PART III
Another part of being privileged to other people’s troubles is it can put things into perspective for my own life. I often see on Facebook people mourning the recent loss of a parent. I also get to be privy to others wishing for another 5 minutes or even 1 minute with a parent who has passed.
I admit that just before my mom arrived, I was ready to put on my slutty undies and have some new experiences of my own. But I realized that Palm Springs isn’t going anywhere but one day my mom will. Whether it’s back to Utah or that one day she moves on to the next level after this life- she will leave me. Either way, my face-to-face time is limited whether it be by the lack of means for a plane ticket or the lack of minutes left in this city or on Earth.
I can honestly say that I’ve used this time wisely and every hug I wanted to give, I gave. Every cuddle on the sofa where I wanted to nuzzle her armpit, I nuzzled. Every kiss on her cheek, head and forehead I wanted to give, I gave. Every hand holding moment that presented itself, I took. And every moment I had to encourage her and pour light and love into her, I did. And guess what? In turn it helped me too.
In 20-30 years… if we haven’t been killed by human intolerance, arrogance, or supremacy and we still walk this beautiful overheating planet of ours, I know I won’t have any regrets when it comes to my Mommy and her trip here. I took every chance that I had, that I ever wanted, and that I prayed for and I didn’t waste it when it came to my door. I did everything I was able to, and I hope I remember those snuggles in her armpit, the tears we shared and the dancing to the rhythm of jazz and Selena, and the many, “I love you” moments we shared in my first Palm Springs home.
The next day after reminding my mom how talented of an artist she was I took her to Michaels. I purchased empty canvasses, a shit load of acrylic paints and brushes and then the Palm Springs magic started happening.
I turned on the music outside and said, “Come on lady, dance. Let the rhythm getcha!” And I twirled and sang, “The rhythm is gonna get you…the rhythm is gonna get you. The Palm Springs magic is gonna getcha.” And it did.
Part IV
Getting ready for work I’d look out onto the patio and my mom was so focused on the little canvas in front of her that she didn’t see me watching. She was trying something she’d never done before; she was painting. Granted the first couple of paintings looked like she was exercising her demons but she needed to learn and to let it out so she could chase her happy.
She even painted a picture of a pride flag and painted a glittery heart in the middle of it. This is a growth moment for my mom and she’s telling me she loves all of me, at least that’s my interpretation of it. I took it into my office and a few days after it hung there one client said, “The colors are wrong in the rainbow.” And sure as shit my mom had inverted the blue and green. I think I’m going to keep it that way… it’s the intention behind it that makes my heart sing a happy rhythm of its own and I like flaws (mostly because I’m full of ‘em).
I’m in shock just how much my little mommy has grown since she arrived here over 3 weeks ago. She arrived here broken-hearted, fearful, worried, and skeptical about her own future. To be honest, she came and was secretive about it because she thought maybe her x-husband would become enraged and do something to hurt her. I even showed her where I keep my gun and said, “If he comes or anyone else breaks in to hurt or kill you or us, shoot ‘em.” “Don’t hesitate, after you are sure … aim and shoot. Because it’s in the hesitation where they getcha and the only thing I want to be got by is the rhythm” or a big ol’ dick. I’m tired of people hurting me… and I’m tired of my mom being used to being hurt. We are putting DV in our rearview mirror and never inviting it back into our homes or our lives again.
Now she’s found her own rhythm and I think I’ve found mine. I also found peace and think so has she. She said, “I would have never known that I could paint a picture if I didn’t come out here.” I replied, “Yea, and you would have never gone to a bar in your life either!” She replied, “I think it’s the magic in the fairy dust.” Me, “I told you it feels like all the things that people did and said to you over your lifetime…that you can’t do or be something fade away here. It is magic.”
I’ll just add, my mom didn’t just go to any old bar at the age of 74, she went to a gay bar. She went to her first bar with her gay son and his bestie old lady Rhonda Rae (who turns 81 in a few days). There I was sitting with two of my favorite ol’ ladies at a freakin gay bar! It was an amazing happy feeling to experience.
She’s also asked if I would take a picture of her with a drag queen, has gone to the Roost twice, and One Eleven twice. I should’ve led with the statement, I am a person who can be happy when I see someone else happy, elated, or joyful. I think it’s weird not to be. It actually makes me fucking happy to witness her or anyone else be happy.
And I was filled with happiness as saw her singing and mouthing the words to the song the cute piano playing guy sang. I asked her, “Are you having fun?” She replied with familiarity, “Yes, these are my songs.” She even laughed at the entertainer’s jokes (so did I- he’s funny).
AND there is nothing like watching your Madre Dearest’s little foot bouncing up and down or shaking the whole bench because the rhythm finally got her without my encouragement. I didn’t know if I was going to cry or just beam a smile at her, and I decided to just sit back and let her enjoy herself. (Just then I saw an x-boyfriend of mine across the room. I thought, “Ew, please don’t come say hi to me… we are having a moment.” I silently prayed, “Please don’t’ ruin the moment. Please don’t’ ruin the moment!” There’s a DV story in there too. Maybe one day I’ll share that story. I was just glad he didn’t ruin that moment like he seems to enjoy doing for me for many other moments.)
Part V
I went to work the following weekday. I came home and to my surprise my mom had started on a new painting. This one was her best one yet. It was from a scene from Jennifer Lopez’s new movie, “This is Me Now.” It was a picture of a hummingbird. It was really good too. It made me happy to see my mom so proud of her work.
Yes, I made my mom watch the movie with me because there’s some healing in there for her too. She said, “She sings too much in it. I don’t like her singing. I like her movies and this is singing. I don’t’ like the other lady you guys like either.” Me, “Who? Oh Taylor Swift?” Her, “Yes, no me guesta como se canta tampoco.” Me, “Well you are wrong about both of them, and I love them both. I just love JLo more.”
My mom has never loved JLo’s music, but she is a fan of her movies. I love all things J to the Lo. She said, “If she wants to buy this painting, I’ll sell it to her so if your dad gets half of the house I won’t lose it.” Ummm, no Madre Dearest- that painting is mine. I teased my mom about how great the painting looks. “Gosh lady look how good it turned out and all you had to do was try.”
The next evening, we watched, “Big Eyes” a movie about the life and works of artist Margaret Keane. Ms. Keane, like my mother allowed a man to take over and control her life and really take all the credit, control the money (when he never really worked), and really controlled every other aspect of her life.
My mom worked her whole life, and her x-husband did not. He was a stay-at-home pretender, just like Mr. Keane. My madre devoted 50+ years to someone who was not a good or nice person. I’d say that she was more like his indentured servant than a wife.
She cooked, cleaned, worked, made his bed, tucked him in at night, washed the clothes, cut his fingernails and toenails, and his eyebrow hair and did all his haircuts.
The marriage, and many of my childhood memories involved domestic violence and fear. Domestic violence that sometimes would mirror some of the worst child abuse and neglect cases that I worked on as a CPS worker in Utah. So yea, I got some baggage and trauma of my own. That’s why it’s one of the many reasons DV is a hard no motha fuckin thank you in my home or my life. No more bullies.
I told her, “Oh my goodness, now that I know you can paint, I should lock you in your room and make you paint pictures everyday and then I’ll sign them and take all the credit for them like that viejo, her husband Mr. Keane.” Then the thought crossed my mind… if her x-husband had actually known she could paint and would think he could profit from it, I think he would have done the Mr. Keane thing and made her paint so he could sell them. That’s what narcissists do, they prey, exploit, take, and lie.
I type this blog entry as my Madre Dearest is in the kitchen painting her next happy masterpiece. The rhythm that has missed her the last 74 years has finally caught up to her and filled her. She’s listening to her Mexican music, it’s Cinco De Mayo, and as Mexico celebrates its independence, like so many of you do too down on Arenas today, so does my mother. She even lets me know how happy she is by EL GRITO that rings throughout my house.
So… am I sad that I didn’t get to put on my slutty underwear and hit the town like so many others did the last month? Nope… not for a second. There’s no room for sadness here… not while my Madre Dearest is here.
(*Enter EL Mexican GRITO here*)
I Love My Mommy,
The Happy Homo
PS My family may not be happy with me for sharing my experiences in my blog, but I don’t care. These are my experiences too. I felt them just like everyone else did in that home, if not more. You can’t tell me what to write, type, sing, or how to love. The rhythm got me too.
PSS Its not too late for you to find your happy either. Figure out what it is and chase that mother fucker until you catch it. And stop cock blocking other people’s happiness. Get yo’ shade out of their shine and mine.
PSSS I don’t know if you listen to country music but you should support and download the Brother’s Osborne new music. After the hot one came out as gay, I hope that we all pick up the slack with supporting them where bigots may have fled. Yes, I realize they are male vocalists, but I still listened to it. I’m trying too.
PSSSS I got another client to register to vote. That’s a couple of clients I know will be voting blue this election cycle. I think that if all of the other therapists out there (or whatever your profession is) talks to their clients or customers and encourage them to vote- we can influence real change. Show them how to register and encourage them to do so. Some of them may come from places like Utah where a blue queer vote doesn’t go very far, and your voice is quiet if not silenced. They may not be used to participating in elections because they never thought their voice mattered or that anyone wanted to hear it. Here we don’t have to be quiet, we can change who our representatives are one encouraging conversation at a time. And I want to hear their voice and see their vote finally count. One conversation at time. Let’s do it!
PSX5 I love you, well most of you.
PSX6 Letting someone treat you poorly, belittle you, or even hit you in a marriage or relationship is not something you should stick around for. Get the fuck out of there as fast and safely as you can. Look for the love and kindness out there in the world and flock towards that; because it’s here. I’ve seen it.
PSX7 Yes, I know my Spanish is terrible.
PSX8 Chase your happy.
PSX9 This is Me and My Mommy Now 🙂 hehehe
