Essay: Seventh Draft

Home Is Where the Heart Is

I put the tape away into the drawer and sit down on the bed covers, and as the rain pitter patters upon the window, I flip through the photo albums that are laid upon the bed. In each page, I can constantly see my daughter’s beautiful smile as it smiles right back at me, I look at the picture beside me, wishing that I had never torn this part, trying to remember what it was like when the picture was taken. How could it possibly have gotten this far?

She would come home from dates with Drew and was usually content. This time, she wore a frown on her face. She eventually came to tell me that her relationship with Drew had ended. I didn’t ask why or what happened, I was just there for her. I consoled her throughout this difficult experience that my daughter was dealing with, and I hugged her. I sat there hugging my best friend, my own daughter, Bridgette.

After several months pass by, someone came to me and told me that they had seen her with a girl, walking by the shore. They said that they were pretty close to each other. They were friends so I assumed that they were together, just having fun. I trusted her, so it was fine. Then the very same person came to me and showed me pictures that showed that they were more than just friends. They were possibly dating each other. I did not want to believe it because it wasn’t the best kind of evidence.

I therefore, started to ask my daughter who was this girl that she was with. She told me that they were just friends so I brushed off what the source told me. Then some other people of my parrish asked about this girl, so I started to get suspicious and wonder what was really going on.

I noticed that she had been acting differently and had been staying in her room most of the time. We don’t really talk as often as we had done before. It was on my mind and I had to find out for myself if what people are saying is true or not.

Returning home from volunteering at the church, I found an opportunity to speak to her. I went and grabbed myself a glass of water. I didn’t want anyone else to hear, so I locked us inside. I wasn’t about to leave until I got what I needed to know.

I said, “Something is going on, I can tell. Talk to me Bridgette, what is it? I won’t leave until you tell me.”
“What are you talking about?” she said, wondering what I was referring to.

I laid out what was going on and what I’ve been hearing about her. I want to know the truth. I want to hear it all. She said, at first, that she tried drugs but won’t do it again. My baby? … On drugs? WHAT? Is she crazy? Who gave this to her? What was she thinking? I raised her better than that for Christ’s sake. She then said she was struggling with this idea that she is different, that she was gay. The color on my face drained away instantly as I looked away. I couldn’t bear to look at her. I felt disgusted and appalled. She would have been better off telling me she was a “woman of the night”. Although she still went out that night. How much lower can she become? What does she think will happen next? Nothing. She’ll never become anything like this. Doesn’t she understand. Everyone will look past her and she’s going to lose everything she wanted.

It was dark outside when she returned. “Where have you been? It’s late,” I asked.
She just simply responded, “Out.”
“You haven’t been out with other…gay…people…those people…have you?”
She replied, “No mom… I’m not.”

Not only do I know she’s lying because she hesitated, which is something she doesn’t do when she talks to me, but I even have pictures of it and even other people have seen her with others. So I know that she was lying to me and I show her the pictures.

“So you’ve been lying to me. You’ve been lying to everyone,” I say angrily.
“…if I lie, you’re happy.”
“Ah, so ‘if I lie I’m happy.’ So that’s how it is. Did we teach you to lie?”
“No”
“So then why are you doing this? Why... you have no honesty with us anymore. You think lies will keep me happy,” I say loudly in fury.

She doesn’t respond. She just stands there in silence, looking around, possibly even searching for answers that she doesn’t have because those people she’s with haven’t told her what she to say.

Breaking that silence, I say, “Oh, so no more answers all of a sudden? I don’t know why we need to be in this situation. I’m so pissed because I trusted in you. I thought you were telling me the truth. Look at what you did to me. I won’t trust you again…ever. Because you’re going to keep lying to me, and lying to me,  to us, and lying to me, and it will never end.” She leaves the room and moments later I can hear her weeping in her room. I do not go over there because she needs to learn that this is not right.

I thought we had some trust between us. There were supposed to be no secrets. She was my best friend, my only friend. I know my daughter. I don’t understand why she was doing this. I know this is not her. I’ve always wanted the best for her; I always tried to make her happy. I know what she needs.

When she left, I had gone out to the church to pray. I can’t let anyone know about this...this disgrace. I felt that whatever I asked for in prayer would be received and I need her to pray as well.

I blurted, “Being gay is a choice!”
“You think I choose to become like this? You think I want my family to hate me? You think I want to be suffering because you don’t love me anymore...” She said in return.
“ I do love you.”
She responded, “No ...you love who I used to be in your eyes.”
“You ask for too much. You are forcing me to accept you and I will not do it. You can’t force me.”
“I’m not forcing you to do anything... I just want you to understand that...”
I cut her off, “Tell me what I’m supposed to get. What am I supposed to understand? You’re not the same person anymore. I don’t trust you. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“Mom. I’m not any different. I’m still the same person. Love me or accept that you don’t have a child anymore.”
“I won’t accept it. I can’t do it,” I simply said in return.
“Then mom...Forget that I’m even your child,” she said as she quickly left in tears.

As soon as she left, I broke down in tears. My world was crashing down.

This child of mine felt that she was different and just doesn’t want to listen to me when I knew her reality. What did I do wrong as a mother? Where did I go wrong? There is supposed to signs at an early age and stuff. That’s what others say. But I didn’t see any. The only reason that she is this way that makes sense is that she is on drugs. They probably made her believe that it was right, when it really isn’t.

The power of God is strong. I believe making her go to mass, praying and making her think about becoming better, would make things right again for her. She would be healed by God and he will make her become my little child again.

As the family was away at church, my daughter stayed behind since she had a lot of work to do the night before and needed to rest. We ended up going out without her and left her behind so that she could possibly get some rest.

When I returned, it was pretty cold as the rain drops hit the window and slid down the pane. My youngest daughter, Charlotte, sat by the windowsill watching the rain race down the glass. I went into the bedroom to relax for a moment. Charlotte went to the bathroom down the hall, and moments later, shrieked and screamed a frantic wail and ran into the bedroom. I couldn’t understand half of anything she said. She tugged me out of the bedroom with her frantic tears and wailing and into the bathroom. The lights seem to dim and fade as I walked down the halls to go to the bathroom. The heavy weight of the door surprises me as I turn the doorknob to reveal a sight that had left me utterly speechless.

There in the tub in front of me, I see my older child. I see my best friend, or what was left of her. I stand there holding onto the door frame with my mouth wide open in astonishment. I no longer could stand there anymore and sought comfort from Charlotte’s hug. My mind went completely blank as I sat in sorrow and wept. Sitting there for what felt like a lifetime I could not absorb what I saw. I sat frozen in time from the second I saw what she had done. I didn’t want to see this anymore. I couldn’t handle it.

I see her pain and sorrow. I felt a piece of me drift away. A piece that I can never get back again. Oh my god, what am I to do? I’m stuck and lost and now I can never erase what has happened. My youngest daughter goes back to her room and then later comes to me and shows me the note that was left on the sisters bed.

I walk back into my room and saw the note that my daughter had given me earlier that she found. I finally get the courage to see what the letter even said. As my eyes read through the letter, tears fall upon the pages, as I see why she had done this. She said tried changing, and things weren’t getting any better. She couldn’t handle it. She was gay, but she was still my daughter and loved me. She didn’t like being treated differently. She couldn’t change into something that wasn’t her. She knew who she was. She was still my best friend. And in reading that she said, she still loved me, which made me feel better inside.

But I pushed her to her limits and now I’m down someone that I actually cared about and could have still had today. I wish she could be here so I could have apologized for the way I acted that would push her to her limit. Now I’m stuck cleaning up for something I had caused to her.

Word soon spreads to the community about my child’s death. I do not know how to handle it anymore. I spend the next few days thinking about things on my own. I look things up online, read, go out and figure things out for myself.

I find place that is religious yet is open to gay people. I couldn’t even think that this was possible. The Bible doesn’t say that this is even allowed. It wasn’t being grasped by my head. I couldn’t handle it.

Another stormy rainy week arrives and all I think about is the death of my child. I’m being reminded of what had happened before the same day and weather almost even similar time of day. I can’t stop thinking about it. It just never leaves my mind. My doorbell constantly rings with people that want to tell me how they feel about my daughter’s death and hatred towards the gay community.and my family for allowing this to happen. I mean I love my daughter and all but I feel like I should be the one there to protect her anyways.

I don’t know what to think anymore. I love my daughter, but I hate the fact that she was gay and that her death also contradicted the teachings that had been taught to her. I found a special group that was meeting for parents that mourn the loss of their child and search for support. I waltz in and see that it has already started. Someone stands up and talks about the death of their child because they were gay. I get up and they realize that I was there paying attention to what they were saying. They instantly recognize who I am and want me to share a few words. I adamantly refuse, but I felt an urge to say what was on my mind.

“Homosexuality is a sin. They are doomed to spend eternity in hell for going into temptations. They could have easily been healed of their ways if they turn away and try and try again to be normal. These are the things I said to my child.”
The people listening murmur and whisper in the background as I speak.
“These are the things that I told my daughter when I found out that she was gay. My world fell apart and I did everything I could to cure her of her sickness when she told me she was gay.”

People shake their heads and as more and more people crowd around into the group, some even nod their heads.

“Everything I was told and taught was bigotry and dehumanizing slander and I deeply regret my lack of knowledge. If I had just listened to her when she was pouring her heart out to me she would still be here today. God would have been more than happy and very pleased with the good she did and her caring spirit. I didn’t realize that every time I reverberated eternal hell and damnation for gays, that each time I called her a pervert, a whore, and a danger to everyone, that her self esteem, confidence and self worth were being shot down and shattered into pieces. Her spirit was broken and couldn’t be put together again. Her death was a direct result of her parents ignorance and fear of the word gay. There are other children like her out there whose hopes, dreams and visions shouldn’t be ripped away from them.”

I broke down in tears trying to capture my breath to finish my last words. I couldn’t stop myself so I had to keep going.

“Our children do love us. Before anything, think hard, because a child is always listening. Don’t silence their plea for help, guidance, acceptance, and love, because of your fears,” I ended, as tears slowly roll down my cheeks. I reach into my pocket to find a tissue to wipe my tears away and find a picture. As I look at it, I see the whole family, even through the clear tape holding the pieces together; I can still see her wonderful smile again.