The First Shirt

 I sat in my bedroom, sorting the laundry.  The stained and worn tee stood out from the bunch.  Shorter than the others, no longer just a little too small.  I picked it up and slowly ran my fingers over its edges, smoothing it out on the bed.  Why is it so hard to give this one up?  I picked it up and hugged it... and smelled it... something I do more now that my mom has passed.  Why can't I let go of this one?  The aqua size medium girls tee with gathered sleeves.  It was D's first girl's shirt.  Was it because I sat there at the store, staring at it for so long, wondering if gathered sleeves really were such a big deal?  Was it because it was his favorite color at the time, and it was worn often in those early days of his new identity?  Whatever it was, it held on tight to me, like it was tied to my chest.  So many memories in that shirt.  Was I just being ridiculous?  I slowly folded it, carefully setting it aside.  A little while later, D walked in.

"Honey?  Is this one too small?"  I asked, trying to hide my hesitation.
He looked at me with sad eyes and a turned down mouth.  He whispered "Yeah, but please don't give it away.  I want to keep it."
"I don't think I could ever give this one away." I replied.  We looked at each other for a minute and he came over and hugged me.
"I don't want to grow up" he said.  "I want to get smaller, not bigger."
"I know.  But think of all the little kids who you can help.  All the little kids who are just like you, and need someone older to remind them it's ok to just be who they are" I responded.  Growing up has been a huge, gut wrenching struggle for him.  For nearly 2 years, he would lie in bed at night, crying and worrying about getting older, unable to sleep for hours.
"But people won't think I am pretty when I lose my hair and have a beard", he used to say.
 It took us a long time to work through that.  Only in this last year has he finally felt it was not the end of the world to grow up.  I think it had a lot to do with "The Book" (The Transgender Child), making him feel ok to be gender-variant.

I used to tell him "Whatever you are worried about, whatever you feel you need to change about yourself so you can be comfortable, we can do it.  Doctors can do anything.  If you want boobs, done.  Fake hair, done.  Another arm, well... maybe not that, but you get the idea." I have always tried hard to have open and honest conversations with him, adding in a little humor to lighten the load.  We are a silly house, so I never wanted our important talks to feel important.  I just wanted them to happen, often.  I think that is the key.  He has to trust me enough to let me hear his process, to take me on his journey, and to not make it feel like a struggle or that there would be any judgement.  I don't want to be the baggage, I want to be the map.  But he has to be the explorer.

So there we were, snuggling and staring at an old beat up shirt.  Not ready to let go.  Holding on to the old life vest, that made it feel safe to dangle our toes in the water.