July 8, 2004: I’M TIRED OF THIS REDUNDANCY . . .

I’M TIRED OF THIS REDUNDANCY | July 8, 2004

Dear Dominic,

What a typical, current cop-out!  “Using religion in the name of hate.”  What trash!  Many homosexuals hate because they are in the grip of Satan.  They hate God because he won’t validate their perversions.  If the Church continues to coddle homosexuals, it will collapse.  You are breaking God’s laws and living in mortal sin and that, Dominic, is a reality you won’t accept!  You can not love God and break His laws.  Anyone who condones your sexual activity is a weakling and an accomplice to your sin.

I never wanted to cut the cords.  You have forced me to choose.  I have no hate for you, but I hate the evil of homosexuality that enslaves you.  We are called to emulate and follow Jesus Christ.  In the parable of the Prodigal Son, the father did not go chasing after his errant son; he allowed him to wallow with the pigs.  It was only after the son repented and renounced his filthy lifestyle that the father ran out to meet him.  I intend to do exactly the same.

I’m tired of this redundancy!  I will not allow you or “S” to further hurt us and keep us on an endless roller coaster ride of false hopes.  How evil of you!

Do not send me any of your nonsense memoirs!  You are trying to psychologically and emotionally torture me and I will not allow it.  The past is dead.  You destroyed it long ago  whenever you started on your road to your despicable sexuality.

Oh, yes!  You know I love you!  And you’ve tried to use my love for you to get your own way.  Well, you can stop the crap!  Just like “S”, who says one thing and does another.

Nothing and no one will separate me from my first Love, Jesus!  Absolutely no one.  I’m so ashamed that my own precious son has so offended Our Lord.

My position is final.  Send nothing.  If you ever decide to repent and reform your life, I will battle Satan on his own turf for you, but not before I’m sure you are sincere.

I, too, have kept most of your cards and letters.  But they will all be destroyed when we die if there has been no reunion.  I’m too tired to continue much longer.  I am a well run dry—no love from anyone has replenished me, except for the Lord.  He is all I thirst for now.

I doubt that we will ever see each other again.

Goodbye,

Mom

June 20, 2004: STOR-ALL OFFICE BOX #03325

If you’ve read this memoir from beginning to end, you’ll remember that this is where it started…

Dear Mom,

I am compiling all the correspondence we’ve shared over the years into a memoir. I’m including letters sent and unsent, letters between us and letters to and from my friends, professors, confessors, journal entries never shared—all the writing that reveals who we were and who we’ve become. I’ve been storing everything in a Stor-All office box, stock number 03325.

It’s so strange reading letter after birthday card after Mass card after article filled with your mixture of grief and hate and love.

CAM01565

These are only the article clippings (and probably only half of them). I had to put in the two extensions for the dining room table to even fit them all here.

CAM01628

A tiny selection of the letters and cards and Post-It notes.

I know you love me so much. But, as you’ve told me, you’ve cut the cords.

Fortunately (or is it unfortunately?) you will never be able to fully cut the cords. You will never be completely free of me. I will never be completely free of you. Because there is still some fragment of your old self left, I’m sure. The bitterness, the paranoia, the fear, the use of religion in the name of hate, the refusal to face reality—all these things obscure the smile that smiles back at me from one of the last family photos we took, sitting on the brown couch in the living room, hastily arranged with all the dogs, leaving enough room for dad to perch on the side after starting the timer. I like to show people that picture. Invariably, they mistake ba-chan for my mom and think you’re my older sister. You look so young and beautiful in that picture.

CAM01564

(R-L): Mom, me, grandmother (ba-chan), sister, dad (and three really big dogs–oh, and one of our four cats).

Maybe once I’m done, you can proof it for me. You’ll be able to read yourself back to me, read myself back to me, and see if what I’ve written isn’t true.

How could it not be true? We’ve all written it together.

Love,

Dominic

June 20, 2004: WE’VE WRITTEN IT TOGETHER

Let’s start at the end…

Dear Mom,

I am compiling all the correspondence we’ve shared over the years into a memoir. I’m including letters sent and unsent, letters between us and letters to and from my friends, professors, confessors, journal entries never shared—all the writing that reveals who we were and who we’ve become. I’ve been storing everything in a Stor-All office box, stock number 03325.

It’s so strange reading letter after birthday card after Mass card after article filled with your mixture of grief and hate and love.

CAM01565

These are only the article clippings (and probably only half of them). I had to put in the two extensions for the dining room table to even fit them all here.

CAM01628

A tiny selection of the letters and cards and Post-It notes.

I know you love me so much. But, as you’ve told me, you’ve cut the cords.

Fortunately (or is it unfortunately?) you will never be able to fully cut the cords. You will never be completely free of me. I will never be completely free of you. Because there is still some fragment of your old self left, I’m sure. The bitterness, the paranoia, the fear, the use of religion in the name of hate, the refusal to face reality—all these things obscure the smile that smiles back at me from one of the last family photos we took, sitting on the brown couch in the living room, hastily arranged with all the dogs, leaving enough room for dad to perch on the side after starting the timer. I like to show people that picture. Invariably, they mistake ba-chan for my mom and think you’re my older sister. You look so young and beautiful in that picture.

CAM01564

(R-L): Mom, me, grandmother (ba-chan), sister, dad (and three really big dogs–oh, and one of our four cats).

Maybe once I’m done, you can proof it for me. You’ll be able to read yourself back to me, read myself back to me, and see if what I’ve written isn’t true.

How could it not be true? We’ve all written it together.

Love,

Dominic