Unabashedly and most likely, without malice; When my mother had been asked…
“Aren’t you proud of your gay daughter?”
She held a simple response…
“Actually, at first, I felt embarrassed and ashamed! It’s not that I didn’t love her. It just took me awhile to get over the idea…it wasn’t right!”
The polite and always pleasant woman had known me for many years. She ran a register. I had been a constant customer. And, somehow, our worlds began to collide. On the street, in the market, online, etc.
She had just lost her husband to cancer. And, I had been an open ear. I had been through the strife of holding my lover’s hand…during the blinding and confining whirl of emotional chaos.
She, and I, and my partner, had seen the bowels of poverty, pain and suffering. We fell to the ground, each of us….And, managed with earnestness and will to get back up!
So in retrospect, what began as an anonymous relationship…Flourished into a kinship of womanhood.
Yet, unfortunately, I had anticipated my mother’s answer. And, also projected the ‘let down’ appearance on my friend’s face.
This memory always, always, and hopefully forever, brings me to peering into the history of woman’s struggle to survive.
‘Whatever the theories may be of woman’s dependence on man, in the supreme moments of her life he can not bear her burdens. Alone she goes to the gates of death to give life to every man that is born into the world. No one can share her fears, no one can mitigate her pangs; and if her sorrow is greater than she can bear, alone she passes beyond the gates into the vast unknown.’
…the little courtesies of life on the surface of society…
utter insignificance in view of the deeper tragedies in which she must play her part alone, where no human aid is possible.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton