Cold Welcome

2002-07-30 - 12:35 a.m.

Pookie's mad. Not at me, at his mother.

In the three and a half years since we met I have not known him to once enjoy spending the night with his mom. It is painful for him, and not in that "Everybody's family is a little bit crazy" kind of way.

You see, Pookie is the family's failure. His Masters degree, his wonderful personality, his compassion are all inconsequential.

Pookie has two younger brothers, twins. One is a police officer who has been promoted just a little more than most cops his age, is married, has two kids, a nice house in the subburbs, money to burn. One is an officer in the military - single, yes, but fairly well-off in his own right. One day he'll find a girlfriend and settle down.

Pookie is gay, dating a man ten years his junior, makes just over minimum wage when he's able to work, and isn't even going into the priesthood, opting for a more secular career as a chaplain/councellor. He's outspoken and "too sensitive." Oh, and he was abused by his uncle when he was 11.

One of his goals in going home was to broach the subject. He felt he had made some progress during his work term, and was tired of feeling like he had a big secret. He wanted to talk with his mom and maybe bridge the gap.

She wouldn't turn off the television, wouldn't even listen to him. The phone rang halfway through and she answered it. It turns out she knew, but never bothered to care.

He's angry and hurt, because he had hoped for something...maybe recognition that he's overcome some big obstacles, recognition or love from his mother, appreciation, validation.

This sort of thing happens to him every time. His mom, whatever her personal damage is, is nowhere near able to deal with Pookie.

I wish there was a way to make it okay for him to not care, but I know that his family ties are important to him. I think he will keep on trying to bridge that gap - it's who he is. But oh I don't like seeing him hurt like that. I hate having to hear him cry over the phone when there's nothing I can do. I can't even hold him. I hate hearing how angry and hurt he is, and I want to grab that woman and point to her son and drill it into her how wonderful he is and that one day she is going to lose him, and it will be her fault.

I'm thankful for my mom. My grandmother abused her, but my mom somehow broke the cycle, just as Pookie is doing now, and I'm thankful that while mom and I have had some scorcher fights we've always been clear and open about how much we care for each other.

I owe a huge part of my optimism to her, and I know that when Pookie and I have kids, they'll owe a lot of their wonderfullness to him.

Next entry I'm going to think about something upbeat.

Cheers,

The Magus

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