, his hair was really long, but we thought that was his one way of expressing rebellion, since the growing out phase was rough on his grandparents. What could we have looked for?
Is it not possible that there are other issues present rather than (seemingly) jumping to transgender? Other reasons for being unhappy? Counselling for a month does not feel like enough to make such a firm decision. How could you be unhappy being male and no one noticed anything?
What about gender fluidity, being genderless, non-binary...why female? We just don't see it. What about body dysphoria, not gender dysphoria?
It's a lot to process.
I don't know if there are other issues in my life, but I know that I am trans. I've had a lot of time to think about it, 5 years, and I've been diagnosed by a doctor. It's not the counselling that convinced me of all this. Would you rather me be non-binary or something rather than being trans? As far as I am aware, I don't have body dysphoria, but I do have gender dysphoria. I know it's a lot to process but I'masking you to work through it.
I didn't respond for a week. I was working a very stressful substitute teaching job. Life was busy. I was still in shock and grief. I really had nothing more to say at the time.
Please don't view my lack of response negatively. I've been in a stressful job. This has been a shock. We've been working through anger, disbelief, sadness and feeling like we were betrayed. I'm already in mourning for my dad; no I've lost a son too
A friend told me I should give you some time and space. I know this is a lot for you guys, as it is for me. I haven't gone anywhere, I'm still the same person, I'm just trying to live my best life.
On the Monday, he texted me again:
I think we need to text more and establish a real dialogue. I also want to know your current feelings on the situation and what you want me to do.
"What you want me to do". What?! He already made the choice. He waited till he didn't have to hear what we wanted him to do. So why now is he asking? That made me so mad. I didn't respond. The next day:
Can you text me anything just so I know you guys haven't disowned me?
I responded back that I was at work, he sent a thumbs up, and then eight hours later:
I feel like you've been ignoring me.
No shit, really? How do you think we've been feeling this year when you slam your dorm room door and don't let us in? When you don't call home ever, even when we've called and left you a message? We had been feeling pushed away this year.
I have been working some stressful jobs. It feels like you disowned us. You waited until you were an adult so we couldn't tell you what to do. So we won't.
Do you have a job lined up? That is most important right now.
I didn't wait until I was an adult so you couldn't tell me what to do. I waited because I wanted to make sure this wasn't all just a phase. I waited because I didn't want this to be actually true. I waited because I know how many kids are disowned and kicked out. I waited because I felt like I could never talk to you guys about anything. I waited because I'm afraid of showing emotions and I'm afraid of change.
So. In other words. We failed as parents. We tried to always be encouraging and open, though Rob made it clear that he has high expectations, and very conservative views. I always wanted an open dialogue but my kids just never seemed to want it too.
I don't think it's helpful for us to hide behind lengthy, proofread paragraphs with quipy, passive aggressive remarks. I think we need to speak plainly with one another.
If nothing at all, these last two posts confirm that he is my child, linguistically anyway.
On Saturday, we have to go pick him up. I'm afraid. I want Lucy to come, to act as a buffer. I told Hugh he had to tell his sisters himself. We noticed that weekend that she was quiet and on her phone a lot, but we asked if she's heard from Hugh lately and she said "Not really". Does she know? I'm just so afraid. Do I ignore the changes and just act like he's Hugh? How do I not cry? What if Rob gets angry? He's still not sure if he wants him home for the summer. He is so close to disowning him, but I think he knows that's not really realistic.
How? When? Why did we not know? Are we really that bad of parents?
The silence was thick. Even though Hugh was over 200km away, I could feel tension. I sent him a text:
We are so confused.
You never seemed unhappy, upset about being male. How did a few months of counselling lead to this?
It is such a drastic change that is going to make your life forever difficult. Even buying clothes. What about other gender options?
We just don't understand where this came from. That makes it hard. We don't want you to struggle either way but we just never did know you were.
And I wanted tall mini Hugh grandkids. :(
Although I used "we", Rob and I were on very different emotional rollercoasters. His was anger and fury mostly. He wanted to cut Hugh off his medical plan, cut off financial support, cut him out entirely. I had some anger, I won't deny it. I did not want to be supportive, because I just did not want to have to support something so challenging and controversial. I never asked for this. I knew he needed our support just to survive now. Part of me was saying "you chose this, you deal with it". I know that it's not a choice though. So, I had a lot of turmoil.
He responded back several long hours later.
Alright. Well I have been pretty unhappy for a long while now, I've started taking antidepressants to combat this though. I've known about this since I was 13, I've only been going to counselling for a month now. I waited so long because I wanted to wait until I was a grown, consenting adult, and so I could get an actual medical diagnosis to confirm my beliefs. I also didn't know how you guys would react and so I thought it might be a bit better to do it when I'm more independent in life.
I know this will lead to difficulties in my life, but I consider this the path of least resistance and kind of my only option.
I'm not really sure what you mean by other gender options...
so over the years I guess I've just been good at covering myself up. I'm kind of surprised to hear that you had no idea about anything. I'm sorry this is hard for you guys,it is for me as well, but I just needed to tell you.
We really had no idea. Although he was not a "man's boy" he was also not a "girly boy". He had no trouble taking off his shirt to go swimming. He never experimented with make up or nails. Yes, his hair was really long, but we thought that was his one way of expressing rebellion, since the growing out phase was rough on his grandparents. What could we have looked for?
Is it not possible that there are other issues present rather than (seemingly) jumping to transgender? Other reasons for being unhappy? Counselling for a month does not feel like enough to make such a firm decision. How could you be unhappy being male and no one noticed anything?
What about gender fluidity, being genderless, non-binary...why female? We just don't see it. What about body dysphoria, not gender dysphoria?
It's a lot to process.
I don't know if there are other issues in my life, but I know that I am trans. I've had a lot of time to think about it, 5 years, and I've been diagnosed by a doctor. It's not the counselling that convinced me of all this. Would you rather me be non-binary or something rather than being trans? As far as I am aware, I don't have body dysphoria, but I do have gender dysphoria. I know it's a lot to process but I'masking you to work through it.
I didn't respond for a week. I was working a very stressful substitute teaching job. Life was busy. I was still in shock and grief. I really had nothing more to say at the time.
Please don't view my lack of response negatively. I've been in a stressful job. This has been a shock. We've been working through anger, disbelief, sadness and feeling like we were betrayed. I'm already in mourning for my dad; no I've lost a son too
A friend told me I should give you some time and space. I know this is a lot for you guys, as it is for me. I haven't gone anywhere, I'm still the same person, I'm just trying to live my best life.
On the Monday, he texted me again:
I think we need to text more and establish a real dialogue. I also want to know your current feelings on the situation and what you want me to do.
"What you want me to do". What?! He already made the choice. He waited till he didn't have to hear what we wanted him to do. So why now is he asking? That made me so mad. I didn't respond. The next day:
Can you text me anything just so I know you guys haven't disowned me?
I responded back that I was at work, he sent a thumbs up, and then eight hours later:
I feel like you've been ignoring me.
No shit, really? How do you think we've been feeling this year when you slam your dorm room door and don't let us in? When you don't call home ever, even when we've called and left you a message? We had been feeling pushed away this year.
I have been working some stressful jobs. It feels like you disowned us. You waited until you were an adult so we couldn't tell you what to do. So we won't.
Do you have a job lined up? That is most important right now.
I didn't wait until I was an adult so you couldn't tell me what to do. I waited because I wanted to make sure this wasn't all just a phase. I waited because I didn't want this to be actually true. I waited because I know how many kids are disowned and kicked out. I waited because I felt like I could never talk to you guys about anything. I waited because I'm afraid of showing emotions and I'm afraid of change.
So. In other words. We failed as parents. We tried to always be encouraging and open, though Rob made it clear that he has high expectations, and very conservative views. I always wanted an open dialogue but my kids just never seemed to want it too.
I don't think it's helpful for us to hide behind lengthy, proofread paragraphs with quipy, passive aggressive remarks. I think we need to speak plainly with one another.
If nothing at all, these last two posts confirm that he is my child, linguistically anyway.
On Saturday, we have to go pick him up. I'm afraid. I want Lucy to come, to act as a buffer. I told Hugh he had to tell his sisters himself. We noticed that weekend that she was quiet and on her phone a lot, but we asked if she's heard from Hugh lately and she said "Not really". Does she know? I'm just so afraid. Do I ignore the changes and just act like he's Hugh? How do I not cry? What if Rob gets angry? He's still not sure if he wants him home for the summer. He is so close to disowning him, but I think he knows that's not really realistic.
Borrowed Child
I've long had the feeling that we don't "raise" our children. Sometimes, nurture can make a big difference, but when it comes right down to it, they are who they are. And they are who they are while with us for such a short time. About only 25% of a person's life is spent with their parents, growing up. Our job is to get them to adulthood; our job is not to stifle them, create our dream child, or to hinder them from becoming successful adults. We are borrowing them for this short period.
With Hugh, there was always this sense of unease. That one day, our time together will be done. It wasn't so much "you'll go away to university" but more "you'll be gone". I felt often that he was not my child. Not in the sense of a hospital mix up, there was no chance of that, but that I was just his protector and food producer for this stage in life and that would stop. I get that stops with all your children (hopefully), but this was more vague. I couldn't see the future. He changed so much on one hand, and not at all on the other hand. I didn't feel like I really knew him like a parent should. I had started to enjoy the new, mature Hugh and was excited to see what was to come. Although I was sad he was going away to university, I wasn't one of those bawling mothers. I borrowed this child to raise him for 18 years, not knowing what the outcome would be, but excited anyway. I was sure the adult Hugh would be my reward for the uncertainties of his youth.
I never imagined that I truly had only borrowed him. That one day he would be gone, and a woman would be in his place. I've lost my child. The grief is so overcoming. My head says to be happy for him, for his courage. My heart is breaking at my loss, his grandparents' loss, the difficulties he will have to go through. Although we faced challenges in his early years, I thought my reward was an adult Hugh. I'm not going to get that reward. And I'm crushed. And I know I shouldn't be, but I am.
With Hugh, there was always this sense of unease. That one day, our time together will be done. It wasn't so much "you'll go away to university" but more "you'll be gone". I felt often that he was not my child. Not in the sense of a hospital mix up, there was no chance of that, but that I was just his protector and food producer for this stage in life and that would stop. I get that stops with all your children (hopefully), but this was more vague. I couldn't see the future. He changed so much on one hand, and not at all on the other hand. I didn't feel like I really knew him like a parent should. I had started to enjoy the new, mature Hugh and was excited to see what was to come. Although I was sad he was going away to university, I wasn't one of those bawling mothers. I borrowed this child to raise him for 18 years, not knowing what the outcome would be, but excited anyway. I was sure the adult Hugh would be my reward for the uncertainties of his youth.
I never imagined that I truly had only borrowed him. That one day he would be gone, and a woman would be in his place. I've lost my child. The grief is so overcoming. My head says to be happy for him, for his courage. My heart is breaking at my loss, his grandparents' loss, the difficulties he will have to go through. Although we faced challenges in his early years, I thought my reward was an adult Hugh. I'm not going to get that reward. And I'm crushed. And I know I shouldn't be, but I am.
Tuesday, April 23, 2019
The Longest Day
I knew Rob would not deal well with this news. His anger was unabashed. I was feeling mostly sadness. Hugh actually called back later in the evening, but I really didn't have anything to say.
I got in the shower and just started sobbing like never before. Almost wailing. I nearly fell to my knees from the grief (but I knew that would hurt). Like images you see of war victims, or relatives at the site of a plane crash. Huge sobs, barely catching my breath. My grief was unmeasurable, unabashed and yet I felt very shameful for having those thought. My son. My son. My son.
My son. My beautiful, only son. The only grandson for either side of the family. Named after my grandfather, my father, and my father-in-law. How could he do this? To us? To him? To them? My dad just died and now my son is gone. How? Why?
He's never had things easy. The type of kid to wear shorts out at 5C because he doesn't want to admit that the sunshine through the window doesn't match the actual outside temperature. The type of kid happy to pass up Hallowe'en rather than suffer wearing a costume. The type of kid who can't lie and never breaks rules. His bad choices could be added up on one hand.
Throwing his yogurt at a classmate.
Trying to start a fire in the backyard.
Breaking the skateboard him and Dad worked on together.
Forging a guidance slip.
Not checking in with me to find the best route to the conservation area so him and his friends could go burn their notebooks. They ended up walking miles out of their way, with no water, in 30C+
Oh yes. There was the time he "let" Lucy cut her own hair rather than coming to get me, and the one time he smacked Megan on the back so hard it left a red hand imprint.
I KNOW, inside my brain, that this is NOT a "bad choice". My heart feels differently though. My son. My son. My son.
I KNOW I need to put his needs first. My heart though keeps saying "What about us?"
I KNOW I have it easy compared to what he has coming. That doesn't make it easy though.
I went to bed, unable to sleep despite allergy meds and melatonin. I quietly sobbed most of the night. My son. My son. My son. Luckily, I had the day off work, but I still had to get Megan up and ready to be picked up for a special skating workshop with Kurt Browning.
Once the girls were both gone, I broke down again. My son. My son. My son. I never wanted three girls. I wanted two boys and one girl. I'd rather have three girls than two girls and one dead son. Although I am not ready to be all "Yay! Lets go bra shopping!", I know enough to respect his choice and I don't want to add to his troubles. Rob checked his drug benefit plan, and indeed, Hugh has been taking what appears to be hormones. He was about to call to find out if Hugh could be taken off the plan. I couldn't think straight anymore. I feel so broken. Rob keeps saying "He doesn't know how hard it's going to be" and then he adds he doesn't want to see him, or support him, or anything. So I say, "Why should his parents make it even harder for him? Shouldn't parents be the ones to provide the safe space?".
I KNOW this, yet my heart is still broken. My son. My son. My son.
A History of Hugh
Rob could see it was something major. He kept asking me to tell him, and I said "After we go to Staples". I knew I would break down and I couldn't do that and then go into a store.
After Staples, I told him. He was furious.
They never had a close bond. All Rob had wanted was a little boy to follow him around and ride dirt bikes with him. Hugh was not that child. He was a challenging infant, making the first months difficult for bonding. He was diagnosed with Sensory Processing Dysfunction. He was sensitive to noise, dirt, clothing, motion, gravity. He had a speech delay and screamed a lot, with apparent little reason. For someone with no experience with children, he was not an optimal first child. Rob started putting up walls early on.
As Hugh grew older, his personality emerged more and more. And he was less and less like his Dad. More like his Dad's brother. And that was not a good thing, in Rob's eyes. Hugh "lacked" athleticism, drive, initiative. He was stubborn, reserved, and sometimes timid. Despite not being a "manly boy", Hugh was not in any way a "girly boy" either.
We really tried to encourage him to embrace high school. He'd gone to four different elementary schools for K-8, but at least going to high school, he was with kids he'd known from the last two elementary schools. Yet, he still wouldn't engage with his life. No clubs, no teams. A couple times he joined something, only to say "I don't know when they meet" a month later. He did well enough academically, getting honour roll in grade 9, but not grade 10.
As the courses got more specialized, he seemed to bloom. He was a deep thinker with a sarcastic sense of humour. His teachers liked him. One day, Lucy had a supply teacher for science. Since they had the same science teacher, she told him how bad the supply (substitute) teacher was, before his class. While in his computer design class, Hugh faked a guidance appointment slip and gave it to the supply teacher at the start of science.
He knew I was working that day, but didn't know it was just a half day. I came home, and the door was unlocked. I came in, and could hear music blaring in the basement. Who was home?! I was a little freaked out! Then Hugh comes down the stairs, ready to go in the hot tub!! Busted!! I sent him back to school, but was secretly pleased at his attempt to break rules so I didn't punish him.
In his last year, his friends were getting their driver's licenses, but he wasn't interested. He wrote the test but didn't seem to want to learn to drive. His friends were happy picking him up and suddenly he was out of the house a lot more. Although I worried about their safety, I knew Hugh just didn't do stupid things.
As the last year of high school progressed, it was time for university applications. Hugh had to be pushed every step of the way. He had no idea what he wanted to study, or where. Of course, we wanted him to go to Queen's, but recognized his marks weren't all that high for any specialty programs. We heard of a program that would allow him to combine film studies (including editing) and computer programming. That seemed like a good fit if he didn't get into computer programming.
In the end, the decision was computer programming at Carlton University (which we had never even toured because he just couldn't decide if he wanted to) or the "Computers in the Creative Arts" at Queen's. We subtly encouraged him to go to Queen's because we had found out he could transfer into B. Com Prog after first year if he had the marks and the required courses.
Then it was time for residence lottery. Unbelievably, Hugh got West Campus---and so did several other students from our neighbourhood. Not just his high school, but our actual small neighbourhood. Rob was furious. He took it as a personal attack on his "Queensness". And he couldn't understand Hugh's lack of excitement and initiative. I just said "It's a lottery. We knew that. Get over it. Everyone says they love it once they've lived there".
It was hard getting Hugh excited for anything. You'd think though, that university would be worthy of a little bit of excitement. The day before we left, he had barely packed.
The move in went fine, but before long Rob and him were bumping heads. We went down to Kingston for Homecoming Weekend, and Hugh didn't really want to see us. In fact, we were at West Campus for the football game, and he wouldn't let us in his building to use the bathroom. Getting him to make travel plans to come home for his graduation was like setting up an appointment to get teeth pulled. We came and got him at Christmas and when they left to go back, I simply said "See you in April". When they (Lucy went too) got to the rez, Hugh said "Thanks, see you later" and wouldn't let them in his room.
He didn't want to come home for Reading Week in February. So we went to see him, but he was not happy having us in his room.
He never called us. Trying to get financials arranged was a chore. He seemed to be really enjoying the campus life. He joined fencing and archery and was interested in a Magic card group. He was doing okay for marks. He liked history and film and they were his best marks, but he preferred the other courses as they had less reading and writing. We were pushing him to find a summer job and get an apartment for the next year.
On March 16, my dad died, somewhat unexpectedly. We called and texted Hugh but he wasn't responding. Finally, just as we approached the fork in the highway that determined if we would go straight up to my parents, or go east to pick him up, he called. We went the extra mile (many, many extra miles) to pick him up. Pulled around to his building, but he was actually waiting by the front doors of the main building. Why? On Monday, March 18 we took him back. We got to his rez room door. He unlocked it, threw his bag in, and quickly closed it, saying "Well, bye. See you later".
That was the last time I would ever see my son.
After Staples, I told him. He was furious.
They never had a close bond. All Rob had wanted was a little boy to follow him around and ride dirt bikes with him. Hugh was not that child. He was a challenging infant, making the first months difficult for bonding. He was diagnosed with Sensory Processing Dysfunction. He was sensitive to noise, dirt, clothing, motion, gravity. He had a speech delay and screamed a lot, with apparent little reason. For someone with no experience with children, he was not an optimal first child. Rob started putting up walls early on.
As Hugh grew older, his personality emerged more and more. And he was less and less like his Dad. More like his Dad's brother. And that was not a good thing, in Rob's eyes. Hugh "lacked" athleticism, drive, initiative. He was stubborn, reserved, and sometimes timid. Despite not being a "manly boy", Hugh was not in any way a "girly boy" either.
We really tried to encourage him to embrace high school. He'd gone to four different elementary schools for K-8, but at least going to high school, he was with kids he'd known from the last two elementary schools. Yet, he still wouldn't engage with his life. No clubs, no teams. A couple times he joined something, only to say "I don't know when they meet" a month later. He did well enough academically, getting honour roll in grade 9, but not grade 10.
As the courses got more specialized, he seemed to bloom. He was a deep thinker with a sarcastic sense of humour. His teachers liked him. One day, Lucy had a supply teacher for science. Since they had the same science teacher, she told him how bad the supply (substitute) teacher was, before his class. While in his computer design class, Hugh faked a guidance appointment slip and gave it to the supply teacher at the start of science.
He knew I was working that day, but didn't know it was just a half day. I came home, and the door was unlocked. I came in, and could hear music blaring in the basement. Who was home?! I was a little freaked out! Then Hugh comes down the stairs, ready to go in the hot tub!! Busted!! I sent him back to school, but was secretly pleased at his attempt to break rules so I didn't punish him.
In his last year, his friends were getting their driver's licenses, but he wasn't interested. He wrote the test but didn't seem to want to learn to drive. His friends were happy picking him up and suddenly he was out of the house a lot more. Although I worried about their safety, I knew Hugh just didn't do stupid things.
As the last year of high school progressed, it was time for university applications. Hugh had to be pushed every step of the way. He had no idea what he wanted to study, or where. Of course, we wanted him to go to Queen's, but recognized his marks weren't all that high for any specialty programs. We heard of a program that would allow him to combine film studies (including editing) and computer programming. That seemed like a good fit if he didn't get into computer programming.
In the end, the decision was computer programming at Carlton University (which we had never even toured because he just couldn't decide if he wanted to) or the "Computers in the Creative Arts" at Queen's. We subtly encouraged him to go to Queen's because we had found out he could transfer into B. Com Prog after first year if he had the marks and the required courses.
Then it was time for residence lottery. Unbelievably, Hugh got West Campus---and so did several other students from our neighbourhood. Not just his high school, but our actual small neighbourhood. Rob was furious. He took it as a personal attack on his "Queensness". And he couldn't understand Hugh's lack of excitement and initiative. I just said "It's a lottery. We knew that. Get over it. Everyone says they love it once they've lived there".
It was hard getting Hugh excited for anything. You'd think though, that university would be worthy of a little bit of excitement. The day before we left, he had barely packed.
The move in went fine, but before long Rob and him were bumping heads. We went down to Kingston for Homecoming Weekend, and Hugh didn't really want to see us. In fact, we were at West Campus for the football game, and he wouldn't let us in his building to use the bathroom. Getting him to make travel plans to come home for his graduation was like setting up an appointment to get teeth pulled. We came and got him at Christmas and when they left to go back, I simply said "See you in April". When they (Lucy went too) got to the rez, Hugh said "Thanks, see you later" and wouldn't let them in his room.
He didn't want to come home for Reading Week in February. So we went to see him, but he was not happy having us in his room.
He never called us. Trying to get financials arranged was a chore. He seemed to be really enjoying the campus life. He joined fencing and archery and was interested in a Magic card group. He was doing okay for marks. He liked history and film and they were his best marks, but he preferred the other courses as they had less reading and writing. We were pushing him to find a summer job and get an apartment for the next year.
On March 16, my dad died, somewhat unexpectedly. We called and texted Hugh but he wasn't responding. Finally, just as we approached the fork in the highway that determined if we would go straight up to my parents, or go east to pick him up, he called. We went the extra mile (many, many extra miles) to pick him up. Pulled around to his building, but he was actually waiting by the front doors of the main building. Why? On Monday, March 18 we took him back. We got to his rez room door. He unlocked it, threw his bag in, and quickly closed it, saying "Well, bye. See you later".
That was the last time I would ever see my son.
The Day
Thursday, April 4 2019.
The day.
It started out nice enough. I texted Hugh to say "Tomorrow is your last day of classes?!" (He's in first year university). I about to head home from my mom's, in a rental car. The car had bluetooth and could read texts and had a touch screen of "quick responses". The sky was blue, the tank full, and a new CD in the stereo ("Chicago" soundtrack that I picked up at the thrift store because Megan is skating to "Roxie").
He asked if we could talk. I had less than 10 minutes left on my plan. He asked when I'd be home--late afternoon, then it'd be the dinner rush, and then taking Megan to band... I explained that the car reads texts.
"Idk if this is really a conversation I want to have through texts"
"I'm driving right now. I will call you back later" (that's a "Quick Response" from the car)
"Okay, just know that I feel like this is also kind of a private matter and I don't know how I feel about everyone else being around at home."
Oh. What could it be?
It was a sad trip home. My dad died, somewhat unexpectedly, on March 16. It's hard not to cry when I'm alone in the car, travelling the route we did for 9 1/2 years to go visit my parents. Not as hard as when we went up the day he died, and had to go a different route, which took us through the isolated areas that we camped in while I was growing up. My parents moved "up north" in 1998, a year after we got married, and we had moved north-west until moving back to our home area 9 1/2 years ago. The route from where I grew up to where they moved to was not filled with the same emotions apparently. However, just knowing that I was now returning from my mom's, rather than my parents' was emotion enough.
We had dinner and I let him know I had some time before taking Megan to band. He called. There was a lot of small talk and silence. I kept prompting him and he'd pause. Finally.
"I'm trans."
I fell apart inside. That wasn't what I was expecting, or hoping for. I was in the kitchen and I tried to keep my side vague from ears walking through. There was a lot of silence and "we'll be okay". Finally, since we weren't having a real conversation, I said it was time to take Megan to band.
The day.
It started out nice enough. I texted Hugh to say "Tomorrow is your last day of classes?!" (He's in first year university). I about to head home from my mom's, in a rental car. The car had bluetooth and could read texts and had a touch screen of "quick responses". The sky was blue, the tank full, and a new CD in the stereo ("Chicago" soundtrack that I picked up at the thrift store because Megan is skating to "Roxie").
He asked if we could talk. I had less than 10 minutes left on my plan. He asked when I'd be home--late afternoon, then it'd be the dinner rush, and then taking Megan to band... I explained that the car reads texts.
"Idk if this is really a conversation I want to have through texts"
"I'm driving right now. I will call you back later" (that's a "Quick Response" from the car)
"Okay, just know that I feel like this is also kind of a private matter and I don't know how I feel about everyone else being around at home."
Oh. What could it be?
It was a sad trip home. My dad died, somewhat unexpectedly, on March 16. It's hard not to cry when I'm alone in the car, travelling the route we did for 9 1/2 years to go visit my parents. Not as hard as when we went up the day he died, and had to go a different route, which took us through the isolated areas that we camped in while I was growing up. My parents moved "up north" in 1998, a year after we got married, and we had moved north-west until moving back to our home area 9 1/2 years ago. The route from where I grew up to where they moved to was not filled with the same emotions apparently. However, just knowing that I was now returning from my mom's, rather than my parents' was emotion enough.
We had dinner and I let him know I had some time before taking Megan to band. He called. There was a lot of small talk and silence. I kept prompting him and he'd pause. Finally.
"I'm trans."
I fell apart inside. That wasn't what I was expecting, or hoping for. I was in the kitchen and I tried to keep my side vague from ears walking through. There was a lot of silence and "we'll be okay". Finally, since we weren't having a real conversation, I said it was time to take Megan to band.
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