I cry anywhere I can be alone or where no one can see me, and in places where I never cried before. When I weed our vegetable garden in the warm sun, I think of how much Ricky might love a slice of this juicy watermelon we are growing. And I weep. As I keep my hands busy building things around the house, I pause between power drill spins to sob. When I go out for my jog, I occasionally choke up between breaths. On breaks while working, I stand, stretch and snivel. On long trips, while I drive and my wife dozes off, I tear up.

[...]

No more. That was 28 years ago. True, children outgrow those playful antics between their parents. But it is because they enter adulthood and understand that such are pleasant memories of bygone days. But that is not Ricky’s mindset. He has openly and publicly disowned us as parents in favor of membership in the trans cult. He renders absolute obedience to all of the cult’s dictates which include alienation and spite of “non supporting” parents. This cult has appropriated not only Ricky from us, but also the full love and affection of one of his older sisters and our beloved grandchild.