Grand

Since the day Daddy died almost two years ago, my mother and I have conducted one of the richest, on-going conversations I’ve ever had. We didn’t talk much before then, and, when we did, about nothing more important than the weather. She didn’t like that I was gay, and I didn’t like that she had a problem with it.

So we talked about the weather. It was the only safe subject.

She called tonight and took up where we left off last time.

My niece’s wedding is on track, except for the details. They have a date and a place, but not much else. Mama’s waiting on colors before she does anything. (Why having everything perfectly color-coordinated baffles me, but it’s part of the ritual of weddings.) My little sister kicked her useless boyfriend out, finally. After too, too long. My older sister is still trying to close on a house that didn’t appraise, but probably should have.

Mama and I talked for about an hour about some things trivial and others of gravitas. It was part of the on-going conversation we began when she told me the day Daddy died that “some things just don’t matter.”

We have both grown because of that simple statement. It empowered me to be who I am and allowed her to accept that reality. She saw that I was no different than her. She saw that death hurts and that we shared a common love: Daddy.

Out of death came a phoenix. It’s nothing short of remarkable.

We needed each other. And still do. Out of the ashes, a deeper, richer relationship grew into a conversation that just keeps going on.

In spite of pain and grief and recriminations and plain old stubbornness, something new has blossomed. Actually, something old has been reborn.

I never stopped loving her, even though she didn’t like much about my life since I told her I was gay. And I resented her for not accepting it.

I don’t know if that has passed for all time, but I know that things are better. Better because we talk. There was a long period where we didn’t. I’m glad it’s over and hope it stays that way.

I don’t think either of us really wanted to talk to the other for a while. We were both too mule-headed about something that, in the end, doesn’t really matter. What matters is that we lost years of that long conversation.

There’s nothing I can do about that. Those years are gone and will never come back. I lost them, and she did, too. We will never get them back, either one of us.

We lost too many years over what was essentially unimportant. I've said for the better part of two decades that my sexual orientation is one of the least important and most irrelevant things about me.

I am a gay man. I am gay; I am a man. The latter always takes precedence over the former.

I'm finally knocking that into peoples' heads.

The most important thing in my life tonight is that my hip is killing me. It is not playing well with gravity, and hasn't been for the better part of a week. After that, we have a storm moving in that will hit about the time I get to sleep. And then, there'll be no sleep.

Still, the laundry's done and the dishwasher is ready for the week to come. Two odious chores down, and a storm to go.

That's the most important thing about me: just living and taking care of things like any other person would.

Now my niece is getting married. And with all weddings comes the prospect of new life. Me and Mama haven’t talked about that part yet, but we’ll get around to it. She’ll be a great-grandmother and I’ll be a grand uncle.

Finally, officially, grand at last. It’s every old queen’s wet dream.