How I “Adopted” a Gay Son
Shelter in a storm
I remember that fateful day.
My friend Lydia and I met at a coffee shop to chitchat. During our monthly breakfasts, I have always enjoyed listening to updates about her twenty-something son Brian, an aspiring journalist who lives in a nearby town. They became especially close after Lydia’s husband, Brian’s father, died in a car crash.
I’d always been fond of Brian, and he seemed to appreciate my supportive presence after the accident. But I hadn’t seen him since he graduated high school.
That morning at the coffee shop, Lydia wasn’t her typical cheerful self. I could see something was wrong. I was about to take a bite out of my bran muffin when she said, “I’ve got horrible news!” Knowing she’d recently had a mammogram, my heart sank. Had something suspicious showed up?
Then she blurted out, “Brian is gay!”
I was relieved to know her news wasn’t health-related, but perplexed. “That’s not horrible. You should support and love your son no matter what his sexual orientation is.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t accept he’s attracted to men!” She glared at me and stormed out. I sat back stunned. Had that really just happened? Would she really turn her back on her only child?
Later that evening, I reached out with a phone call. Lydia answered with a flat, “Hello, Renee.”
“Lydia, please don’t turn your back on Brian.”
Her response was cold. “I no longer have a son and I never want to speak to you again either!” She ended our conversation with a click that also ended our friendship. She stopped taking my calls, and I stopped trying.
Months later, I found myself in the same coffee shop. Sipping my latte, I noticed a young man who looked very familiar. I blinked and realized Brian was standing in line with a guy about the same age. I was conflicted over whether I should say hello, but in the end, I took a deep breath and walked over.
“Brian? It’s been a long time!”
“Mrs. Trendall!”
“Oh, please it’s Renee now that you’re all grown up.”
“Alright. Oh, hey, can I introduce you to my partner Tim?”
“So nice to meet you!” I said with a warm smile.
We all shook hands and then Brian dropped the big question. “Do you know how my mom is doing?”
“I wish!. We’re not really speaking.”
He sighed. “Yeah? Same here. Did she tell you about me?”
I nodded and asked the guys to join me at my table. As we sipped our drinks, Brian told me about the email that ended their relationship. How she wrote that she would never accept his “disgusting lifestyle.” I tried to keep a straight face, but my heart broke for him.
We exchanged contact information and promised to keep in touch. We kept our word and enjoyed the occasional restaurant dinner for the next few months. We talked about anything and everything. One evening he broke down. “ I can’t change who I am or how I feel. I can’t not be in love with Tim. Why can’t my mom be happy for me?”
My own tears flowed like a dam had burst. I looked into his reddened eyes and said, “I am so sorry. You don’t need to change, she does.”
His eyes told me how grateful he was. I won’t ever ever forget that moment. Lydia should have been the recipient of that gratitude. I couldn’t imagine why she refused to bend.
A year later, Brian and Tim married. Their wedding ceremony was beautiful. Lydia wasn’t there but I was. Her loss. Sitting in the sanctuary, I felt like his surrogate mom. Not all stories have happy endings, but I vowed that I would do my best to stay in Brian’s life.
I can’t take away his pain, but I can celebrate his joyful moments and be his refuge during dark days. Like his real mother should be.
