Breaking the Legacy of Silence # 32 Happy Birthday Noah | Kim D. Bailey | Five 2 One Magazine 

“My oldest child, Zach, had also been born as a girl to me. We named her Amanda Margaret Renee Lee. When “Mandi” was 10 she told me she was gay. I was okay, a little shaken up but really okay. Ten years later she told me she was going to start the process to transgender, female to male, and came to me first because, “I know you will be the most understanding and I need your support when I tell everyone else.” ‘

Kim D Bailey celebrates her son’s 21st today on #BTLOS

Sunday Songs

Today I’m sharing a song by Mike + The Mechanics, titled The Living Years.

Source Wikipedia

For those who may not remember or be familiar with the song, it speaks to a son’s regret for not having been closer to his father and for holding resentments and keeping distance from him, and realizing this was a mistake after his father passed away. He’s still young, and has children of his own, when his father dies. 

This song resonated with me from the moment I heard it when it was released back in 1988. My own father had passed away in May of that year at age 41, and I was a young woman age 21 with a new baby. My dad and I had been somewhat estranged because of so much resentment I held about his leaving us when I was 13-years-old, and other difficult occcurences that my young mind had trouble processing, much less forgiving. 

I wasn’t there when he died. He lived near St. Petersburg, FL and I was in Oklahoma. His death left me with grief so complicated it took years–nearly a quarter of a century–to come to some place of peace, and to forgive myself and to forgive him.

I implore you, don’t wait. If you are at odds with someone–your parents, children, siblings, other family, or friends–rise above it and tell them you love them anyway. 

My beautiful daughter and handsome son. I miss them.

It truly is too late to do so when we die.

You can listen to and watch the YouTube video Here

The Living Years

Every generation

Blames the one before

And all of their frustrations

Come beating on your door

I know that I’m a prisoner

To all my Father held so dear

I know that I’m a hostage

To all his hopes and fears

I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Crumpled bits of paper

Filled with imperfect thoughts

Stilted conversations

I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got

You say you just don’t see it

He says it’s perfect sense

You just can’t get agreement

In this present tense

We all talk a different language

Talking in defense 


Say it loud, say it clear

You can listen as well as you hear

It’s too late when we die

To admit we don’t see eye to eye

So we open up a quarrel

Between the present and the past

We only sacrifice the future

It’s the bitterness that lasts

So Don’t yield to the fortunes

You sometimes see as fate

It may have a new perspective

On a different day

And if you don’t give up, and don’t give in

You may just be OK.

Say it loud, say it clear

You can listen as well as you hear

It’s too late when we die

To admit we don’t see eye to eye

I wasn’t there that morning

When my Father passed away

I didn’t get to tell him

All the things I had to say

I think I caught his spirit

Later that same year

I’m sure I heard his echo

In my baby’s new born tears

I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Say it loud, say it clear

You can listen as well as you hear

It’s too late when we die

To admit we don’t see eye to eye

My Wish For You

It’s nearly midnight, the eve of July 2, 2016. 

We are in our bed surrounded by our critters. Mama Kitty is perched on my dresser, Coach is snuggled in the “meedle” between us, Crockett is laying across the the foot of the bed. Kilo is in the living room, getting his much needed space.

Crockett at 4 months, getting lots of love. Notice our sweet Boone in a photo in the background. We lost him January 21, 2015

Mama Kitty (L) and Kilo

Mama Kitty, Coach, and Crockett

We have our rituals. I’ve arranged my five pillows just so. My nightstand is equipped with reading lamp, journal, pens, books, phone, hand cream, tea, Chapstick and tweezers. 

Yours has your essentials–Diet Mountain Dew, phone, CPAP machine, medications, reading lamp, and books.

It’s Friday night. We have worked all week and we’re exhausted. We used to go ride the Harley, usually taking a trip to Nightfall this time of year to downtown Chattanooga, perusing all the other bikes and running into old friends. Sometimes we would go out dancing at Charlie’s, the place we met and where you asked me for that first dance. 

Our second Saturday night at Charlie’s, a week after we met on April 13, 2013.

A lot has happened in just over three years. Love, laughter, pain, anger, loss, hope, grief, illness, injury, and healing– so much living in our short time together.

As I sit here in our comfortable bed, surrounded by our sweet pets, I am grateful.

We spent a lot of years in separate lives before we found one another. We’ve loved and lost in the past. We have experienced success and failure. Our hearts have been broken and we have broken hearts. We have children who mean the world to us, and grandchildren we adore.

Our first motorcycle ride and date April 18, 2013, at the Ocoee River.

But here, in this moment, I know all of those years were preparing us for one another, so we could find joy and comfort in these times together.

You have held me as I cried, and I’ve wiped your tears. Your loyalty and quiet strength have engendered trust and courage from me. When no one else did, you believed in and supported my writing and my goals to write books, stories, and my blog. I wrote my first novel because I finally found a place where I felt safe, loved, and supported.

John holding my printed first draft of my very first novel manuscript, January 2015

You’re my best friend.

My wish for you today, on the day of your 55th year celebrating your time on this earth, is that you continue to know this abiding love and friendship in our union. 

Saying our vows, at the Ocoee River, April 12, 2014.

I wish for you to see yourself through my eyes-a man with a heart so big he can forget the greatest of wrongdoing by those who hurt him, and who tries to see the best in everyone. You are so much better at this than I am, and you have taught me how to love unconditionally.

Our trip to see Coach Wes in Texas, February 2014. we got to take a little putt along the Guadalupe River near Gruene, TX; courtesy of Gruene Harley Davidson

Happy Birthday, my dear husband. May we celebrate many more together.

For John, my rock and my soft place to land.