The Loss of a Beloved Son

The experience of a PITT family

He was our son.  We knew him even though we never met him.  We knew his mother like she was a sister.  We knew her love for him was stronger than her love for herself.  His mother gave every minute of every moment to him.  She worked to save him and all of the other sons that were being plucked away, one by one, by the gender cult.  She never gave in or ever gave up. 

Her son’s story was all of our stories.  He was a quirky, overly gifted, intellectual boy.  He was awkward and unsure of himself, so typical of the children wooed by the cult.  He ran into the arms of gender ideology.  He drank of its poison. He escaped into its false promises. He was aided by his oh-so-helpful and progressive school in disengaging from his mother and father, the only people in the world who truly loved him. His school counselor instructed him how to be his “true self,” and where to run when he turned 18, to “find his bliss”--a place where he could be the woman he thought he was always meant to be.  At 18, he left as instructed.  

He was their only son.  And still he left.  He left the comfort of his loving family and moved to a "free-to-be-you-and-me” part of a town, where drugs were just a minute away, where addiction and crime were the easy way out.   And yet, his upbringing stopped him from falling into that hell hole. We don’t know what his year away was like, but we know that his parents never lost hope and reached out through as many channels as they could, even hiring a private investigator to make sure he had enough food.  

He was not a bad kid; just a lost kid.  He was brilliant and kind. He had empathy, despite abandoning his family.  He reached out to his grandparents, making sure that they knew that he loved them. His goodness never left him.

After about a year, he returned.  His walk-about was over.  He apologized to his parents. He was greeted with open arms - no judgment - just gratitude and love. He announced that he was over his “gender journey,” and embraced his manhood.  But whatever had caused his self-loathing and his desire to escape reality never left him.  It festered and grew, only this time in secret.  

So he left a second time, and this time it was for keeps.  His home is now set in stone, the years of his short life etched into it.  He is forever 19.

Sleep soundly, son.

Reposted from Our Duty