From Helene…
So much has changed over the past few years. My beautiful daughter with the lithe body of an athlete is now my good looking, sturdily built son with a close cut beard. I no longer see the daughter except in my thoughts or old photos that I try, unsuccessfully, not to look at. In the beginning of Henry’s transition there were times I did not even recognize him. I guess I was still looking for Eve.
Eve and I always had a very close, typical mother-daughter relationship. We’d discuss everything she wanted to discuss, hug, enjoy spending time together, go to movies, laugh, talk about the family. You get the picture. That she didn’t like to shop, get a manicure, sit with her knees together didn’t rattle me. She liked boys, had boyfriends. But she did kind of walk like a truck driver and carrying a purse was something we laughed about since they way she held it made it appear that it was a smelly bag of trash. I dreaded the weekends because she would come home after being out with friends and throw herself on my bed in tears that she didn’t fit in. I attributed this to the fact that she was adopted (she’s Korean, I’m not) and teenage angst in general. I must have been living on another planet.