RECONCILIATION WITH A STRANGER

We haven't spoken in nearly two years. A series of events led to the decline of the relationship. Truth be told, it was probably years in the making. We were never really that close to begin with. However, for a few years after my coming out she was my confidante.

I've thought that maybe she wasn't quite as comfortable with my being gay as I had thought. Then again, she does have physical and emotional issues of which I may never know the full extent. She's perpetually late, rarely feels good, and seems to live her life in a fog.

She was just a child of nineteen herself when I arrived. She had very little patience and probably didn't really know what to do with me. Maybe that's why there were no more after me. Maybe that's why I've generally been a loner most of my life. Maybe that explains a lot, but maybe not.

Maybe I should overlook the fact that she was late for dinner that night before my commitment ceremony, that she was nearly late to the ceremony itself or that she wanted to spend time with me afterwards. Maybe I should overlook the dirty house the first time I took Parker there, that she spent that entire weekend sleeping and didn't even cook a meal. Maybe I should overlook the Christmas gifts that didn't arrive until March. Maybe I should even overlook the clutter the second and third times Parker and I visited her house. Maybe I should overlook the letters I've written in my failed attempts at reconciliation, the Christmas gift I sent that was never acknowledged. Maybe bygones should truly be bygones. Maybe.

Here's my confession: She is my mother. I am her only child. I can't relate to her in her world, and she can't relate to mine. For nearly four years, maybe five, the splintering of our relationship has continued. I could propose many theories as to the reasons for this decline, but what's the use? The only thing that is certain is that our relationship has suffered and, for all practical purposes, no longer exists. Even though things are rocky now, something of which I am certain is that she did the best job of being a mom that she knew how as I was growing up. Was it perfect? No. But, that is ok. She'll always be my mother, and I'll always be her son. Yet, I ask myself what I envision in the future for our relationship, and I cannot find a suitable answer. After all this time, I cannot fathom a conversation with her. It is way too difficult to even think about. Yes, I am scared. What does one say after such a long period of time has gone by?

My true fear is that everything will hit me on the day I have to bury her in Oak Grove Cemetery, or one day, weeks, months, years later. I don't know that I truly want an everyday interaction with her, just the clear conscience of knowing our differences have been reconciled and there are no regrets.

I am always just a little envious of friends who have healthy, loving, issue-free relationships with their parents (or parents with their children) because it is such a foreign concept to me. God bless you if you are one of those people. I'm beginning to think those types of relationships are an exception, rather than the rule.

Dealing with this situation-or perhaps not dealing with it-depending on your vantage point, is a terribly difficult situation for me. I honestly feel as though I'm dealing with a complete stranger than a family member. Feeling like an orphan at my age, and knowing that my parents are very much still alive is a really indescribable feeling. How do you reconcile with a stranger you've known your entire life?