A 16 year old girl and a 17 year old boy decided they wanted to have sex. For the boy, he was losing his virginity. They were responsible and took all the correct precautions. It wouldn’t happen in the back seat of a car, condoms would be purchased/used and it was consensual. If you knew this boy, you’d know he was responsible. He was respectful, did well in school and pretty much had a full time job. A good kid. They both were. The boy made sure he purchased spermicide condoms, for extra protection. What could go wrong?

If you can guess what happened next, you’re 100% correct.

The condom broke.

They pretty much laughed it off. It was one time. The condom was put on correctly. Plus it had spermicide in it. I mean, what could go wrong? They went about their lives as normal.

Fast forward 6 weeks later. The girl misses her period.

Freaking out, the boy made some calls and remembered things from school on what to do next. Again, they did the responsible thing. The boy scheduled them appointments at the Health Department for a pregnancy test and for an STD screening. Every box was checked to be on the safe side. Both of their STD screenings came back negative. That was a huge relief.

The pregnancy test came back positive.

What the hell were they going to do? They were just kids. Kids that made a stupid, life changing, grown up decision that would effect their lives forever.

The health department provided them information on what their options were. They could keep and raise the baby, put the baby up for adoption or the girl could have an abortion.

A statistic that neither of them wanted to be apart of.

They had to grow up and make very grown up decisions. They loved each other, but they weren’t in love with each other. Neither of them could afford a baby. The boy had a job, but he spent his money on gas, clothes, food and cds. His life had recently had a life altering event. The girl babysat for her aunt, occasionally partied where she’d drink and do recreational drugs. There was no way they could go to school, work and raise a baby. They weren’t ready for a baby and there was no way in hell either of their families would help.

They were royally fucked.

They sat on the hood of the boys car and talked. They talked for hours. 7 hours to be exact. They got themselves into this predicament. They had to get themselves out of it. They tossed ideas back and forth. They laughed. They cried. They knew that if their families found out, they’d be in trouble and their futures were over. They were kids. One night. One time. And their lives were changed forever. They finally decided the best option for them was for the girl to have an abortion. The boy told the girl he would pay for it and he would be there with her from start to finish. She was his best friend. There was no way he’d make her go alone.

The next day they called and scheduled the abortion. The procedure was booked for a week later. A week, to give them time to change their minds if they wanted to. This was important.

The day finally came. They sat in the car before going in. They talked, cried and apologized to each other. Neither of them imaged this would be something they had to do. For other people, who weren’t responsible, yes. Not them. But here they were. Making a very serious, grown up decision. Not just for themselves but the unborn baby. None of their futures would be the same, regardless of which choice they made. This wasn’t something they took lightly. They exited the car to get it over with.

To make matters worse, there were picketers outside. Waving signs, calling them murderers, shouting they were going to hell and that Jesus hated them. It was cruel and unkind. The boy was very defensive and protective of his best friend and himself. None of them offered support or help. They spewed their hate and beliefs as facts. The clinic staff came to their rescue and rushed them through these “people”, into the clinic.

Once inside. They signed in. Paperwork was completed. The pre-counseling meeting was completed. They just waited for the procedure to be completed. Then her name was called. He couldn’t go in with her. They cried and hugged. They knew this was the best choice for them.

30 minutes later it, was done.

As they drove home. They made the decision not tell anyone. They were ashamed, embarrassed and it was their secret. It was no one else’s business. They were also very sad, but very grateful to have each other. Even more fortunate to have the choice.

They were stupid kids, who made a mistake.

The only silver lining was, they had a choice. Especially for the girl. It was her body that had to go through it.

Over the years, they occasionally talked about the “what-ifs”. They remained friends. Even through thick and thin. Their lives had gone in completely different directions though. In the end, it was for the best.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, the boy was me. I’m sure you know how my life changed since 1997/1998. I will not discuss “who” the girl was, but if you’ve known me a long time, you’ll be able to put two and two together.

If it wasn’t for abortion rights and women having body autonomy, our lives would be completely different. Who’s to say how the outcome would have been, had we kept the baby.

Sure, I was a responsible kid, but I had already been making adult decisions that I shouldn’t have had to make prior to this. What’s right for you, is your choice. What’s right for me, is mine. It’s also no one else’s business. Knowing me and the life I lived in my younger years, you understand.

I am no longer embarrassed or ashamed. I haven’t been for years. With what’s going on in the world today, I decided it was time to share this part of my life. Some know, many do not. If you know my character and heart, you know that I’m not a monster or how people are portrayed when it comes to abortion. Knowing what I know now, sure things could have been different. But at what cost?

Now you understand why I am a huge advocate for Women’s Rights. I’ve benefited from those rights. I’m also extremely grateful for those rights. Every woman should have the right to choose what they want to do with their bodies.

The Supreme Court decision to reverse Roe V Wade is an astronomical mistake. Even as someone who supports gun rights, guns have more rights than women. Breathing, living women. Not an object. A person. There are even more options nowadays with unplanned/unwanted pregnancy. Those options don’t always pan out how most think it does. Let’s not forget how hard, expensive and heart breaking fostering/adoption can be. I’ve been there too. Don’t go there with me.

I am frighted for the future of many. Especially Women and the LGBTQIA+ community. The outdated choices the people in higher power are making, are taking away our rights. They are making the divide, wider and angrier. This is just the beginning. If you are sitting on the sidelines, not supporting people or agreeing with these life changing decisions.

YOU ARE APART OF THE PROBLEM.

Your beliefs do not and should not have any say in mine or anyone else’s rights.

Again, this is just the beginning.

It will be worse before it gets better. But you know how that goes. We’ve been fighting for 50+ years for equality and we’ll keep fighting longer. Until everyone has equal rights. They’ve just made us angrier and more determined.

The battle has just begun.

(This was a short story I wrote in my creative writing class, during quarantine. Enjoy!)

Copyright © by Nick DeCoopman (All rights reserved)

“This is a work of faction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”

“What the hell am I going to wear?” Nate said to his reflection in the mirror after brushing his teeth. Getting ready was always a struggle. Dropping the towel in the hamper and rummaging through the clothes in his closet was a daily chore. Especially for a chubby bald guy that wanted to look like he didn’t buy his clothes at “Old Navy”. Nate made minimum wage for a non-profit company that provided care for mentally ill adults, making big bucks was out of the question. Instead, he wore clothes that fit and made him look like he had some sense of fashion. With the right accessories, anyone can look like a plus size male model for “Old Navy”. Thankfully being gay had its’ perks. Or at least in Nates case.

Clean underwear (check) clean clothes (check) cigarettes & lighter (check) cell phone charged (check) wallet (check) keys (check).

Walking past the mirror one last time, “You could always stay home and play Sims” Nate said to his reflection. What fun is that on a Saturday night? Nate dreamt of being wined, dined, bent over and railed till his hair grew back. Being single after 8 years of being with his ex and the horrible sex, Nate needed to get out. His Sims characters had more of a life than he did. Better clothes, more money and didn’t live in Chesterfield Farms.

Bob and Nate decided to meet in the middle of where they both lived. Roseville. Olive Garden was the decided place to meet up at. Roseville didn’t have many options. Oh joy, bottomless breadsticks and carbs. Just what Nate needed on his first date with a guy he had been chatting with on Bear411. It wasn’t his first choice on how to meet a guy, but with the lack of gay community where he lived, his options were slim to none.

Nate recognized him as soon as he pulled into the parking lot. The baseball jersey with his name on the back and some kind of voter hat, that he could see from a distance. It was definitely Bob.

Bob. Wannabe “Senator Bob”.

All “The Senator” could talk about was Softball, running for some State Representative thing, food and getting in Nate pants. Pants that were a bit snug and were only going to grow more uncomfortable after devouring endless breadsticks.

Nate blew off “The Senator’s” advances since he joined the site. After being ghosted by a guy he was chatting with for over a month, Nate needed to go out. “The Senator” said just enough to get Nate to accept going on this date. “The Senator” seemed like a nice guy, when he wasn’t gushing about himself.

Checking himself one last time in the rearview mirror to make sure there was nothing in his teeth. Nate walked to the door, where “The Senator” was waiting.

“Hey, you must be Bob?” Nate said with a little bit too much enthusiasm.

As Bob looked up from his cellphone. “Yup”.

Nate was not a fan of one-word responses. He wanted to get back in his car and go home. This was a bad idea. Nate scolded himself “Stop being a brat, give the guy a chance”. Exhaling and smiling Nate replied “Shall we?”.

“The Senator” grabbed the handle of the door and held it open for Nate. As Nate entered the restaurant, “The Senator” grabbed a handful of Nates ass and said “Lets eat”. Nate felt ill.

They waited at the bar until their table was ready.  “The Senator” ordered a beer, and Nate ordered a Diet Coke. The conversation with “The Senator” was one sided and somehow, he turned everything into some weird sexual inuendo. Nate was not a prude by any means, but this guy sounded like a horny virgin.

“I am the coach for my softball team, maybe I can get a home-run with you tonight”

 “I was once a Gourmet Chef; I would love to Holland-glaze your face”

“Maybe you can handle my breadstick later”

Nate just stared at him, while sipping his Diet Coke.

“The Senator” bragged about how he was going to be the youngest and hottest Politician in Michigan. Nate knew he’d vote for whoever was up against him, regardless of Political Party. “That’ll teach him not to grab my ass again” Nate thought.

 “Do you want to go door to door campaigning with me?”

Nate was not impressed, nor did he want to go door to door asking people to “Vote for Bob”.

Why did he agree to this date? Oh yea, his ego was bruised and he needed to get “Ghost” out of his head.

Nate kindly replied “Oh yea, maybe once we get to know each other, for sure”. Nate knew he was lying. There was no way in hell he was going to walk anywhere or go anywhere with this guy again.  Arrogant was the kindest word Nate would sum up for “The Senator”.

The guest pager started buzzing, letting them know their table was ready. They walked to the Host station and were escorted to their table.

While looking over the menu, Nate dazed off into his head with different thoughts about what he’d rather be doing.

All while “The Senator” droned on about himself. His campaign. His horrible sexual innuendos.

“Does he ever shut the fuck up?” Nate thought.

The thought made Nate chuckle to himself. Little did Nate know “The Senator” changed subjects and was talking about his dead cat. He dazed right through the conversation change. 

“What’s so funny?” as he looked at Nate like he had 3 heads. “Oh, the baby over there just flung a breadstick across the table and hit who I assume is his Mom”. Nate had to think quick and something semi funny.  He didn’t want “The Senator” thinking he was laughing at the dead cat story. The cat was lucky. He didn’t have to deal with his masters nonstop talking anymore.

“The Senator” replied “Oh, so where was I?”.

The waitress came to take their order and of course “The Senator” had 10,000 questions.

“Is the sausage spicey?”

“Can I have my sauce on the side?”

“Can I have an extra plate?”

“These EYE-Talians sure know how to make good food”

(Nates ancestors were turning over in their graves. 1 for him being gay and 2 this guy calling his people EYE-Talians).

“Do you make a lot of tips, Shelby?”

Her name was Shelley.

So much for “The Senator” listening to anything other than himself. Nate had just one question looming in his head yet again.

“Does he ever shut the fuck up?”

Salad turned into dinner, dinner turned into dessert and then the date would be over. Checking the clock every 5 minutes to when Nate could make his great escape.

Nate made his plans in his head for the rest of the evening. After getting out of this restaurant and far, far away from this guy. First things first, Nate was deleting his stupid Bear411 account when he got home.

“NO MORE MEETING UP WITH GUYS FROM THE INTERNET!”

 Most are creeps, and the one nice guy he wanted to be on a date with, ghosted him. The rest of the evening would consist of putting on some comfy clothes (you know pants that weren’t cutting off the circulation to his lower body), checking his very lucky Sim characters, masturbate and go to bed. So much for being banged like a screen door in a wind storm.

Plus, no one would be there to talk.

Especially “The Senator”.

The night would end on a positive note. Come on 5 more minutes, as Nate looked at the clock one last time.

Nate reached for his wallet when the bill came. “Oh no, I got this. My treat” with a wink.  “The Senator” said this with a little too much excitement. Nate thought “Does he think he’s getting some because he’s paying for dinner? Olive Garden dinner?” He’ll be lucky to get a hand shake after all the nonsense Nate had to sit through. “Thanks, at least let me leave the tip” Nate offered. “Big Bank Hank” (name change of course) replied “I got that too”. Nate watched as he put $6.00 in the check presenter for the waitress, Shelby as he called her yet again. As they got up to part ways, Nate slipped another $20.00 in the check presenter. The poor waitress had to endure just as much as Nate did, especially with “The Senators” demands. The least she could do was get some cash out of it.

They made their way to the door.

Nate could feel the freedom as the door opened and the non-EYE-Talian food air, hit his face.

Sweet, sweet freedom.

Nate kept walking toward his car when “The Senator” asked “Want to hit up this gay bar down the road?”.

Nate tried to think quick of a response, “Sorry, early morning”, “I shit my pants”, “I have to feed my fish, Mother and Fucker” (yes, that was their names) “I’d rather have my teeth pulled out with pliers by some cousin humping mountain mutant than go anywhere else with you”.

“The Senator” was basically begging. “Damn it, Nate. Just say NO! You got Sims to put to bed, porn to watch and pants with an elastic waist just calling your name! Get in your car and get the fuck out of there”.

“The Senator” looked pathetic. Nate thought to himself “1 drink and then you can leave”.

“Sure, I’ll follow you” was all Nate could say. Why do you have to be so nice? Are you gluten for punishment? Aren’t your pants tight enough right now? Nate got in his car and thankfully with the windows up and no one around, he screamed.

Walking through the doors of the gay bar, the familiar scent filled Nates nose. Perfume, smoke, alcohol and fried food. Loud music blaring, lesbians playing pool and Drag Queens twirling around entertaining the crowd. This was Nates safe place growing up. He’d spent many nights here. Dancing the night away while sipping on his Diet Coke. The feelings all came back to him, 18 years old and wanting to be someplace where he could be himself and not worry about the world’s cruelty.

Thankfully this was the bar “The Senator” wanted to go to.

They made their way to the bar. 1 drink and Nate could peace out and forget this evening. Fortunately/Unfortunately, Nate and “The Senator” knew most of the people in the bar, including the bartender. Kisses and small talk were exchanged. Nate ordered a Shirley Temple and “The Senator” ordered 3 bottles of beer. “Nice” Nate thought, “He’s going to get sloshed and I’ll have to drive his ass home”.

They sat at a table top close to the dance floor. A Drag Queen was performing on the stage. Nate watched The Drag Queen like she was the only one in the room, making sure to avoid “The Senator”.

As Nate watched the show, he felt a hand start sliding up and down his inner thigh, under the table. “Great, now he’s trying to get fresh”. Before Nate could get “The Senators” hand off this his thigh, he moved it higher and cupped Nates crotch. Before Nate could even react to the hand now pawing at his crotch, here comes “Grabby Hands” (name change again) in for the kiss. The feel of wet, sloppy beer mixed with EYE-Talian food flavored lips were on Nates. Nate tried to pull away, but “Grabby Hands” took his free hand and grabbed the back of Nates head, holding him there. Nate was screaming in his head “I am being assaulted by a Politician”. “The Senator” must have been satisfied with his onslaught and pulled back. Smiling, mouth covered in saliva. Nate kindly excused himself and sprinted to the bathroom.

Standing at the mirror scrubbing his face with soap and water, the Drag Queen that was just performing, was now standing at the urinal peeing. Dress hiked up, being held by her chin. She looked over at Nate and asked “Little boy, are you ok? That soap can’t be good for your skin, I think it’s actually dish soap. This bar is so cheap”. Nate turned to The Drag Queen and said “I was just kissed by a man that wants to be a Senator, has beer flavored garlic breath and thinks my crotch is a softball”. The Drag Queen laughed. “Ohhhh honey, did he at least pay for dinner?” Nate replied “Olive Garden”. The Drag Queen must have agreed with Nate because her next words were “You need me to sneak you out the dressing room back door, baby?”. Nate shook his head “No” while staring in the mirror.

He put himself in this situation, he had to get himself out. “No, thank you. I have to pull up my big boy pants and just tell the guy I am not interested”. The Drag Queen patted Nates head like a dog (she towered over him wearing 6-inch stilettos, mind you Nate is 5’5)

 “If you need Auntie Maddy, you come into the dressing room and I will ram my fist down “Mr. Gardens” throat”. Nate thanked Auntie and made his exit.

As he was walking back to the table to grab his keys, cigarettes and to get the fuck out of there. “The Senator” was chatting with 3 people that Nate didn’t know, but the tall one looked familiar. Nate walked up and they all turned to look at him. “The Senator” quickly walked to Nates side and said “This is my date, Nate, hey that rhymed”. Nate rolled his eyes and shook hands with the first 2 people (short butch lesbian and drunkish gay guy) and paused when his eyes landed on the 3^rd. Nate knew exactly who the 3^rd tall guy was now. “Your name is Milo, we’ve chatted before” Nate said as he shook his hand and thought at the same time “And the jerk who ghosted me after talking on line and texting for over a month, promising they’d hang out. Even exchanging pictures of his (Milo) new dog and a dick pic or 2 (Nate)”. Milo apologized, stating school had got in the way and he meant to text Nate back. “Likely story” Nate thought.

As “The Senator” stood there talking like he was George Bush, Nate walked back to the table, set his keys down and lit a cigarette.

“Oh, you aren’t going anywhere now, bitch” Nate thought. “You’re staying put to see if “Ghost” aka Milo, was interested or not”. Nate exhaled a long puff of smoke, when the smoke dissipated there was “The Senator”. “Wanna dance?”. Nate mushed his cigarette into the ashtray and said “I thought you’d never ask, I’d love to!”.

The dance floor was packed. It reeked of sweat. “The Senator” positioned himself behind Nate and began to dry hump Nate like he was trying to mash potatoes with his crotch. Nate moved his hips to the music, but his eyes searched the bar for “Ghost”.

Of course, “The Senator” had a hard on and was grinding it into Nates ass as they danced. Out of the corner of his eye, Nate saw “Ghost” standing with his friends, staring at Nate. Nate really put his ass into it, just to show “Ghost” this could have been him if he wasn’t such an asshole. “The Senator” grabbed Nate hips as they danced to “Buttons” by The Pussy Cat Dolls. All Nate wanted was “Ghost” to be the guy behind him, grinding his dick into his ass, but nope. He stood there with his friends whispering like elementary kids. As the song was coming to an end, so was Nates patience and hope for “Ghost” to push “The Senator” out the way and take his place. Nate pushed off “The Senator” and decided it was time to go home. The DJ must have had jokes, as Nate was leaving the dance floor “Damaged” by Danity Kane started blasting out of the speakers.

Nate had had enough. He walked back to the table top to pick up his things and just walk out. Nate had no intention of saying bye to “The Senator” or “Ghost”. Like the song playing, Nate was “Damaged”.

  “The Senator” walked up to the table as Nate started to walk towards the door. “Hey where are you going? It’s early. Have another Shelley Temple”.

Nate was officially over this night. If he didn’t cut this guy off right now, he was going to be suckered into marrying him and becoming Michigan’s first Lady Man.

Nate replied “Shelley was the waitress at the Olive Garden, the drink is a Shirley Temple, look I have an early morning, I have to get home and get some sleep. Thank you for a lovely evening, but I really gotta go”. That was the only excuse Nate could muster up. “The Senator” said he understood and asked if he could walk Nate to his car.

As they were walking out of the bar, Nate took one last glimpse at “Ghost”. He was standing there with his brown shirt with green seems, dark hair and good looks. He was still in the same spot chatting with his friends, where he watched Nate dance. “Ghost” took one last look at Nate as he exited. And he was gone. Danity Kane belting “My heart is damaged” faded as the door closed. Nate walked directly to his car, “The Senator” in tow.

All Nate felt was exhaustion. Exhausted from entertaining this guy all night and exhausted from men in general, particularly “Ghost”. “Why didn’t he reply to my messages? Were the dick pics too much?” Nate thought.

“The Senator” walked Nate to his car and opened the door for him.

“The Senator” leaned in with his eyes closed for another kiss. This time Nate was prepared, he put his hand up and stopped him from getting any closer to his face.

“The Senator” kissed Nates palm and opened his eyes. “Oh, I wanted to give you a kiss good night. I had the best time. We should totally do this again”. Nate just shook his head yes but, in his mind, he was screaming “HELL TO THE NO”. Nate did the gentleman thing. He grabbed “The Senators” hand and shook it like he was campaigning for a vote.

Nate got in his car and rolled down the windows, the night air felt crisp and Nate needed to wake up. “The Senator” made one last attempt to get in Nates pants. “Wanna come back to my place. I could show you more of my dance moves, but naked”. Nate shook his head no this time and replied “I think you got enough of that on the dance floor, see ya around Senator”. Nate put the car in gear and drove off. In his rearview mirror he could see “The Senator” walk back into the bar. Probably to find his next victim to grind on.

Nate turned up the music and drove home.

Pulling into the driveway Nate sat in the car going over the night in his head. Lighting one last cigarette for the night, he looked up to the sky. Staring at all the stars. Nate whispered to himself “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I will, I wish with might, I wish to have this wish tonight”. Nate wished to be carried up the stairs by ‘Ghost” and thrown into his bed, where they snuggled till morning. Nate finished his cigarette and flicked it into the street.

Nate climbed the stairs to his apartment. Walking in he felt the loneliness and darkness. He switched on the light and walked to his fish tank. Mother and Fucker swam around opening and closing their mouths. Nate pinched off some food from the container and fed them a late-night snack, turned off the lights and walked to his room.

Again, in darkness and feeling lonely.

Nate stripped off his clothes and took a long, hot shower. He needed to wash this night away. His face felt like it had rug burn from “The Senators” kiss and then using the bathroom soap to scrub his face, after.

Nate brushed his teeth, put on his most comfortable pajama pants (ones that didn’t break the circulation off his waist) and climbed into bed.

He didn’t delete his Bear411 account, check on his Sims or even masturbate. Exhaustion took over.

“The Senator” text Nate a picture of his dick and said “You’re missing out on this Grade A Prime Beef”. Nate didn’t reply. “The Senator” was a total creep, Nate was never going to reply to him and deleted the message. He plugged in his phone and pulled the covers up over his head and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning when Nate woke up, he replayed the evening in his head. “The Senator”, Olive Garden and “Ghost”. Fucking “Ghost”.

Nate saw his cellphone blinking on the night stand. His first thought was the text from the now deleted “Senator”, but he remembered he deleted the message. Nate picked up his phone. When the screen lit up, he gasped, sat up, shook his head and smiled to himself. Pinching his arm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He read.

Milo D. from Bear411: I am really sorry for “ghosting” you. Do you want to go on a date tonight? I am sure your date with whatshisface was horrible. We could meet up later, say around 7?

Nate laughed out loud and thought to himself, maybe the Star wish worked…..

This year marks the 25th anniversary of my Mom passing away. I was barely 17 the day she passed away. Today being the day she would have turned 74. It feels like it was a lifetime ago. Because, it was.

I don’t want you (the reader) to think that I don’t love my Mom. I do love her. I will always love her and be thankful to her for giving me life. But I also want to make it clear of how my life came to be what it is today. With being 100% authentic and honest with my site. Even if it doesn’t paint the perfect picture or may hurt some’s feelings. It’s also the story of how I forgave her. It may all come out as word vomit, but it’s better to get it out than keep it all in. This is my therapy.

I always write these notes in my phone about what I want to write about, reminders, stories, “don’t forget” and so on. Unfortunately in the 90’s that’s not something a 17 year old kid would have done. Something that I regret often. Which I think is why I started journaling. That way I wouldn’t forget the important stuff.

One note that I wrote to my self was “You probably sang to me the day I was born, but I can’t remember your voice”. I was originally going to make it into a poem (which could still happen), but it turned into something way bigger. Being older and wiser, I was able to process it in a way that didn’t bring me back to the mentality I once had, or felt alone. This time I had my “Moms”. Even if I didn’t tell them exactly why I called or was asking specific things. I had the tools now because of them, that I was able to seek out their guidance in a way that didn’t cause worry. I may be a grown up, but I will always need my “Moms”.

It was at the beginning of Covid when everything was so scattered, the future was unforeseeable and I was organizing my memory box/life. Like everyone else was. Also, we had just moved to a new apartment. Listening to my tapes on the boombox, Mike had bought me for Christmas. I was looking at old pictures and found 1 of the few photos I have of my Mom. I thought of what she would be doing during this time. Especially since she suffered with Crohn’s Disease and toilet paper was becoming scarce. Another thought popped into my mind with a zap to my heart. I couldn’t remember the sound of my Mom’s voice. I turned off the radio and closed my eyes, trying like hell to hear it. But it was gone. I could no longer remember the sound of her voice. It was gone and still is to this day.

I have very few mementos or belongings of my Mom’s. It is all contained in 2 small boxes. 1 holding her ashes with a few things and the other is a tote under my bed that holds the contents of her wallet, her comb, cards I received from when she passed away, a necklace from Mark/Kathy as a remembrance and the ca-single of “Whoop there is it”. That’s it. The contents of her life in 2 tiny boxes. Add what I know of her and memories I have, it’s just as small. Her part in my life was small. It was 25 years ago. I am 7 years shy of the age she was when she passed away. It’s also the biggest impact of who I became.

We always turn loved ones who pass away into martyrs. We share all the good, how they lit up a room, how they were just too good for this world and “God needed them sooner”. Mary Susan (My Mom) was far from that. I inherited her wicked sense of humor, great taste in music, anxiety and saying whatever I want without thinking. Which can be eloquently said, beautifully written or like a knife, a stab in the heart. I think she tried as hard as she could, but selfishly for her, she would always be first. As long as she had cigarettes, coffee, cable TV, scratch offs and her medication, she was content. Then somewhere down the line we came into importance. She loved us, but she loved her more.

I can hear it now…..

“Oh, no. You can’t talk ill of the dead. Especially your Mother”.

Yes, yes I can. This isn’t me speaking ill of her either. This is a fact. Chapters 1-17 of my life. This was my reality. Becoming an adult before I even hit puberty, was not something I planned on. I didn’t start working at 11 (babysitting) because I wanted to. I did it because it was survival. There was no way around it. Plus Walter wasn’t making any effort in the upbringing of me, or my siblings.

From the time I can remember as a kid until she passed away, my Mom was always sick with some ailment. Whether it was her Crohn’s, Cancer, Cirrhosis, Closed head injury or dealing with her mental illness, she was always sick. We made excuses because she was “sick”. But she used that to her advantage and selfishly blended sick with “ME ME ME ME” together. It blurred the lines of what was really going on or what she wanted. What she wanted was to be taken care of most of the time. Whatever the reason may be, she wanted everyone to drop what they were doing and take care of her. It was Mary’s world and we just lived in it. Regardless of the toll it took on others. Even when she said unforgivable/unforgettable things. Again, I unfortunately inherited this trait from her. Good or bad. I have to check myself (often). Words hold power. I never want to be the cause or damage of someone’s feelings/hurt.

When I think of the note I wrote in my phone. It breaks my heart a little every time I read it. How does someone forget the sound of their own mother’s voice? I can’t remember the tone of her voice, the sound of her laugh or saying the words “I love you”. Nothing, its as if it was erased from my mind completely. Which makes me mad, since my memory has always been above par. I remember everything. I can hear a song and tell you the day/month/year, where I was, what I was wearing, the weather and every little miniscule detail. I remind people of times past and they are in awe with the detail of how well I remember that moment. But this, this is something I can’t remember.

Don’t get me wrong, I do have some really wonderful memories of my Mom. Memories I will cherish till the end of my days. It was not always doom and gloom. The events at the end of her life left an ugly scar that took a long time to heal. You also have to remember, I was a teenager when she passed. 15 days after my 17th birthday I joined the “My mom died” club.

Prior to her passing, I lived with my brother because my Mom wanted to move to a different city than where I had been living. We moved like gypsies, and I was so tired of packing and leaving everything I knew behind. I had my friends, school and my job at NGH. I refused to leave or give any of that up. It was selfish of me, but it was my way of putting my foot down. To stay where I wanted and needed to be. If I was old enough to go to school and work 30+ hours a week, I was old enough to make the choice of where I wanted to live. I don’t regret it either, even if that makes me selfish. I wasn’t always close with my Mom either. I was the baby of 5. By the time I came around, Mary and Walter had “been there, done that”. It’s why I have such a close relationship with my sister, Tina. All of my early “Motherly memories” are of her. Hell, she had to stop me from calling her “Mom” when I was a toddler. It’s also why I have “daddy issues”, but that story is for another time. Thankfully I have my Brothers and Daddy Warbucks (Mark).

Not many people know this, nor have I shared it, but the last conversation I had with my Mom was an argument. Like everything else, I remember it vividly. I know the exact date/time of it to as you’ll read.

November 5th, 1997 11:10am. I received a pink slip while in 3rd hour, I thought I was in trouble for something. Even though I was a good kid, receiving a pink slip was never good. The student aid handed me the note that said “Call your mother immediately”. My brother didn’t have a phone at home, so this was her way of getting ahold of us, unless I was at the Bingo Hall. I walked down to the office and called her. She was mad. She was mad that my brothers house phone was shut off. She was mad that my brother was getting my child support. She was mad that she had to take care of herself. She was also mad that I hadn’t been down to visit her, since I “had” a car. Little did she know, my brother Scott drove the car into the ground and it was dead. Sitting in a vacant parking spot in a trailer park in Mt. Clemens, waiting to be towed to the junk yard. As she yelled at me, I just tuned her out. I remember watching the secretary file her nails, thinking “Wow, great way to start my birthday month”. She ended her tirade and I said I had to get back to class. She hung up on me. The last conversation I had with my Mom was an argument and she hung up on me.

It gets worse.

10 days later, not a single member of my family remembered my birthday. Not a call, not a card, not gift, not a nothing. The one that hurt the most was my Mom not reaching out. I had worked at the hall the night prior. Knowing we didn’t have a phone at home, she could have called me there. But she didn’t. I was mad at everyone for forgetting, but I was infuriated that she did. This wasn’t the first time I had been forgotten on my birthday. The one day a year that’s supposed to be about you, to celebrate you. I sat in my closet aka “bedroom” and cried. It wasn’t until almost 7 pm when Heather came over after work to wish me a Happy Birthday. She knew as soon as I opened the door, something was wrong. I told her. She asked me what I wanted to do. I replied “I want to get out of this apartment and call every one of these assholes and scream at them”. I grabbed my coat and my yellow change wallet, we got in her car (the green Bonneville) and drove to the payphone in our apartment complex. I had every intention of screaming at every single family member. I called my Mom first but she didn’t answer. Probably didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID. I couldn’t call Tina, she didn’t have a phone or a car (couldn’t blame her) and Scott sat in my face all day, but couldn’t remember my birthday through the weed clouds. My second call was to my other brothers. I knew Joe (who also lived with Scott and me) would be at Bill’s. I didn’t end up screaming. I ended up crying. All the fight I had in me diminished with each call. I remember it was sleeting, the smell of the exhaust from Heather’s car, the condensation of my breath and how little my voice sounded when I said “You all forgot my birthday”. They tried to make up for it by inviting me over, and buying me a cake. Heather drove me over there, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. There was no thought. There was no effort. It was a “pity party” that turned into my birthday party. It was just another day. Even with one last call to my Mom and no answer. It clearly didn’t matter to her. I expected it from Walter, but not from her. I wanted more than anything to yell at her and hang up on her, like she did to me at school. I had a bone to pick with her the next time I saw her. I was going to make her wish she never had me, because at that moment in time. I wasn’t sure why she did. How do you forget your child’s birthday? (It’s why I’ve never made a big deal about my birthday. But it is a big deal. As I do for others, I deserve to be celebrated too. Took me until almost 40 to learn that.)

It gets worse.

5 days later we got the call that she was in a medicated coma at Bi-County Hospital.

It gets worse.

10 days after that, she died.

I never spoke to my Mom again. Our last conversation will always be an argument and her hanging up on me.

It drained the remaining innocence I had left. I was officially an adult. No more crying over forgotten birthdays. No more being a kid. And no more Mom. Mary Susan left the building and left the door open.

Being a grown up at 17, sucked. But with darkness, comes light.

I am not a religious person. I think I once was, because we were all raised with some form of it. The belief and faith of it all has turned into a fairytale, the older I get. Like Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. I don’t knock those that do, and am often envious of their blind faith. But I am also a realist. I can’t fathom this “thing” that wants to punish or take from someone unless there is 100% belief and obedience. Or “allows” such horrible things to happen, but “it’s for the best”. Or used as a weapon. I can’t get down with that. I don’t endorse it either.

I do however believe in spirituality, fate, shooting stars, and things happening for a reason. Things I can see/feel. George Carlin taught me that along time ago. Kids these days would be offended. That’s a topic of another time. I like to think all of the things my Mom would have wanted to do, but couldn’t/didn’t, were tasked to others. She was sick for so long and tired and selfish. Maybe it was her Devine Intervention. Maybe it’s the made up story in my head of her redemption for my 17th Birthday. Maybe it’s the guilt I have for the things I have said/feel about my deceased Mom. Maybe it was luck. Whatever it is/was, it was meant for me.

I encountered some very special women. Women who took it upon themselves to be the Mom I needed and to heal the part of my heart that was damaged for so long. They saw all of my broken pieces and fixed them, piece by piece. They turned all the hate and hurt I had for my Mom into something special and unique. It was never about anything material. It was love. It was support. It was hugs and kisses. It was being there at my greatest achievements, but also there when I was at my lowest moments. It was allowing me to grow but accepting the young spirit that needed to be nurtured. It was teaching me right from wrong. It was forgiveness. Even when they made mistakes, as we all do.

Tina (my sister), Kathy (Mama Bear), Suzanne (Sassy) and Carol (D & Wendy). 5 women that were the Mom, when Mary couldn’t. How lucky am I? It’s one of the top reasons I am a huge supporter of women. Without a woman I wouldn’t be here, but without women, I wouldn’t be who I am. That’s a soapbox I will never step down from. The Covid era made me appreciate them, even more. The “reuniting hug” after the separation after so much time passing, is something I will always cherish. I never got that with Mary. I don’t remember the last hug, the last kiss or I love you.

I had to forgive my Mom, so that the good memories were not overshadowed by the bad. As they were for so many years. Hell even within this post. It’s not written with malice or anger, it’s written with hurt and honesty. It’s written with love. It’s written with compassion. It’s written with years of learning to forgive. It’s taken me 25 years to get here. It’s taken me 25 years to say/write this.

It’s taken me 25 years to forgive her.

I can finally embrace these days with a clear conscious and know that I truly forgive her. I can say “Happy Birthday to my Mom” and mean it. And even though I can’t remember the sound of her voice, the voices that took over, where she left off, are the voices of Women that I think she hand picked for me, in her own “Devine way”. Mary may have been many things, but she will always be my Mom.

Happy Birthday Mom, I love you.

I am already home, the only other option was to go BIG.

Dot Com BIG. I even mentioned it in my “#PuertoVallartaOrBust” post on Facebook.

Welcome to http://www.nickdecoopman.com ❤

I wasn’t really sure what I wanted my first post to be. Did I want to write about my trip? I already did that, posted the pictures/videos too. Did I want to write an intro about myself? Pretty much anyone who will be visiting my site, already knows me or at least about me. Plus, what do I want my site to convey, what’s its meaning?

My dream since I was a kid was to become a writer. Writing is the one thing for me that will never be a waste of time. This isn’t me boasting or disrespecting myself, there is a difference. It’s the one thing I know without a shadow of doubt that I excel at. It’s my gift. It’s the only gift that does not have a return policy. It’s all me. I may never be published or make this my fulltime career, but it will always be my outlet. What I needed was 1 place that I could incorporate my writing, short stories, thoughts and opinions without having someone dictate what I can and cannot say. It’s also my footprint for the world. When all is said and done, at the end of my life (a very long long time from now), it will be a reminder that I was here, that I was real.

I found a song (and future tattoo) that sparked this little firecracker that was waiting to explode. “Je te laisserai des mots” which translates to “I’ll leave you words”. If I can leave any mark on this world, I want it to be my words.

Over time I will post some short stories I’ve written, art I’ve done and posts/journal entries from when I was younger. Even terrible poetry I wrote when I was a young stupid teenager (or younger).

I decided I wanted my first post to be something I put thought into. Authentic. Fun. I posed the question on my social media pages “If you could ask me anything, what would you ask me”. Here are those questions/answers.

Melanie W.: What is the one thing that hurt you the most, but ended up making you a better person?

A. Allowing someone to physically and mentally abuse me. It shattered who I thought I was. But piece by piece I rebuilt myself. I overcame obstacles, even when the path was forked and covered in fog. It made me more compassionate and understanding. It taught me that my “fake smile” doesn’t sparkle like my genuine smile does. It taught me to never allow someone to have that kind of power over me ever again. And since that day, I haven’t.

Keith K.: Would you kill for me?

A. I love you, but no. I am not going to jail for anyone, ever again…..

Carly J.: What video lives in your head rent free?

A. https://youtu.be/tKJir4ROXiQ (copy and paste that link)

Gerry T.: What did you really think of me when we met for the first time?

A. The first 2 things I noticed was your purse and wedge shoes. I thought “Does this boujee ass lady realize she’s going into some nasty apartments with mentally ill adults?”. After hazing you, I realized you could hang with us. You gave me shit right back. I instantly respected that. Plus your motherly, gentle, kind and sweet spirit made it hard not to love you. I still have the ring you gave me (right off your hand) and wear it occasionally and think to myself “My friend Gerry gave this to me”.

Kevin M.: How many mini quiches would one need to eat to equal a full sized quiche?

A. Math class, never was good. I think you may have to ask Google to answer this question or maybe tweet Martha Stewart (@MarthaStewart). I suck at math. HAHA!

Tracy E.: Are you living your best life?

A. This is a tricky question. I thought I was, but 2020/Covid era kind of changed all of that for me (and so many others). Before the pandemic, I thought I had my shit together and all these obtainable goals that were within my reach. I was traveling, YOLO’ing and living very out loud. Little did any of us know what would happen. It’s taken 2 full years to get this train back on track. The fear of the unknown, trickle effects of life and being robbed of so much time/people. It halted me in my tracks. The world stopped, and I did too. It made me reassess life and what I wanted from it. Things that mattered 2 years ago, they don’t matter as much as I thought they did. People, matter. My time, matters. Regardless of how I use it. The few keepsakes of life, matter. I think my best life isn’t what I expected 2 years ago, but it’s exactly where it needs to be, today. So yes, right now I am living my best life. One day at a time. ❤

Dale H.: If you could have lunch with three people, living or dead, who would that be?

A. My Mom, Ray and Carrie Fisher. All 3 for many different reasons. I wouldn’t want the meal to end or leave.

Louis B.: What does Gratitude mean to you?

A. Growing up poor, you learn to appreciate things. Usually it’s material things. And at one time it was for me. Now gratitude means much more. It’s the little things, real things. Being able to travel and see/experience things I never thought I would. Returning the favor of helping someone who helped me when I had nothing. Giving without expectations. Not wondering when my next meal will be, making sure there is a plate for everyone at my table (in more ways than one). It’s remembering where I came from, and appreciating where I am today. It’s working hard and playing harder. It’s love. Not giving it so willingly, but giving it freely, if that makes sense.

Nancy C.: (way too many questions, so I picked my favorite one) Have you ever thought about not being gay?

A. Absolutely. Would my life be easier? Sure. Would I fit into the worlds mold of a normal person? Absolutely. Would I want that now, knowing and having the life I have? Absolutely not. My life would be completely different. It would mean I wouldn’t have Mike, or my pooches. It wouldn’t be the home I worked hard to build. I wouldn’t be who I am today. I may not even like that person. Nowadays, I am pretty choosy about the people in my life. I doubt I would like that person. And I have way too much sauce for that buttered pasta life. I am way too colorful. I have a dance in my walk and a song in my talk.

Andy V.: What was the first album you purchased?

A. Debbie Gibson “Out Of The Blue” on cassette. My sister Tina bought it for me for my 7th birthday. It was the ONLY thing I wanted. She took me to K-Mart and gave me $10.00 to buy whatever I wanted. I am pretty sure I had enough money for the April O’Neil action figure from “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” too.

Megan N.: What’s your favorite thing about moving to Arizona?

A. Learning I am so much stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. Being scared enough to leave everything I know/love behind and starting over. Fortunately having Mike every step of the way made it easier, but also having some of my most favorite people already here made it worth it. Plus the view of the mountain awe-inspires me every time I drive down my street. Every. Single. Time.

AndiFM: What’s the best piece of advice you’ve been given?

A. “Take the leap, you are worth it”. I was told this during one of the roughest stages of my life. I still use it till this day. Whatever the situation, taking a chance is never easy, but it’s worth it, because I am worth it.

Carol S.: What about your childhood (good or not so good) helped mold you into the adult you are today?

A. Being raised by strong (and weak) women. It made me more sensitive than other little boys growing up. I was more caring, nurturing and understanding. I still hold many of those values. Women have always been my ally. I will always support women’s right and be their biggest advocate/cheerleader. I wouldn’t be here without a woman, and I wouldn’t be who I am without women either. I also accept, appreciate and own my femininity as a man.

Stacey S.: (you had some of the best questions, I chose my favorites) What kind of secret society would you like to start? What is the weirdest thing you have seen in someone else’s home? You/Jenn.

A. 1. A small island of my favorite people. Loving, living, free and peaceful. 2. My friend Joe didn’t drink coffee, but he owned a coffee pot. He used it as a fish tank for little goldfish. Weird, but also very cool. 3.It’s a tie. Jenn was my med team ride or die, but you are also my YSL boujee queen. There is more than enough love to go around!

Dave K.: What are your goals before 50?

A. Happiness. Lots of plastic surgery. Anticipating retirement. Maybe a published book. More rescued dogs. Being as cool as you and your lady.

Janice C.: What did you do when you became my baby daddy?

A. Requested a DNA test. Especially since all my daughters were African American. Like not even an ounce of Caucasian in them. HAHAHAHA!

Sheri F.: How do you define love?

A. Sharing something that’s special. Music. Accepting all kinds of people, even the people you never thought you would. Being there through the good and bad. Remembering legacies. Reading your favorite book or retelling a story. Sharing a secret. Pictures. Thoughtful mementos. SAYING it and MEANING it. It’s loving someone entirely. Flaws and all. Holding hands. Being remembered.

AriGang: What’s your favorite song from each album by Ariana? (I am shocked this wasn’t submitted by CP)

A. Yours Truly: Almost Is Never Enough

My Everything: Only 1

Dangerous Woman: it’s a tie between Be Alright and Into You.

Sweetener: Yikes, this is hard. there are 4. In order of them. God Is a Woman, No Tears Left To Cry, Better Off and Breathin.

Thank U, Next: Again this is hard. Top 4. In order of them. In My Head, Needy, Bad Idea and Fake Smile .

Positions: Positions with Test Drive as close 2nd.

I can listen to my entire Ariana Grande playlist of 218 songs, 12 hours and 9 minutes without hitting skip once.

Sara B.: When you’re not your public version of yourself (the you that is the most positive and confident and proud). How would you describe yourself? Just the stripped down, blunt and bare truths about who you are.

A. At times, the complete opposite of the question. Insecure, needy, afraid, anxiety ridden, in my head, biting my nails to the cuticles and terrified of the unknown/death. In those moments I have to find my center, purpose, go to the nail salon and ground myself. I know I post about Ariana Grande, a lot. More than one really should. But 2 things that are my solace is writing and music. The times that I don’t feel like the “Internet Nick”, the song listed below explains one side of “Nick” that many don’t often get to see. On the other days, I am just regular degular “Nick”. If someone was to peak in my window, they’d find me dancing around in my underwear wearing my glasses (because as I get older, I am going blind) and fuzzy bear paw slippers, sitting in my chair with my feet kicked up scrolling my phone, watching TV with Mike (usually Judge Judy or old sitcoms), talking on the phone (I prefer that to texting), reading to the point of exhaustion or stopping Chanel from attacking Bianca. Some days I want to be left alone, or turn the world off. Others I want to hug every single person I come in contact with, adopt every rescue dog or eat sushi until I burst.

Ariana Grande “Needy”

https://youtu.be/Km__cJEJ3JI (copy and paste that link)

Tayia H.: In your former life were you a black woman from the Brewster Projects named Oshae LiQuor?

A. Yes. It’s why I have lots of seasonings in my cupboard/food, listen to good music and dislike many yt-pee-po. Don’t tell anyone, this isn’t my first trip around. I’ve been many things.

Heather C.Z.: Who is your idol?

A. It’s not 1 specific person. It’s anyone that has overcome adversity, is a good person. Helps those in need. Stands up for good causes and those that can not for themselves.

Feel free to comment on any post, send me a message or give me a follow. Or don’t. Totally up to you. Thanks for visiting. Come back soon now ya hear. HAHA! ❤

My head has reached capacity. I needed a new space to fill with my thoughts, hopes, feelings and anything else I can imagine.

Nick DeCoopman resides in Phoenix, Arizona with his husband and 2 dogs. When he’s not working his 9-5, you can find him perusing his local record stores, scouring the internet for new Ariana Grande t-shirts or entertaining the world with his way with words.

You can reach me via my social media platforms or at nkdecoopman@gmail.com