The Day I Lost My Son

The day I lost my son was like any other day. I woke up at god awful in the morning and made coffee. My husband came down and we made breakfast while waiting for the kiddo to come down stairs. I remember sitting there, reading random fluff on the internet via my phone, with occasional sips of coffee. The next thing I knew, my child was curled up in my lap, trembling against my chest.

I am not ashamed to say that up to this moment, my son had been a bit of a jerk. Always bullying others, acting out and being a general nuisance. The night before he had been sent to bed early with the precise instructions to spend the evening thinking about his actions and how to change them. Because mommy and daddy were not going to take this behavior any longer.

With the trembling child in my lap, I ran my hand through his mop of golden hair and laughed a bit. “Sweetie…what’s wrong?” The response was soft silver tears on the lashes of his blue eyes as he stared up at me, terrified.

“Mommy.” His voice shaky, “I know that I was born a boy and everyone says I am…but I am not! I hate being a boy. I know I am a girl.”

I looked at my husband. He smiled, knowingly. We had discussed this possibility numerous times. Poof, just like that I lost my son.

I gained a daughter.

“Then you are a girl.” Her father said.

“And we will defend you against anyone that says otherwise.” I smiled and kissed her head.

The day that followed was spent choosing her new name and new clothes.

Some may get riled up against this. Some may claim I am a terrible parent for allowing her to swap genders. This is for you, the transgender suicide rate is 49%. Shut up, read that again. 49%. I could have shoved her off my lap, I guess. I could have shamed or shunned her or punished her. But, why would I do so? So that instead of planning for college, I plan for a funeral? Instead of embracing this, I could have laughed it off and told her she was being silly. I suppose I could have taken her to church and told her she was going straight to hell if she didn’t change her ways.

None of those responses would have shown love and respect to my child. None of those responses would have made her feel as if she could tell us anything and we would still love her unconditionally.

I chose love, instead of hate and fear.

Our children look to us for guidance. How we treat them when they are helpless, when we are in full control of how they receive the world, defines their mindset for the future. Instead of being open and real with us, she would have become deceitful and hidden things from us out of fear of being rejected. She would launch into a path of self-destruction and no one would be to blame except us. We would be the reason for her demise. I am not willing to wear that mantle of a child killer.

I chose to let go of my son instead.

I embraced my daughter and her behavior improved. Gone were the days of being a bully and new are the days of laughter, fun, and play. She is a beautiful creature when in her element, allowed to be who she feels she is. Nothing could make me happier.

For parents of transgender children everywhere, you are not alone.

For parents who may have shunned or laughed at your child for the simple fact of hating the body they were born with, there is still time to fix things. Don’t wait until they take their life to apologize to a cold grave.