In Between Days: Raising Jordan (boyxman)✅

I Wanna be Adored

Jamie

Never before had I been so embarrassed in my entire life. Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. There was that time when my mother caught a guy going down on me on the living room couch. Sophomore year of college, home for spring break, I decided to take Miles, a freshman, home with me. We had only been seeing each other for a week or two at the time. We should have gone to my room, but we didn't. We were just watching TV when Miles decided to do it, not like I did anything to stop him. I guess you could say that was more or less my coming out story. There was always suspicion that I possibly wasn't straight, but getting caught with a guy was one way to prove I wasn't. My parents more or less accepted my sexual orientation, except my dad would say, "I wish you'd make up your mind between men and women." I tried to explain bisexuality to my parents, but my dad said he "just didn't get it." He couldn't understand how anyone could be attracted to both men and women. While I understand it, I definitely know where my preference lies.

To get my mind off things, I thought I'd surprise my parents with a visit. I was leaving soon and I wasn't sure I'd see them again before next June and the guilt was already eating at me. Some unknown woman came to the door of my parents' condo. A woman I didn't recognize opened the door. She wore a name badge that read Sheila Porter, HHA. I knew that HHA was an abbreviation for home health aide.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Jamie Perron. Are my parents here?"

"Uh...not right now," she said. "Well, your mother is here. Your father went golfing for the day and she's sort of having difficulty coping with him being gone. She's not having a very good day." I was sure my dad deserved a day of golfing with everything he had to deal with on a daily basis.

"Well, can I come in and see her?" I said, stepping into the house.

"Of course," Sheila said, her naturally red curly hair bouncing up and down as she led me to my mother. I found my mother sitting on the couch, holding her purse in her lap, on edge, like she was on high alert, as if she expected something dreadful to happen any minute.

"Hi, Mom," I said and kissed her cheek. As soon as I did that, she looked as though she was about to slap me across my face. She never laid a hand on us as kids. In fact, she rarely ever raised her voice.

"Mom?" she said, giving me a disgusted, horrified look. Instantly I knew that she had no idea who I was, which was one of the worst feelings in the world. How could she not recognize her own son? Alzheimer's disease was pure evil. There were days when I wished she'd just die and end it because I knew it would only get worse. Alzheimer's was a progressive and irreversible disease.

How could I think that about my own mother?

On more than one occasion, my father would say, "the woman I married died a long time ago." And he was right about that.

"It's me, Jamie," I said. "Your son. How are you?"

"You're not my son," she said, insulted I could claim such a thing. "How could you possibly be my son? My son is only ten and you're...you're..."

"Thirty," I said. "I'll be thirty-one August 30th. I was ten once." I wasn't sure what to say or what to do.

"What are you doing in my house? I don't know you. Where's Jerry?" She was referring to Jerry, my father who was practically by her side twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.