First published in the publication, Know Thyself/Heal Thyself (KTHT) on Medium.com, 30 January 2026.

It was like a death in the family. If I’d been Jewish, we’d have sat Shiva all that day and for six more, I’m sure. Instead, I placed an ad in the Daily Spectator noting the date and time of her passing. Which was silly of me: After all, it didn’t happen overnight, and we’d had a bit of time to get used to the idea. At first, I thought it was gossip from friends and family members on the matriarchal side. Then we’d heard about the name change, done by deed poll. And finally, the message from her father, Nigel, about hormone replacement therapy and the gift of a tatoo he had given her for her birthday. I was shocked into action and rage.

Oh, what a brave new world we live in! How could Nigel, our first-born, be so cool about it all? He’d always liked lizards and snakes, perhaps that explained a lot. On our Walker side, both male and female, we’d loved warm furry animals, baby lambs and lots of cuddles. The cold-blooded ones gave us the creeps. Still, he was a special child with golden auras haloing his head in photos, even in those with carpet snakes encircling his wiry body.

As her grandma, I had loved the pretty, bronze-skinned looks of my first-born granddaughter. Tall, slim, model-type looks, you know the type. Inherited from our side. Her dad’s colouring and our female good looks. Who’d want to change that for a man’s lot in life? Just look at the way they deteriorate as time goes by, developing paunches as if they wanted to experience femaleness through fantasy pregnancies late in life. I realise it’s not all about looks, of course, but something else happens to them over time; something to do with the shrinkage of the soul if they’re not careful. No joy there in those wrinkles about the eyes of some!

Paul, our second-born, was the first to notice the ad in the paper and he hurried round to make sure s/he was still alive at least. ‘Oh’, he said, ‘So she’s been raped and mistreated early on by boys at school, private schoolboys are the worst! And she wants to be on the stronger side?’
That didn’t make sense to me and I told him so. Who’d choose to be on the rapist’s side?

Next came son number three: Matthew. ‘What’s happened to Jessica? Is she alright?’ ‘Yes, nothing that a good wallop of raw and natural love from her family of origin wouldn’t have healed.’ I realised I’d expressed it like organic honey and wondered if it was a Freudian slip of some sort. Yes, I needed to blame someone and I think I knew who it was.

‘Are you saying it’s Nigel’s fault? The breakup?’ Matt asked.
‘No, far from it. Only a pity it didn’t happen sooner. Love was drying up between them slowly over time.’ He agreed with this and said he was sorry about her/him harming herself/himself for such a long time, once puberty had hit: A sure sign something was off in that house of burgeoning boys! A few more girls might have helped, he added, like a postscript.
‘Yes, but you can’t always choose the sex or gender, as you well know.’
‘There’s that, I suppose. Just saying, my few cents worth.’

When Luke arrived, I had my answers ready to give, verbatim, but was taken aback by surprise. ‘Look, Mum, I’ve guessed what this is all about. You need to educate yourself up on it all. Gender Dysphoria is a condition named in the 5th Edition of the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manuel (DSM5). It describes distress associated with our bodies and gender, and how those around us perceive it all. Read up on it, Mum. Join a support group.’ I determined to start that night, googling for all I was worth.

Johnny, the baby, as always, was the one who threw the spanner in the works: ‘Mum, stick to your guns,’ he said. ‘Don’t listen to Luke’s nerdish theory if yours is different. You were close to her when she was little. You knew her and saw the trauma that shadowed her throughout those early years. There are always at least two opposite ways of seeing things. Nature versus nurture, or even a third possibility, for example, spiritual, to be considered.’

Friends arrived throughout the week bringing their own versions of advice, imitating or critiquing the templates set by our five sons in varied ways. My husband and I agreed that we should allow things to settle naturally and play it cool for a while. We’d stopped trying for a girl once the fifth boy had arrived. Fate had dictated males and that was it! Even our pets were boys.

We should bestow unconditional love on our granddaughter or grandson, whatever the case may be, my partner said in his wisest voice.

I agreed with him. Instead of saying: ‘Pull up your socks, Jessica! cold words that she may have heard often during her childhood, I’ll have to be ready for whatever eventuates. Whether it’s welcoming a boy, Ziggy, like a newish grandson into the family fold, or whether It’s a girl! will be placed in the newspaper ads from a repentant grandmother, we will have to wait and see.

Who knows? It’s in the hands of the gods or goddesses now…