Where The Wildflowers Grow
Where the wildflowers grow, where a boy used to play. He rests now, free from this messy world. Born to a mom and dad who dreamed of him before he arrived, he was their cherished joy. His mom always wanted to be a mom. She loved him so and he filled her heart. A sweet boy, he loved chocolate cake and chocolate chip cookies, baseball, camping, and cuddling his cat as an only child wrapped in his parents’ love.
Adolescence brought unease, as it does, but his misfortune was a world gone astray, whispering lies that he could opt out of his sex with hormones and surgeries.
Counselors and voices, like a Pied Piper, lured him at 18 with glitter-dusted promises: “Your parents don’t love you. Trans does.” He ran, convinced his mom and dad were villains. They never gave up on him. She would wonder where he was, how he was? Searching for over a year. They finally found him. He then asked to come home.
When he returned, he no longer identified as Trans, the lies crumbled away. His mind was still suffering. But his time home was brief. Days before his 20th birthday, he took his life. He was too tender for this world. He is now where the wildflowers grow, he is at peace now. Left in his wake a hole of sorrow that will never be filled.
His mom once asked, “When this whole Trans thing blows over will they think of how it has hurt us parents?”
Now, he rests where the wildflowers grow, and we honor him in March, the month of his birth: his sweetness, his struggles, the love that held him. His mom and dad carry that love still, through grief no one else sees.
In honor of this boy, let’s think of them too. His parents left with memories of their tender son, free now where the wildflowers grow.
Dedicated to my dear friend and her husband.
So poignant and sad. My heart is heavy today as we believe our 19-year old daughter has started taking T. I whipsaw between white-hot rage at the ideology and quiet sobs at the loss of our sweet daughter who made us parents.
I hate the burden that thousands of parents have carried, forced on us by ignorant adults—other parents, activists, teachers, and medical ‘professionals’, not to mention Big Pharma and politicians.
I pray for the nightmare to end, although for many, at least in this lifetime, it never will.
I cling to my faith, desperately holding on because it is the only thing that will get me through, and still confess that it sometimes doesn’t feel enough.
I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.
Yet I still believe, but, God, help my unbelief.
My son's been in this 2.5 years and now on hormones (against our will) at college. He thinks he's happier, but he's a mess right under the veneer. He cries all the time. He cannot handle conflict. We keep loving and loving and loving. I am being stretched to love in a way I never thought I was able. I would do ANYTHING for him except lie to him.
I haven't cried about this in quite a while. Not that I'm numb (not at all). I've just come to a place of radical acceptance that this is our road, this is HIS road.
And then I read this just now and started sobbing. Oh, the pain these poor boys feel! The lies they've been told. The broken promises, the false hope of becoming a butterfly! I'm so sorry to this parent, I want to hug you and sob together. Thank you for writing. Thank you for sharing your heartache.