Tag Archives: #emotions

Three Men and a Grownup Baby

25 May

So I am afraid of getting my hopes up. I feel like I am so close to finally having an answer but my fear is that maybe that is all it is. Hopes. Hopes that will be dashed, broken down. I mean after all, to go from no hope of ever knowing who my biological father would be to being so close to the answer, how could this be possible? How can I keep my emotions from getting the best of me?

But hope it is! I will take it. Mostly because I feel like there is a reason I am supposed to know now. It has been a secret for so long with not even an ounce of a clue or direction and then suddenly, all this information has just landed in my lap. Why now? Is my mom ready to reveal her secret? Does she think I am ready to know now? Who might these mystery men be? What was the connection between my mother and biological father? How did they meet? Why hide this man from the world? From me?

I decided to take a break from all the family tree research and the daily frying of my brain trying to figure out relationships between people. Instead, I wanted to learn anything I could about the three potential “fathers” in my life.

Sometimes I despise social media and the internet. The constant connection, the unnecessary information people share, our inability to unplug. But there are other times when I live for the internet. When used for the right reasons, it is a plethora of information and tools.

I spent the next day or two trolling social media, googling and doing any other research I could on my three potential fathers. Information, pictures, anything I could find. The irony….one of them lived on the same street as my now mom’s best friend. In fact they lived on the same street during times that I was there in her best friend’s house! Imagine that, I could have been just a few doors away from my father and didn’t even know it! How crazy to wrap my head around that!

So who were these men?

Father #1 – he was about twenty some odd years older than my mother. He had been in the military and later had a long career as a police officer. He was divorced during the time that my mother would have known him and remarried about six years after I was born. He had several biological children and adopted several children as well. I saw pictures of him. He has a kind face and sounded like a really nice and good man.

Father #2 – he was also about twenty some odd years older than my mother (Father 1 and 2 are brothers). I don’t know as much about him aside from the fact that he was married at the time and I believe is still married to the same woman now. I haven’t seen any pictures of him as a younger man but he seems happy and family oriented. There are lots of pictures of him with his grandchildren.

Father #3 – I believe he was my mother’s age, maybe a year or so younger. He was in the military and not married at the time. I haven’t seen younger pictures of him, but as a man in his 60’s, he looks kind and happy. He is married now with several children.

As I wait for the rest of the mystery to unfold, all of this new information keeps racing around in my brain. Who are you? How am I going to figure out who you are? Do you look like me? (yes, I have totally taken their pictures and put them next to mine to see if I see any similarities). In the meantime, the betting line is now open. Who do you think it is going to be?  Feel free to take a guess 🙂

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Letters

5 May
As I got older and yearned for more of an understanding, something I could hold on to, I began to write letters to my mother. At first they were handwritten, sitting on the sofa or in my bed with a pad of paper and a pen, letting all the emotions pour out onto the page.
 
Time passed and somehow the days seemed to get shorter. There were never enough hours, minutes in a day. Soon I began to type my letters. It was faster, easier to fix mistakes. Less personal in some ways but equally personal in others.
 
My letters were a refuge. Maybe therapy. I would always write to my mom when I hit that breaking point. The moment when I was overwhelmed with sadness or something was eating at me. When I felt alone, that I had no one to talk to. I had found myself in a place in life that when the deepest of things tore at my heart, I didn’t want to bother anyone. They were my issues to deal with and I shouldn’t be bothering others with them. My mom became my safe haven. The place I could go to open up my heart and let everything pour out. Even the deepest and darkest of things I would never tell anyone, I would tell her. I am not sure what made me feel safe enough to do that. Maybe because she wasn’t there in front of me. Maybe because she was just a thought in my mind. She wasn’t real and tangible. I could not touch her. Or maybe because even if she judged, I would never know.
 
Whatever it was, I would spend hours writing. I would let every emotion out. I would cry as I wrote the words. Some hopeful. Many more filled with self-hate. I asked questions. Lots and lots of questions. Did she love me? Was she proud of me? Did I disappoint her? Did I embarrass her? By the time I was done I would tell her that I loved her and that I would try to do better. I would dry my tears and put away my laptop feeling exhausted. Emotionally and physically. But I felt better. Like a burden had been lifted. I got more out of that than any $30 co-pay at a therapists’ office. Don’t get me wrong. I actually very much support psychologists. I believe everyone should see one at some point in his or her life. I just get frustrated when I recognize what my issues are and know the solutions and then pay someone to tell me what I already know. The times that I have been were when I didn’t know how to deal with the things that were going on, so helpful, but in a situation like this, there is no better therapy than my letters and a good cry.
 
Thanks to the saving of computer files I started to notice a trend in my letters. They happened at the same time every year, around my mother’s birthday. Coincidence, maybe. Or maybe it was my sub conscious hard at work.
 
Ultimately I think my mom is the one figure in my life that eludes me. The answer to the age old question, “if you could have lunch with anyone, who would it be?” I wish to know her. I wish for that one conversation. That one good look at her face, into her eyes. That one hug. That one kiss. The one time playing with my hair. The one time I could hear her voice, her laugh.
 
I am sad that she was not here for my first day of school, my first crush, my first school dance, my prom, my graduation. Maybe one day my wedding and my children. But as sad as I am, I am thankful. I am thankful for the mom that I have, the father and sisters, my brother and sister in law, my nephews and niece. They have been there. They have been my support system as have so many other people along the way. I had people love me so much they have fought for me. People who have accepted me for the person that I am and not judged. People who have loved me unconditionally. I am blessed. So many kids have a more tragic tale. I was one of the lucky ones!