A Letter Left Unread

Something happens around the age twenty-four. It’s a slow transition that happens over the course of the year that prepares you for your quarter-life crisis. Ok, maybe it doesn’t prepare you… but it’s definitely a transition. I remember once hearing my friends Rikki and Jaimie talk about it, and couldn’t for the life of me figure out what they were so worked up about.

I get it now. Over the last six months, my life has completely changed. Everything. My personal life, my home, my job. I’ve never been so miserably happy, and so unstable at the same time. I know that sounds redundant, but it’s exactly how I feel.

During what seemed to be my biggest emotional breakdown thus far, I called the one person who I knew could help. My mother. And help, she did.

In tears I told her how I was really happy, but things were so up in the air that I wasn’t certain of anything. I told her how I missed home, but that I knew that my new home was here. I told her how I wanted nothing more than to be self-sufficient, and make her proud.

Quietly, she told me to wait for a moment while she retrieved something. I couldn’t fathom what would be so important that she needed to interrupt my waterfall of tears, but I had nothing better to do than sit and cry… so I waited. A few moments later, she came back and said “I would like to read you something. During your baby shower a friend of mine gave me a book of “Meditation for Mothers.” In the back there was a place to write a letter to your child, so when you were exactly two weeks old, that’s what I did.”

Mind you I had never heard her mention this book before. I had never seen this letter. For over twenty-four years this letter has remained untouched, and unread in the back of a dusty old maternity book that my mother has kept in her top dresser drawer. And twenty-four years later she reads to me from it in during one of my lowest hours.

“A Letter To My Child

Dear Casey,

Today you celebrated your two-week birthday and already you have filled my life with so much joy and happiness. I remember the first time I saw you and held you in my arms. God, you were so beautiful and still are. Sometimes I just sit and watch you sleep and you fill me with amazement. You smile in your sleep and I wonder what you’re dreaming. And when I talk to you, you turn to my voice and it fills me with a joy I’ve never known.

I wonder what you’ll do when you grow up and I have such hopes and dreams for you, but whatever you do I want you to be happy, kind, and considerate. I know you’ll be beautiful, because you already are.

I’m not sure what the future will bring, but I do know that I will try to do my very best to teach you the things you’ll need to know when you’re all grown up. I want you to have the same strength that my father taught me, pride in yourself, determination that you can be or do anything you choose against all odds. Honor to do what you know is right for you in your heart, love for your family and friends, and most of all the ability to love yourself.

And Casey, always, always know that you are loved by me. Already, you have given me the strength to go against immeasurable odds, all because I have you. May we always grow and learn together. That’s the way we started and I hope that is the way it continues. Remember, always be true to yourself, because each day when you look at yourself in the mirror, I want you to feel great about what you are.

I love you baby girl. You’re so special.

Love,

Mommy

3/19/1989”

As my mothers voice faded out I noticed that at some point I had stopped breathing. My tears continued, but now they rolled silently across my cheeks, instead of the way they loudly flooded the space before.  They were steady and slow like the beat of my heart, but the ringing of silence in my ears sounded like a hurricane...

“Wow.” was all I could muster.

Nothing in my life had ever felt so significant.

I couldn’t help but think to myself that she must have jotted it down, or made it up as she went along, but when I asked her to read it again, she did so without hesitation. I began to hear similarities in the way that she wrote. It’s very similar to the style I’ve developed over the years. It’s a voice that I thought I created, but really I must have picked up along the way.

“When I talk to you, you turn to my voice and it fills me with a joy I’ve never known.” To this day, I smile when my mother calls. We talk at least once a day, and the sound of her voice soothes even my deepest fears. I feel empowered to do the most challenging of things with her encouraging whisper floating through my mind. Even when she doesn’t speak, I can hear her voice telling me the things that I already know that she would say. See, my mother has raised me on the very values she wrote for me so many years ago. They’ve been engrained into my very core.

“I wonder what you’ll do when you grow up and I have such hopes and dreams for you, but whatever you do I want you to be happy, kind, and considerate.” I cry now as I’m reading this. As I mentioned above, receiving this letter took place in one of my lowest hours.  There have been others… one in particular, that was a little lower.

During that time I was trying to find the balance of success and contentment. I tried to create happiness by being selfish, and happiness by being selfless. I’m afraid I swayed a little too far to the left there, because I found that I hurt the very people who loved me the most. If only I had listened to the things she tried to teach me it wouldn’t have taken so many years and a dusty old letter to clear those dark skies. 

“Honor to do what you know is right for you in your heart, love for your family and friends, and most of all the ability to love yourself.”

Going forward, I aspire to love my family and friends unconditionally with no question… But the ability to love yourself… This one I have struggled with. Just now at twenty-four years of age, I am learning to love myself. I am learning to let go of the things that do not matter and appreciate the things that really do. What I didn’t know was that my mother was telling me then that if I loved my friends and family, lived honorably by my heart, and loved myself… then I would find that happiness neither selfishly, nor selflessly. Happiness cannot be achieved by either solely on it’s on. There is always a tug of war between the two. That rope between them keeps the balance necessary to enjoy your life, and enjoy and respect those around you.

“Always be true to yourself, because each day when you look at yourself in the mirror, I want you to feel great about what you are.” she wrote, and she meant it. Every day my mother tells me how proud of me she is. She tells me how incredible this journey together has been, and how happy I make her. My mother loves me with no exceptions.

I do find it ironic though that she wrote “what’ you are” instead of who… or “what you ‘see” instead of are. I have often struggled with “what” I am. Most often in regards to my sexuality. I still struggle to this day. I think subconsciously my mother knew that one day I would face challenges that required immeasurable strength, and that was her way of preparing me in the best way she could at the time... She’s always had a sixth sense like that.  

Finally, “Already, you have given me the strength to go against immeasurable odds, all because I have you.”

My mother is the reason that I push myself. She’s the reason I won’t let anyone put me down. My mother gave me the courage to chase even my wildest dreams, and she has been my rock every step of the way. She is the most exceptional woman on this earth, and makes even the worst of days shine with rainbows and glitter. She is my biggest inspiration, and to be like her… that’s my greatest hope and dream. She fills my heart with joy, and in her alone, I find the strength I need to thrive.

Once again my mother has risen to the challenge of raising a naive, whimsical, lesbian, who wears her heart on her sleeve and carries her thoughts on the tip of her tongue. And once again she has done it flawlessly, because none of those things matter to her. To her, I am baby Casey; the miracle child that was never supposed to be. I am that tiny baby lying sound asleep with a smile on my face, because I am in the arms of a woman who loves me beyond measure… And in that moment there is still twenty-four years and three months ahead of us to learn and grow together.

To my mother, I am everything… And she is everything to me. 

What I Write

Sometimes I sit and ponder what to write about. Often three or four topics surface, and often I shut three or four of them down. The truth is there are some things that I shouldn’t talk about. Not yet. 

Maybe the timing is wrong. It could hurt someone’s feelings, or cause a commotion. Besides, what would people think of me? 

These are only half of the reasons that have kept me quiet in the past. However, what I’ve learned is that I write my best when my heart is bare. When I hold myself to no standards set by society, I actually find myself closer to reaching the expectations I’ve set for myself.

Emotionally, I find it to be very satisfying.

Even though I’m aware of that, I often hold back. I wonder why I do that? Opinions of others don’t change who I am. Only their perception of who I might be changes. What I say is an expression of what I believe, and nothing more. On the other hand, my words express everything I stand for. So, in a sense they reflect everything I am.

Does that mean that if I remain silent and do not state what I believe, that I am actually compromising myself? I think so. I think that by not speaking up I’m actually being dishonest to everyone, myself included.

As a child, one of the motto’s my mother raised me with was “If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all.” Looking back, I wonder if that is reason for part of my silence now. Not everything is beautiful, kind, and good. Sometimes we allow things that we shouldn't because it's easier than rocking the boat. In that instance... Do you speak? Because where I'm from, to speak out is considered rude. Some of the things I say aren’t negative at all… like when I speak of loving a woman.

Those things are beautiful and wonderful, and I shouldn’t feel shamed by them… but our society doesn’t embrace them as openly as I do. Like the time someone said that "I asked to be harassed when I chose to be gay". The same way they chose the easy way out when they decided to be straight.

Everything I write is a reflection of me… If I’m not honest with my words, then my very core would be compromised and there'd be no reason for me to write in the first place. Those words wouldn’t be mine.

I write because it’s an extension of my heart. My soul. I write because I don’t know how not to. But what do I write? The truth? The watered down version? Or do I remain silent?

Dear Cousin

Dear “Cousin”,

When we were kids, you and I would walk behind Pa and Granny’s to the chicken coop. The dirt on that hillside was moist, and we would sit for hours sifting through it in search of worms. We were always hoping Dad would take us fishing. 

When it would get too hot, we would rejoin the girls in the front yard and swim circles in a kiddy pool not built for four. In the evenings when they pulled out the stereo and all the adults sat on the front porch and gossiped, you and I would run off to catch lighting bugs by the shed. We were inseparable. You were my buddy. My Blake. 

When I came out, you never really said anything. You met many of my girlfriends, hung out with us, joked with us, and we all went places together. You often told me how attractive they were. To my face, you were fine with my sexuality. 

However today… the day after the biggest day in LGBT history, you have spoken out against me, my heart, my humanity, and “my kind”, a term that you used to represent all “queers and lesbians”. Thank you for clarifying. 

“Ok so I am completely UN happy with gay marriage being legal in some states, as the bible says be fruitful and multiply and two people of the same sex cant multiply. If god wanted the same sex to be together then he would made everybody the same gender but did he no he didnt and what kind of example is this going to set for future generations I mean children cant ever pray at school w/o getting in trouble. What kind of president would allow this kind of stuff Obama would he is the WORST president ever in Americas history he needs to be impeached ASAP before America is left with absolutely nothing.”

First, unhappy is one word. You’re unhappy with gay marriage being legal in some states… Does that mean you’re ok with it being legal in others? Also, you mentioned that the bible says to “Be fruitful and multiply.” Without looking it up, can you please tell me what verse that is? In fact, can you tell me ANY verse off the top of your head? The truth is… you don’t go to church. You’ve never been religious. Name ONE TIME when you we’re in school that you were UPSET that you didn’t have time to pray. Seriously. One time. 

Going back to the “being fruitful thing”, does that mean women who can’t get pregnant, or men who are sterile shouldn’t be able to get married? What about the elderly? Pa can no longer have kids. If he chose to remarry, should he be allowed? Does that mean also that everyone should have kids before they’re married so we can ensure they can reproduce? I thought having a baby out of wedlock was against your religion… 

Also, please tell me what your problem with Obama is? What is one problem you see with his current term as president. I do expect a detailed answer with examples of policies and regulations, because the truth is… you don’t know anything about politics. The only reason you don’t like him is because he’s black. I’m not going to say his presidency has been flawless, but if you’re going to speak out about him… have a reason that isn’t racist. 

Finally, you told me to “keep that nasty shit out here with me, and not to bring it to Tennessee.” Did you forget that I was raised on the same soil you were, and that I was gay in Tennessee, before I was ever in California? Tennessee is where my heart is. I grew up there… You are not the keeper of the states, and I will be gay wherever I damn well please. LEGALLY. 

From this point forward, whenever another state legalizes gay marriage, I will toast to you and your ignorance. Just so you know, that’s a lot of toasts… Because whether you like it or not, most people aren’t homophobic. Gay Marriage will be legal nationwide very soon, and you will sit there rambling your nonsense unheard.

You told me that if I had a problem with your opinion that I should delete you. Which, I’m going to do… but before that happens I would like to remind you that you had NO PROBLEM wearing my gay clothes. Whenever I outgrew my t-shirts, and hats, and jeans, and jackets… which cousin wore them? My ignorant straight homophobic cousin wore them. Every day. In fact they were the nicest clothes you had.

I have always been good to you. I have always made it a point to stand up for you, and I even tried to get you to go to college and then live with me until you found a job in California, but it’s probably better you didn’t. There are a lot of queers out here. 

I hope that one day you do embrace God. You would see that his word preaches love, hope and faith. Not hate, belittlement, and discrimination. 

With Love,

Your Lesbian Cousin

I've Got A Feeling

My sister was six years older than me so when she was going through her rebellious teen years, my ten year-old self thought that it was hilarious to disturb or put her off in some way. It was only then that she paid me attention. Well that and when she wanted someone to convince our dad to take us out for Chinese food.

I remember building this complex - not really - contraption once, which was attached to her bedroom door. There was a board that would fall when the door was opened hitting the on button of the vacuum cleaner, which I had dressed as a ghostly figure. The hose on the vacuum would blow into the ghoul, waving madly the arms of cloth-like nature. From another angle, the door would trigger a pulled string that would turn on the fan. From there the fan would spin slowly around with a balloon for a ghost head.

I spent at least two hours testing this prank.

I opened and closed the door over and over, re-taping the strings and propping up the board. It was an experiment and I was just the scientist to discover the exact angles and speeds at which this prank would need to go off unhitched.

I lay under her bed waiting patiently for her arrival. Minutes passed. They turned into half an hour, and slowly half an hour became two full hours. I waited… When she finally came home I could hear her voice floating in from the kitchen. She was with her best friend Heather. I knew then that this prank wasn’t going to go over well. You see, when I pulled pranks on my sister she screamed and slowly laughed back into a happy place where she could see me through the tears in her eyes. When I pranked her in front of her friends however, smoke escaped from her ears and her head spun like an exorcism. I tried to shimmy out from under the bed on time, but she was too quick. She threw open the door, tearing the tape off of the door. No balloon. Whew.

I hadn’t prepared for her aggressive entrance however, and the board over shot the vacuum cleaner. It flew underneath the bed and smashed my finger at the exact same moment that my sister saw my creation in the middle of her room. My outcries combined with her yelling vibrated the wood pane windows.

That’s all I remember. I don’t know if she got angry. I’m not sure if I cried. What I know is that I waited there patiently for hours on something that might never pan out. That’s okay, because I know that the journey is half the point, not just the destination. Yes, I wanted to see her reaction, but also I wanted to spend two hours as a warrior awaiting my opponent. My hand constructed Trojan horse was there in the middle of the room, ready to surprise. I wanted to wait for something. I wanted to feel the anticipation in my chest as my heart beat quickly.

And wait I did.

I live for that moment now. The little rush in your mind that turns your body cold. The slightest little skip of the beat of your heart. The moment when you have never felt more alive than you do right then. To me, those are the significant moments. The ones that get your heart beating. I don’t mean when you get on a roller coaster and you know that there is about to be a big drop. You know that it’s coming. No. I’m talking about chance. Whether these moments are triggered by the touch of a beautiful woman or by looking out over a mountain top you climbed without stopping and finding that there happens to be a rainbow just on the other side, those are the moments to look out for. Those are the ones to keep on a shelf in your heart so you can pull them out and relive them; even the ones that are a little more painful.

When I was fourteen I went to Florida with my high school basketball team. Of course it was during that time in my life where I thought that it was cool to be a bad ass, so my fourteen year-old friends and I got Smirnoff from the seniors and headed out to the hot tub to join a bunch of older hotel guests. My step-sister was a year ahead of me and friends with the older crowd. They came outside for a while, but before long only two of us girls remained. Since the guys had fortunately figured out that we were very young they left. The other girl and I finished our Smirnoff and headed back to the hotel. My heart pounding.

The entire time I was on the edge of my seat. I knew that if we got caught that we would be in serious trouble, but it was Florida and we were kids. Palms sweating, we snuck back into our hotel room and climbed into bed hoping to dream about our wild evening. I had my first hangover the next day. I didn’t play worth a lick, and I wasn’t as alert as I wanted to be. We were stomped by the competitors at that camp. I thought that beating was bad enough, but I had no idea what lay in store for me when I went home.

A few weeks had passed. I wrote my step-sister a letter talking about that night in Florida. I don’t know if she left it out on purpose or if my mother was snooping, but the letter was found. She sat us down, still unsure who the author was. I think she expected the letter to not be mine, but she was wrong… and very disappointed. She never dreamt I would do something so careless… or wrong.

My mother standing in front of me with her head down, hand covering the tremble of her lip, stepped away from me. Shaking her head she turned and left. My heart sunk. It was the worst feeling I’ve had in my entire life, and has happened on a couple of occasions... The day that I came out and the day that I told her that she could have loved me more as a child.

The truth is though that I live for those moments too. They’re the ones that allow me a comparison. How would I know how truly incredible some things feel, if I never knew how bad others hurt. It showed me exactly how much my mother loved me. Had her love not been unconditional she would have given up on me by now. It shows me every day how lucky I am to be alive. How lucky I am to feel the beating of my heart in my chest and move freely with intention to succeed throughout my life because I want to. Not because I have to.

I still make all of my own decisions, and I try to be more aware of their consequences, but the truth is… I’m still human. Good or bad, I want that feeling… Often I will do whatever it takes to get it.

My Apology

I am sorry for the things that I have done.

I can’t help but say those words over and over in my head. I know that they don’t mean quite as much inside here as they would out in the open, lying at the feet of those who deserve those words the most. I find that I’m a trial and error kind of girl. I make mistakes more often than not and I have found that in the middle of each mistake is a broken heart or a confused mind. Unfortunately the mistakes I make are ones that I can’t take back, and often they hurt someone else along the way. I don’t avoid them. I run head on towards these mistakes, determined to pave my own way.

Yes brick hurts when you run into it, but who is to say that this wall won’t give… just to reveal an open meadow?  I know that it’s not likely, but I also know that it is possible and I believe in fate. Or at least I think I do. To be honest, lately I’m not sure what I believe in. I stare at the United Methodist Church on the corner of Highland and it’s big gay friendly sign. Even gay friendly, I’m not sure I want to go inside.

My friends read of their most updated list of potential celeb worthy baby names, and all I can think is “Why would you name someone Charles?” Not that I have anything against the name, but what kind of person is motivated to name a small child that? Someone older I would think. I can’t see myself with a child anymore. I can’t see a life where my entire focus is on a tiny human being. I also can’t see that focus being on a partner.

I’m selfish.

That word tastes a little sour as it rolls of my tongue, but the truth is I had rather taste the hint of sour selfishness than the constant bitterness of regret, and that is what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid that I will regret settling so young and having a family instead of dedicating my life to changing the lives of others. I can barely offer my own thoughts and dreams the amount of time they need to develop. How am I suppose to give “all of myself” to a woman? Everyone tells me I'm supposed to, but that isn't what I want right now. I don't know why I don't want it.. maybe I get it from my father. This urge to postpone commitment as long as possible.

It took me a while to understand this. Unfortunately I hurt someone along the way, and I don’t know if she will ever read this but the only thing on my mind is this apology.

“I’m sorry for not knowing sooner that my heart was never fully there. I’m sorry for being so skittish; then again I’m not. Flight was a protective characteristic that my mother never developed. The fight in her was always more prevalent and she has beat herself down ever since.

I’m sorry for letting you down. I hate that I left things open-ended in your mind, but I couldn’t see clearly anymore. I had strayed so far from my own plan hoping that the foundation would rebuild itself underneath me, but it never did. You really are incredible. You’re one of the more delightful human beings I have ever met in my life and the only thing I regret about us is that I know now that I will never be as close to you again as I was in that first month. The intoxicating adrenaline we got from one another kept me drunk on more than one occasion, but we both knew I had to sober up eventually. It wasn’t realistic, you and I. We were both laying band aids over the wounds we had and tried not to touch them… but I want to let air into my skin. I want to watch the scars peel away.

I am sorry for not being as certain as I thought I was. I am sorry for hurting you. God knows you didn’t deserve it. I’m also sorry that you never felt like I was sorry. I felt it as strongly as I knew how. If it helps, I finally cried. The following Monday I sat in the floor of a bathroom that wasn’t my own and I cried into my knees tucked tightly to my chest. For a moment I felt like a child again, holding myself together in the corner… hiding away from my fears that spilled over only through my eyelids.

It doesn’t make it easy, and it doesn’t make me right… But I am sorry." 

The Girl Who Changed Everything

The girl who changed everything, I met once only briefly. She doesn’t know all of my deepest secrets, the ones that betray me. This girl isn’t someone I have slept with, or even kissed. She’s not a saint… but she changed my life.

This girl, a southern girl with a sweet smile and a hidden wild streak, didn’t mean to change anything. In fact, I doubt she even knows that she did. No, this girl doesn’t set out to change people. She sees the best in everyone and tells you about it every time you speak. She has a heart of gold, and a soul that’s only ever been explored surface deep.  Those around her have never understood this girl. There has never been another to recognize her potential or her depth. Something tells me she doesn’t even know it yet.

However, I caught a glimpse. Fate brought us together just once. Moment after moment I found myself alone with her, face to face, looking a little too deeply into her eyes. I often felt my chest closing, tightening itself around my heart… building a wall as quickly as it could while it pounded away.

Unfortunately, there were cracks in the foundation, and my motivation was weak. Her gaze seeped through, and I knew I had to discover her, this girl. I had to understand her thoughts and why she felt certain ways. I found myself grasping to the information that she shared and wrapping it in cotton. I placed it gently on a shelf in my mind hoping it wouldn’t break or disappear. The thought of her consumed my mind and captured my attention so wholly that the images of us became more vivid in my mind now than they ever were in person. Every moment played back in my mind then in slow motion and continues to. 

It wasn’t passion or lust. It wasn’t a decision that I made. It was a reaction. A connection. It was what happened to me the moment we met for the first time. I never saw her standing there, but I heard her voice. It was a voice so strangely familiar, yet one I knew I shouldn’t recognize. I hugged her immediately. I had heard so many great things, and I found myself focusing on everything about her.

The first time I caught her alone in the car, we had a conversation about sexuality. She knew before I arrived that I was a lesbian. Our mutual friend had mentioned it many times. In fact, the thing that people remember most about me from high school is that I am gay. She had a friend that she believed to be gay, but had never really been around people who were. I knew then that there was something special about her. She didn’t have the typical southern mentality. She saw things so openly. She was non-judgmental, and wasn’t at all fazed or made uncomfortable by my openness. It was okay that I was gay.

I knew after that we would never stop talking. I knew that we had the potential to have a friendship that most people never dreamt of and that I would do anything in my power to make sure that would happen. She is a lot like me, this girl. Especially before I left home. My heart wide with purpose, so sure it would burst if I didn’t use it. So I chased my heart and my dreams to the big city scene. He’s going through the same thing right now.

Some have even said we looked alike, but I don’t think seeing her is looking back at me. I think that she’s the better version.  it wasn’t until I saw her cry that I saw her heart.

She sat inches from my face, tears welling in her eyes. They were red-rimmed and threatening to spill over… her mascara waiting to run. And there it was. Her heart. It just sat there swimming in the tears. Doing flips that caused waves of emotion, pushing each drop closer to the edge. Looking back I can’t even remember what all I said while trying to comfort her. I just remember thinking that I would do anything to help her stop. Even share my tequila.

And as she stopped crying she hugged my neck and said “You are incredible.” How was I supposed to repeat that and make it sound genuine? I couldn’t, but she was incredible… and she stole the words right out of my mouth.

That night, the music and the lights swam in between us. The way her hair fell in front of her big greenish-blue eyes as they danced their way across the room. I would remember her forever, this girl. The girl who changed everything.

Don’t be confused. I’m not in love with her. I’m likely never to see her again. The thing that she changed isn’t my relationship status or even my heart. No. This girl changed my mentality. She showed me something in the South that I haven’t seen before. She showed me respect, and equality. She helped me believe in the greater good of this country, and the better half of myself.

Some people will never believe that marriage between two women is ok, much less legal. Some same sex couples will never be allowed to marry. In certain areas, hate crimes will still exist… but here in the deepest of the south sits a girl who sees a woman… Not a lesbian. A woman who recognizes a friend… not a menace.

And as I drove off my phone vibrated a message from her. “I’m so glad fate brought us together.” So am I. She will never recognize how much.