Editor’s note: The following submission contains themes which might be upsetting or triggering for some individuals. Reader discretion is advised.
To My Mom…
Since your birthday and “Mother’s Day” are often just days apart…
I’m here to wish you happy…
But I’m not.
My mother is a *bitch*.
She hasn’t spoken to me in years and *only* one time since my father died.
Being the “Queer One™️”, I wasn’t invited to his funeral…then given incorrect addresses for said funeral, then forgotten soon after *leading* my father’s military funeral procession…on my motorcycle.
The queer, trans, moved to Canada and married a boy, intellectual, outcast, rebel, non-conformist first born of the family…returned to bury her father and be cashiered permanently from the family.
All in one day.
When I came to you years later dying of acute HIV infection, zero immune system, 75 pounds lighter, hair breaking off in clumps, skin lesions so profound that it made me physically ill just to shower…slowly drowning as the pneumonia choked the life from me…
I just wanted to tell you.
I just wanted to say goodbye.
You were too busy with your grandchildren and your “successful”, “normal” children to meet your first born for a lousy cup of coffee.
I just wanted to say goodbye and hold your hand because I was terrified.
You didn’t care.
You couldn’t be bothered.
I don’t actually know if you’re alive or dead now…
It doesn’t really matter.
You’re dead to *me*.
I will *never* forgive you.
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