Love Lives Here
Page 24
When Ashley moved across the country to try living with a family member, the girls continued to keep in contact. When things didn’t work out there and she flew back to Ottawa, the bright side was their reunion. But with so many failed attempts at stability, there was talk of her becoming a Crown ward. That would make the Province of Ontario her permanent caretaker until she aged out of the system.
“It looks like I’m out of options,” fifteen-year-old Ashley told her friend.
Alexis didn’t see it that way.
* * *
—
We didn’t set out to add another teenager to our family. It happened in small, organic steps. In many ways, Ashley became a part of our family before we even considered the possibility. She was over as often as she could be, anchoring herself to the cheer and stability in our home. For all the changes we had gone through in the past few years, the connections between us had remained strong. She could feel it when she walked through the front door. Family could feel like this.
For Alexis, having a close friend was a new development. Before she came out, she was closed off and unable to connect with most other people her age. But now, our girl had a best friend. They chatted on the phone for hours, shared secrets and spent as much time together as possible. Zoë and I were excited to see their friendship grow. Moreover, we adored Ashley. Despite everything she had been through, she remained warm and optimistic.
Which is probably why, when Alexis sat us down and asked if Ashley could move in, it wasn’t a difficult conversation.
“Aerik is moving out soon,” she said. “And we’ll have a spare bedroom. That could be her room.”
With college under his belt and a full-time job in hand, twenty-one-year-old Aerik had plans to strike out on his own. I had hoped to turn his room into an office/guest bedroom, but this seemed like a far better use of the space.
Zoë and I had talked already about becoming foster parents, in particular to LGBTQ youth, since they’re some of the most high-risk and underserved people. The timing of this potential placement was sooner than we had hoped, but it could work. And while Ashley didn’t identify as LGBTQ, she was certainly an exceptional ally to a transgender girl we loved very much.
After a few weeks of assessments, records checks, references and home visits, I got that call on the train. The Children’s Aid Society of Ottawa would be putting us forward to the courts as kinship caregivers to Ashley, which was the first step in her becoming a permanent family member.
* * *
—
I arrived back in Ottawa five hours after the social worker’s call, my heart full, and made my way to the store for some important supplies to surprise Ashley with. When she walked through the door that evening for what she thought was an ordinary visit, she was greeted with balloons, a cake and a card welcoming her to the family. “This is like a dream,” she said. “There’s a saying between kids in foster care that once you reach about age ten, no one wants you anymore. You just bounce around until you age out. You’ll never find a home. But look at this—I just found one!”
* * *
—
A few weeks later, Aerik moved into his own apartment. The morning after he left, I walked into his empty room, touched the walls where his posters used to be and shed a few tears. Kids grow up, and most of them eventually leave. That’s a good thing. But I’ve learned that good isn’t always easy.
I didn’t have much time to mope, though—the room needed a make-over. Ashley was coming to live with us in four days. She had chosen a robin’s-egg blue for her walls. “It’s exciting to get to pick my room colour,” she had said to me. “In most foster and group homes, you just get what you get, and it’s usually pretty plain.”
“But this isn’t a foster home, honey,” I said. “This is your home. Your room. We’re going to make it special.”
I spent the next three days not only painting but also adding some surprise touches, including a new duvet set in her favourite colours and some handmade wall art strategically placed to greet her as she opened the door. It said, “You are home.”
We picked her up after school one day and carried the few bags she had filled with her possessions out to the car. She was excited, but still in disbelief. When she saw her new room, she began to cry.
“Welcome home,” we said, hugging her.
And that is how we became a family of six.
Love grows.
For a little while, it was just my mom and me. Baby Amanda and mom, Elizabeth (1977).
The Trinque family in our backyard in Aylmer, Quebec. Left to right: Katie, Charles Sr., Michael, Amanda, Elizabeth, Charles Jr. (1988).
Newly sober and newly joyful teenage me (1992).
The girl who changed it all: Alexis’s first public photo after coming out (2015).
Nervous and excited (mostly nervous!) to take the stage at WE Day Vancouver with Alexis in November 2016. (Photo credit: Microsoft Canada)
Alexis and I getting ready to speak at a conference about how to be a trans youth and how best to support one (2017).
Zoe’s first day at work as herself. To say she was nervous would be an understatement (2016).
Meeting with Prime Minister Justin Trudeau after the tabling of Bill C-16, the Trans Rights Bill (2016).
A happier, more authentic family of five. Jackson, Zoe, Alexis, Aerik and Amanda at home in Kanata, Ontario (2016).
Alexis, Aerik and Jackson on a much-needed family getaway to Prince Edward County, Ontario (2017).
The couple selfies are abundant these days (2017).
The wedding we should have had became our 20th anniversary vow renewal in 2017. Left to right: Zoe, Alexis, Aerik, Jackson and Amanda. (Photo credit: Danielle Donders, Mothership Photography)
Vow renewal celebrations with our wonderfully supportive parents. Left to right: Charles, Elizabeth, Amanda, Zoe, Elizabeth, Clifford. (Photo credit: Danielle Donders, Mothership Photography)
It’s (another) girl! Alexis and her best-friend-turned-sister, Ashley (2018).
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MY NAME MIGHT BE on this book, but it was by no means a one-woman process. I have a gratitude list a mile long, which I’ll do my best to condense.
First and foremost, a profound thanks to the team at Penguin Random House Canada, including Scott Sellers and Nicole Winstanley, for believing in this project from the beginning and helping it come to life. A special note of thanks to Publishing Director Diane Turbide, who patiently worked her magic to help me shape our journey into one that could be told in book form. You’ve been a guide and a cheerleader—I couldn’t have done this without you. And a heartfelt thank you to copyeditor Janice Weaver for sharp eyes and good questions.
Morgan Barnes, Richard Comeau and Jennifer Herman believed in this book before I did. Thank you giving me the push I needed to take this from a dream I was going to get to “someday” to something I actually did.
Cheers to my kids for putting up with a frazzled and often sleep-deprived mom, the long hours of me sequestered from the rest of the family, and for (mostly) adhering to my “I’m writing! Do NOT come in unless you’re dying!” signs on the door. I love all four of you.
To my incredible wife, Zoë, for always insisting that writing is my “real job” and believing in me 110%, even when I didn’t. This whole book is a dedication to our love, but I’ll say it again: I love you so much.
Mom, Dad, Katie, Charlie and Mike, thanks for always being there and for putting up with me as a teenager. I bet that was fun for you. To my in-laws, Liz and Cliff, knowing you love me like another daughter means the world to me.
Liliane Hajjar loved me through it—all of it—and she deserves a medal. My friends Jenn Annis and Shanon Ya-ya Page were my unofficial editors whenever I felt stuck. To our many friends who listened, learned, affirmed, and have celebrated with us ever since: I don’t know what we’d do without you. Thanks for never letting us find out.
No writer is an island—although there are cert
ainly times when many of us wish we could be on one. My thanks to friends Jen and Julia, who offered me the use of their family cottages so I could find solitude while hashing out the most challenging parts of this book.
My grade 10 writing teacher, Joyce Wagland, took a broken, angry teen aside after class and said, “You can write—really write. Did you know that?” and has believed in me ever since. Everyone needs that one great teacher. She was it for me.
To our community of Ottawa-Gatineau, your kindness and support has been paramount as we’ve navigated these changes. You began as my home by chance, you are now my home by choice.
And, finally, to every LGBTQ person who has lived their life out loud and proud before my time, to every trans activist who has fought for recognition, rights and respect, thank you. This book—and our family—wouldn’t exist if not for you.