The worst tragedy of my life began with a single phone call at 4 a.m. from my then 23-year-old son, Kyle, who lived across the country. His words pierced through my sleep: “Mom, I think I’m gay.” As a queer individual, I thought I had a keen sense of my son, yet his revelation left me reeling.

Kyle had always been enamored with girls, from his childhood crush on Kathy from 'Barney & Friends' to his various high school romances. He’d even moved to Seattle for a girl he loved. The thought of him being anything other than straight felt utterly foreign.

As he shared his struggle, I grappled with my shock and horror. At just 16, he had engaged in troubling encounters with adult men in a park, but he’d never confided in me about those experiences. What struck me harder was his admission, awash with desperation: "I think maybe I’ve turned to drugs because I’ve been afraid to admit I’m gay." In that moment, I grasped the enormity of his battle.

Kyle, who had faced his demons of addiction before, revealed the extent of his substance abuse—he’d become addicted to crack cocaine, trading his possessions for the drug. When I secured him a spot in rehab, I thought we had turned a corner. But his new friends introduced him to heroin. My bright, talented son would go on to struggle with addiction, and tragically, he succumbed to an overdose at just 26.

Kyle was a poet and a romantic, always crafting love sonnets and expression through comedy. Yet as he stepped into adulthood, the pressures mounted, leading him to reckless behaviors. He once drove 100 mph just to catch air off a hilly road. This reckless pursuit of impressing peers, I now realize, might have been amplified by the shame he felt surrounding his sexuality.

Research indicates that bisexual individuals often face higher rates of mental health issues and substance abuse, partly due to societal stigma and isolation. This stigma can be particularly damaging for bi men, who often feel misunderstood and unsupported.

Kyle’s relationship with his sexuality was complex. Despite being from a queer-friendly family—his sister embraced her own identity, and I had my own experiences—Kyle feared sharing his truth. He later revealed that I’d made a dismissive comment regarding male bisexuality, which stifled his ability to come out. Instead of fostering open conversations about his feelings, we focused on his addiction, neglecting the emotional turmoil tied to his sexual identity.

The heartbreaking irony is that a culture that should have celebrated his identity instead enforced shame. In hindsight, our family wanted to be supportive, yet my denial that male bisexuality existed may have haunted Kyle.

Despite all his struggles, Kyle’s story needs to be shared. His experiences encapsulate the harsh reality many bisexual men face in silence. By sharing my son’s journey, I hope to dismantle stigma and promote a world where people can embrace their identities freely, without fear or shame. I wish I could’ve told Kyle that he could lead a happy life as a bisexual man. Perhaps together, we can build a more accepting future.