When family rejects who you are, some of us are here for you.

An adult and a child holding hands as they walk along a shoreline, viewed from behind. — Photo by Lenin Estrada on Pexels

Names have been changed.

I looked for you today.

I scrolled through your mother’s Facebook pictures, scanning the faces at your great-grandmother’s birthday party and holiday gatherings. I looked for your smile. I looked for the spark I remember from so long ago. But you were not there.

You were not at your grandfather’s funeral, either. I know he did not approve of your transition. I know he could not accept that the grandson he thought he had was actually a granddaughter. I suspect you stayed away to protect your heart, or perhaps because you were told not to come.

I don’t blame you. But I missed you.

I am sending this to the universe, knowing you will likely never see it, because I need to say what your grandfather wouldn’t, and what your family refuses to acknowledge.

I saw you.

I remember the family reunion at Lake Michigan. You were still Hudson to the world then. We walked along the shoreline, the wind biting at our cheeks. You didn’t run with the roughhousing boys. You walked with us. You played with the girls and their Barbies, gentle and content. Even then, before you had the words or the freedom to say it, your soul was visible. You were never a boy. You were always Chloe, just waiting to step into the light.

I also remember the Christmas we all spent together — your mother, your aunt, your grandfather, your brother, your cousins, and my daughter. You told us you were going to San Francisco. Looking back, I wonder if you were already planning your escape, looking for a place where you could breathe.

On the ride home that night, I asked my daughter a question I knew the answer to: “Do you think Hudson is gay?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Of course. But do not mention it to anyone.”

Then she added the truth that the rest of the family seems to have forgotten.

“He was the best, most likable person there.”

My daughter was right. You were the best of them then, and you are the best of them now.

That is why it cuts me to the core to hear your aunt speak of you today. She still calls you by your birth name. She uses Hudson like a loaded gun, refusing to grant you the basic dignity of your own identity.

And then there is your younger brother.

I know how he treats you. I know he derides you, mocking the woman you have become. He clings to that tired, broken excuse. He tells people you are this way because “there was no man to raise you.”

He is wrong. We both know it does not work that way. Being transgender isn’t a consequence of an absent father. It isn’t a mistake in your upbringing. You were born this way.

I see your brother’s anger for what it is. He is desperate for you to be who you were when he was a boy. He wants the image of the brother he looked up to, not the sister you have always been. He has not forgiven you for changing the script of his childhood.

I want you to know that not everyone in this bloodline feels that way.

I worry about you, Chloe. I know that living your truth comes with a terrifying price tag in this country. I know that trans women are targets just for existing, for daring to be themselves in a world that demands conformity. I read the news, and I fear for you. I fear that people cannot mind their own business, and that their ignorance puts your beautiful life at risk.

I am sorry that your grandmother died when you were so small. She would have loved you, no matter what name you used. I like to think she would have walked that shoreline with you today, hand in hand.

Since I cannot find you, and since the family has pushed you away, I can only send this message out to the universe.

I hope you are safe. I hope you have found a chosen family that loves you the way your biological family should have. I hope you are happy, Chloe.

Looking for Chloe was originally published in Human Parts on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

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Looking for Chloe