Older parents whose kids are grown, or close to grown, almost always say the same thing to parents with younger kids: They grow up so fast. You’ll blink and they’ll be all grown up and on their own, and then you’ll miss them so much.
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About two and a half years ago my youngest child, my fourth, announced that she was transgender and intended to live life as a male. She was not quite seventeen. I was shocked. I jumped right into denial. There were no signs.
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Life is complicated. Relationships are complicated. Sometimes it’s hard to draw the line between something that impacts you and something that’s truly all about you; that can be a fine line.
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It’s been over two years, and I still don’t understand. I love my child, I love all four of my children. I’m bursting with pride for all of them. I love them for their unique talents, all as different from each other as they could possibly be. They’re all adults now, far from the tiny maniacs that so often made me want to pull my hair out when they were little. We all survived their childhood.
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