My 74-year old mother was planning to visit for three weeks last month. Since she didn't know about her grandson's homosexuality or about our involvement in PFLAG, my wife and I decided to make everything as free as possible from raising the possibility that this visit would be the time of her enlightenment. That meant writing to a few people to remove "Parents and .... " from their mailing envelopes to our home (since we are both employed outside the home), not being able to answer the helpline, and telling a few folks that when they call we may not be able to talk freely. it also meant boxing up all the materials, books, pamphlets and newsletters that cluttered my study.
We went to this extent--not because we are ashamed of our son or unwilling to discuss the matter with my mother--but because we had promised Michael that this topic with family members was to be raised at his initiative and on his terms. In fact, during the past 4¸ years there have been numerous times I've wanted to be more open and honest with my mother. On the one hand I had the feeling that she would understand, that her love for her grandson and our family could sustain her through any family crisis. But--to be perfectly honest--there was that nagging doubt: What if she finds out and rejects our wonderful son? Over the years, then, our visits with her have always created for me this mental game of ping pong.
Before Mother's arrival I said to my wife, "There's on letter that says Parents and Friends.. that comes into the house two or three times a year that I can't change. The Internal Revenue Service will not send their tax exemption correspondence to the post office box; they send it only to a person's home. We'll just have to take that chance. If it comes in and she asks about it, we'll tell the truth and take it from there."
Things went well for two weeks. My anxiety level reduced with each passing day. One day I came home from work to find the mail stacked on the kitchen counter--and the IRS letter was on top. My heart raced. From the living room I heard, "Tom, there's a letter that came in today that raises questions. Will you tell me about it and tell me the truth?" Her tone was soft, yet firm; one that I have known for almost 50 years. "Well, Mother," I said, "Sue and I are members of a wonderful group of parents who love and support their homosexual children. You have a gay grandson."
I sat down and we talked for about two hours. It was evident that she was willing to try to understnd. She asked many questions. I had so much to tell her that at times it just poured out. We agreed that in the remaining week of her visit she'd do some reading and we'd do more talking together. All this was so new to her.
As we talked I began to realize that she hadn't said that she still loved her grandson. (I've always expected too much too soon from my parents.) I needed to hear those words now. When they didn't come fast enough I began to choke up. With tears in my eyes I blurted out, "Mother, it will be like putting a kinfe in my heart if you reject Michael. We love him so much." She reached over to hold my hand and assured me that she would never turn her back on him.
A little later we went to pick up Sue from work. Shortly after she got into the car, I told her that the IRS letter had arrived that afternoon. There was silence. "It's all right," Mother said. "There's no tragedy where there's love."