Title image: Rawpixel “Butterflies” is licensed under Public Domain CC0 1.0 Universal Deed

This is the blog that I have put off writing since last September.

Last Fall

I took two weeks of intermittent FMLA (work leave) in early September 2024 when I flew across the country with my trans daughter to be her caretaker following her surgery. We traveled as far as we did as this was a surgeon who was renowned for specializing in this type of surgery.

During those weeks away from home, I worked remotely as much as I could (first in a hotel during the hospital stay and later in a B&B during the initial recovery) to minimize the time off.  I wanted to avoid running my leave time down too far…just in case Murphy’s Law hit later and I needed some of that sick time for myself. I managed OK during that time. The caregiving and remote work filled my days from morning until I fell into bed exhausted at the end of the day; still, there were breaks each day. I walked the half mile into town each morning and afternoon to enjoy the fresh air and quaint small-town atmosphere where we were staying. My daughter was unable to leave the B&B so I walked along the Main Street on those walks, trying to bring back treats and pictures of things I saw to her.

We came back from the trip on a Friday, after a long day of travel, to my house so that my daughter could recover for a few more days before going home to her apartment. I was jet lagged and mentally exhausted but went back to work the following Monday, thinking we were well on the other side of the recovery. This assumption proved to be a mistake as soon as my daughter tried to go home in the middle of that first week back. I ended up having to go pick her up from her apartment in the middle of the night to bring her back to the house. She was not even remotely ready to live on her own.

It ended up taking another month before my daughter was strong enough to be able to live independently. Neither of us had considered all the “life details” and “life chores” necessary to living on one’s own.

I’m glad that my daughter was able to stay in our house during the extended recovery period, however it took a toll on me both physically and emotionally…I think because I was so focused on her physical recovery and supporting her emotionally that I didn’t notice until too late that I had left nothing back for myself. There was a period where I felt close to a breaking point; although I had worked while gone, there was still a backlog of work to do when I got back.

I didn’t know what else to do but to keep moving forward. I did what we used to do when the business got overwhelming; I thought of the “next thing” that I could do and had control of, then I did it. Then I did the next thing and the next. I’m glad to be five months past that period in my life now. I just had no idea of the toll it would take.

I didn’t want to be the caregiver for the surgery originally, but when my daughter had no one else who could step in, I agreed. My husband wrote in a Christmas note to some friends that I was a “saint” for being a caregiver during this time. I’m not; just better adapted to taking on the caregiving role.

Although I love my Hubbie and he has many strong points, anything to do with blood is outside his forte, so obviously he wasn’t going to be the caregiver. Wounds and dressings don’t bother me, so I was the obvious choice…and really…I’m a mom. Need I say more. I’m not a saint. Just a mom who wanted to help one of her kids.

 

Now

Mama Bear with small Cub on the Mama's back, sitting in tall grass with lake in the background.

Rawpixel “Bear and Cub” is licensed under Public Domain CC0 1.0 Universal Deed

The emotionally difficult part of that experience and why I avoided writing this blog is that I wanted to be honest about how psychologically hard it was. I adored my second born kid, male through childhood and through young adulthood. That persona is gone now. In a way, it is as if that young man died. Throughout the recovery last Fall, there was a buried part of my emotions that grieved deeply for that kind, intelligent young man that I will never know again. There is loss for me there, that person I loved so dearly. As I have told my trans daughter, she may not have loved that previous persona…but I did.

And yet, I have the opportunity now to love this new person, the same kind, intelligent soul that I knew before. I am determined to celebrate and support my trans daughter for as long as I have breath left in me. I know that some of the world will condemn my adult kid and condemn me for supporting her. The thought of my trans daughter being harmed in any way makes me want to growl like a mama bear.

I never thought I would have to pick a side; I never even thought about the trans community to be honest. I suppose that sounds shallow. Had one of my kids not entered this community, I would have gone through my life not thinking about it. When faced with a choice to support my trans daughter or to reject her though, there was never anything but one choice for me.

I picked my side. I love my trans daughter. I picked her.