Trish Fancher experience...
From article...
"My phone pinged before I stepped off the plane that had taken me from my new home in Southern California to my home state of South Carolina. My mom texted: “Trisha, I love you very much, but I can’t let you come to my wedding.”
I’d flown across the country for this; it was a rare opportunity to see her. 14 years earlier, I’d been disfellowshipped by the Jehovah’s Witness elders, which means I was considered spiritually dead and was excommunicated from the congregation ―including friends and even family."
"In the 14 years since, I tried to remind my mom I was still alive. I’d occasionally text photos of my cat or let her know about big news, like when I got my Ph.D. Sometimes she’d respond. Most times she didn’t. She refused to attend my own wedding, but she did send a gift. Her wedding was my last chance, I felt: I would show her I was still her family, even if I was no longer part of her religion, and she could still love me. But as my plane landed, she once again refused to see me..."
"When I was first disfellowshipped, I could only think of survival — with no place to live, no friends and no plans for my future. I had no time to grieve. It was only as I began to build a new life that I realised everything I’d lost. It was only when I found people who loved me that I discovered I missed my mother’s love most of all. All grief is nonlinear, but the particular grief of losing a loved one who is still alive is one that feels fresh with each time I’m reminded of her rejection..."
"I asked just to see her for a moment, for coffee, for a hug. And she responded with her best attempt at a compliment: “I’m proud that you are married and would love to get to know your husband, but we cannot see you.”..."
"But coming back wasn’t easy. For an entire year I would be required to attend meetings while vowing not to speak a word, even to my family. I had to submit to being literally silenced for a year. Elders would no doubt require me to narrate my sins to them in private to demonstrate my repentance. These would be tests of obedience and humiliation. Then, I’d have to submit to the elders’ rules, discipline and control for the rest of my life.
Mom didn’t mention any of this, but I was certain these strings were attached. I thanked her for the offer, shrugged and changed the subject..."
"This could be our last hug, perhaps forever, I realised. Our mothers are our first home. When I hugged her, my entire body clung to the home I’d lost. My mom was right: I would make her sad. I would make her cry. We both cried. I don’t remember who pulled me away from her. I remember it was not my choice..."
"Before the wedding, I didn’t have photos of Mom. Now I have a handful of photos on my phone of us at the ceremony. We are the same height. Our shoulders are delicate parallel lines sloping to strong arms. I’m told I have my dad’s smile, but my eyes get small when my smile widens, just like Mom’s eyes. We both look joyful and brokenhearted.
Looking at the photo, I know she’s always loved me. I grew up believing in a resurrection. My mom and I both cling to faith in a resurrection. She hopes I’ll repent and be saved. I went to the wedding hoping I could resurrect some semblance of a relationship. Through hope, we both show our love is alive in our different worlds."