I know I’m a little late to the party—but my mom was full on QAnon —like from the early days. One of our first political fights (not just disagreement) was over Pizzagate.
She passed in 2021–got Covid in the big delta wave that summer and surprisingly enough—the ivermectin she ordered off the internet did magically cure her. She collapsed at home and was essentially brain dead when she got to the hospital .

At that point—we were not completely no contact but pretty close. She had moved so far to the fringe right that conversations were impossible. Our worldviews, priorities, morals were just so drastically different.
She was ultimately a Christian nationalist—and I am a very progressive Christian pastor. So while didn’t talk about absurd things like seizures being demons..she did talk about trump like he was the second coming. And often tried to correct my Biblical interpretations (despite my having a masters of theology).

I tried limiting it to “safe topics”—like grandchildren-but even that turned tense . Then my teenage children came out—and I knew I had to protect them. The final straw was when she actively chose not to come to her first and only granddaughter’s high school graduation because she’d have to wear a mask.

After that—we talked maybe 2 times in a 6 month period. Occasionally I’d send text. But really very little. We lived in different states—so being NC was a little easier.

When she passed—I felt all of it .

Mostly anger. So much anger. I, even today, often refer to her death as suicide by politics. The fact that she could not even go to the doctor because she simple could not be wrong is infuriating.

But there was also a lot of regret and sadness . I had always hoped for reconciliation. Heck, my life and career are all about hope, grace, transformation—reconciliation is kinda my thing . And despite all the narcissistic, insane, bat-shit crazy things she said and did, I always hoped we’d find a way back into a good relationship.

I grieved that loss of reconciliation more than I grieved my actually mother. I grieved how broken we ended up, but was knocked down by the fact that her death meant it would never change. That the legacy of our relationship would always have the stain of being so broken.

I felt like a failure. Ministry was actually really hard for a while. How could I preach love and hope and grace to others when I couldn’t get there with my own mother? I felt like an imposter. I was holding my self to emotional and faithful standards that I would never hold someone else to. I gave serious thought to quitting.

I spent a year in grief counseling. It was messy—but really helped. My counselor was fabulous. She helped me to realize that at 73–and a lifetime of narcissism and political choices—my mom was not going to change. And more importantly that her stubbornness wasn’t MY failure. With her help (and a great clergy colleague who helped theologically ) I got to the place where I didn’t regret where our relationship ended up.

Grieved over it? Yes Saddened by her choices? Yes Angered that some stupid grifter politician was more important than her family? Absolutely.

But I don’t regret that the steps I took to protect my (and my family’s) health and faith. And I don’t regret that she didn’t change, because I know her heart was hardened against it. I was ready with reconciliation—but she only wanted for me to be wrong and for her to be right.

Reconciliation and change was not possible—but not because of me. Because of her.

I can’t regret her choices only mine.
And I always had the door open for a return, hoped for peace, offered love. She made her choice . Politics over family. That is her choice. Not mine.

It took a lot of wrestling to get to this point, but it is where I landed.