Edges Magazine Issue 24: Finding out my son is gay

EDGES MAGAZINE Issue 24

January 2001

finding out my son is gay

Bernadette Wild from Middlesex shares her story

Holy Saturday 1998 was a memorable day. My husband Patrick and I were looking forward to the Easter Vigil where a friend of ours was going to be received into the Church. It was to have been a happy occasion after a year of mourning for our two-year-old daughter Jessica, who had been instrumental in our friend's decision to convert. This was also the day my 21-year-old son Jon chose to share that he is gay.

At around teatime Jon came into the kitchen where I was cooking for the next day's festivities. I was alone. "Mum, come and sit down, I've got something to tell you," he said. "Don't tell me you need money to go out!" I laughed. "Just come and sit down." I followed him into the lounge and sat down.

"Mum, this is probably the worst thing you're going to want to hear about me." Oh my God, I thought, someone's pregnant. He went on "It's about my sexuality." In an instant it dawned, "You're gay," I whispered. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and spilling over uncontrollably. I had no idea.

I only remember snatches of Jon's conversation that he must have rehearsed over and over... "I'm still the same person." "I'll understand if you want me to move out." "I just had to tell you today," I could not speak. I did not know what to say. Here was my beloved son, who one day might marry and have children; who had once said that he wanted a family just like ours, telling me it was not going to happen. I remember giving him a hug through my tears, and telling him it would be OK. I went back to the cooking and Jon went out for the evening. I shared the news with my husband and eldest daughter that same evening.

I guess there is never a great time to come out to your family. I thought at first that Jon had chosen the wrong time. With hindsight, it was exactly the right time. He had waited a long time, watching us struggle (and struggling himself) with our grief, and chose a time when we had begun to look forward again. Although it seemed devastating news, he was wrong about it being the worst thing - he was still alive and healthy.

I did not get a chance to speak with Jon again for three days after he shared his news. A real blessing, I think. We had visitors for Easter, then we visited relatives in Birmingham, and we got through that somehow. This gave us all a time to think, and plan what to say to each other. I was frightened. I did not want to say the wrong thing - anything that I might later regret. I felt devastated.

My initial thoughts were scary, irrational and wrong. I thought he might become promiscuous, get Aids, never settle down. I told myself it was 'just a phase,' he just needed to find the right girl. After all, he had had girlfriends in the past, wasn't he always surrounded by girls? He would grow out of it. Maybe it was my fault. Patrick was going through a similar torture. If only he had taken him to more football, more masculine pursuits. He blamed himself. We have gay friends, I have a cousin who is gay. I've never been homophobic, but this was different - this was my son. When I did speak with Jon again, it was to say I loved him and he was not to move out of the family home. It turned out that he had told no one else and had chosen to tell us first. I now know that to have been an enormous privilege, and a great testimony to his trust in us. Over the following months I spoke to friends and our priest who was an enormous help. He introduced me to another mum who had been through the same a few years before. Our friends' reaction differed greatly, from a tremendous outpouring to an unhelpful "We thought as much". I read books. I wanted so much to understand. I was on a steep learning curve. I learned just how isolated and lonely young people can be when they discover they are 'different'. I remembered the depressed Jon in his teenage years who decided to move schools after one year in the Sixth Form, and dropped out of university after two years. I learned about the high rate of teenage male suicides. I came to know that gay people are not promiscuous, that HIV is fastest growing in the heterosexual population, and gay people want the same as the rest of us - close, loving relationships that will last, a nice home, a good job. I also realised that whatever intimacy there is between two people, gay or straight, is none of my business. I don't even go there. I discovered it was not my fault - it's how Jon was made. Gradually, I came to full acceptance, without guilt, without anger, without sadness. God doesn't make junk and he doesn't make mistakes. Jon is the person he was meant to be. In fact he is the same person, yet not the same. All the qualities people value so highly in him are the same, his gentleness, his sensitivity, his kindness, his humour, his loyalty but now he is confident and self-assured. He has many friends, gay and straight. My life is richer for knowing them. He is a wonderful brother to Sarah, 25, and to our two adopted children with Downs Syndrome, Adam, 8, and Sophie, 2. He is happy and so am I. He is content to live at home for the time being.

It is inevitable that we have hopes and expectations of our children, however much we try not to. When those expectations are changed, there is a degree of loss, and that has to be worked through. My overriding hope for all my children was that they find peace and joy in their lives. That hope has not been lost. I count myself extremely fortunate to have such a son and I love him very much.