I wrote this the other night. I am not sending this but writing this was therapeutic for me. I have so much going on upstairs these last few weeks about Colette, my birth mother. So I asked God for a sign to tell me if I would ever be meeting her in person. I was driving to pick up my friend in the rain, and all alone, so I was praying, and probably not paying enough attention to the road, and I just asked God to give me a sign if I would meet her. Well, instantly my phone made a ding from a text. So I cried thinking that I was either too popular or that God responded quickly that time. Later that same night, with friend in tow, I noticed on the back of a city bus the words NOT was highlighted on the back...not in service was the intended message I assume, but all it read was NOT. So there again, I was left torn, but as the laughter ensued during said car trip, I pushed the darkest questions further to the back of my mind. It's not that deep, so I don't have to worry about ever losing anything up there. Hahahaha. This is pretty brazen, and I would never call out the pain that she probably went through like that. I;m sure it would hurt her, and that is never my intention, ever, for anyone for that matter. I like creating smiles, not frowns.
Dear Colette,
I hope you are doing well, and that this letter finds you,
and at just the right moment in time for you to read this. I have prayed for
that, so I know it will happen. I say that with a slightly smug grin on my
face, but in truth, I have relatively strong faith- depending on your idea of
strong. At this point in time I’m
wondering if it’s even worth trying anymore since you have made it a point not
to respond to me, and considering most people have led me to believe that I am
absolutely bat shit crazy for continuing to borderline harass you with
passionate pleas that very well might end in utter disappointment, scarring me
further, and leaving me feeling even more rejected and dismissed than I already
feel now as I am sitting here in my bed writing to you at 12am on a Tuesday
night. I should be sleeping since my daughter (your granddaughter) is out a
friend’s house overnight. I should have also probably taken some ibuprofen for
this doozey of a headache which I’ve convinced myself is from watching 3 bratty
6 year olds all day and carting a friend around since he got a DUI (innocent until
proven guilty)- just until he gets his day drunk license.
He was one of my
closest friends in college. Still is. If he wasn’t gay, I’d probably marry him because we argue like a married couple, and he enjoys telling me how to drive (just like a man.) I think I would probably have to be the husband, and I don’t like changing
faucets and lifting heavy objects. I hope you’re not a gay hater by the way. Don’t go getting all judgey on me please. I have a feeling you wouldn’t be...
But then
again, everything I know about you is something that I have most likely formed
in my mind- mostly fiction, surely with a happy ending that just begins with
you meeting me.
Admittedly and rightfully so, I have thought too much about
what it would be like to meet you. What it would be like to look into your eyes
and see a reflection of myself, to hear your voice, to hug you. These words
sound so pathetic and sappy, which are both uncharacteristic to me, and quite
unappealing if you ask me, although I could cry at a Hallmark commercial. The
thought of verbally divulging my deepest feelings to someone who I am unsure of
sounds a little too horrifically brave and unrequited to me. Nevertheless, I am going out on a limb here
and taking the risk. I have always been a risk taker. It has not always ended
miraculously, but I am doing pretty well regardless, all my limbs intact, no
visible scars, no repressed anger, pretty normal for whatever normal might be.
I would love to show you more of who I am, who I have become
in your absence. I’m sure you wondered what I would turn out like. I wonder if
you thought about me often. I wonder if
you thought of me on my birthday every long year that we were not together, if
you wondered what I was doing. How I was faring in life? I often wondered what
you were doing on my birthday. If you felt sorrow or regret? If you wished that
you had done things differently? If you wish you had never met my birth father
so you wouldn’t have to relive this
again. If you wish Nancy hadn’t ever said anything to you because you were
safely out of the woods and into a life that was non-inclusive of who you once
were? I have often wondered if you would be scared to admit to people, to
strangers, to your family, that you had a baby in secret 37 years ago and never
held her, and never saw her again. You were a child then. You are not that
person anymore. You’ve evolved, blossomed, grown, and outgrown, and probably
outgrown the thought of ever meeting me which makes me sad.
I would like you to know, that I am not mad at you. I have
no ill will towards you. You did what you had to do with what you had. The circumstances
that you were in were nothing that I would ever understand, having not been you
or been in your shoes, or in your mind. You must have been tormented during
those months that probably trickled into years. I cannot imagine. Knowing how much I love my
daughter and adore being with her every moment of her life, I cannot imagine
what it must have felt like for you. Were you detached? Did you have a theory
that if you pretended like it never happened then you would be fine- go on and
live your life as if it never happened?
Would therapy and eventual love mend you? Did you ever truly heal? Did
you throw yourself into your studies, become a workaholic? Did you quit dating?
These are all questions that I have a feeling you would like
to answer for me. But I wonder if it is pride
that keeps you from it. I wonder if it’s heartache and guilt that keep you from
finding healing in meeting me. I wonder if you feel ashamed. I’ve been told
that those are feelings that many birth mothers experience and reuniting with a
birth child can be terrifying for birth mothers. I have heard that birth
mothers never actually healed because they went into hiding, keeping their
pregnancies a secret from the world. They were ashamed of being pregnant. Their
parents were ashamed of their daughters being sexually active when they were
Southern Baptists, active in the church and with other family members active in
the local community. Even though you came from a small town, you might have
been judged by a large crowd. That would probably be pretty painful.
It could be the other way around. It could have been that
you were completely selfless in the whole thing. You could have been thinking so
much about the birth father that you forgot about yourself. Or maybe, you
didn’t even know the birth father. I am taking these guesses because I have
never been told the exact story. I have been denied the right to know where I
came from because of some antiquated laws that left many children rightless and
voiceless, as if their existence was a means for a family who couldn’t bear
children to have their own children, to start a family. It was almost as if,
the unborn nameless babies, the baby Veras of the world were just that- babies
with one name. Without a last name, who are you? You are just you. Plain and
simple. You are not attached to anyone. You are not born into money, into
poverty, into incest, out of lust, from rape, from sin, from love. You are just an individual. And maybe that is
what I am. Maybe that is what you are, and that’s all we need to be.
I doubt it. Not today. Not 37 years ago. God made me for a
reason. And you played a special part in my life. And I’m giving you the
opportunity to come back into my life just to see what it would be like. Aren’t
you curious?
I think it’s time for you to realize that I am not here to
hurt you. You knew this day would come. You prayed about it. You wished it
would, and your prayers have been answered. God’s watch doesn’t work like ours.
He decides when the time is right, and we don’t have much to say about it. But
I guess, you have the opportunity to not respond to me again, to decide that
the timing is not right for you. I hate that again we are in this position. You
are the decision maker, and I am left with it. My opinion jar is left empty and
lifeless.
But the truth remains.
I am alive, living, breathing, beautiful, intelligent,
grateful, generous, helpful, encouraging, strong, called, and redeemed. Don’t
you want to see for yourself? My word can’t be good enough for you. It
shouldn’t be, and you shouldn’t let your pride fill you up and steal this
chance of a lifetime.
Please meet me. Don’t
wait. Life is precious and before you know it, I will be gone again, and you will
be left regretting not having me for the second time.
I will be at _________________ in Jacksonville, NC on
Friday, April 12 at 6pm. I would really like you to meet me there. If you can’t
meet me, please send Nancy. I will have
Sarah with me. I will be devastated most likely and then just send you hate mail.
Probably ruin your life. That was a poor attempt at a joke that you are
probably wondering about right now. I
have a very dry sense of humor that only few appreciate and many try to
unsuccessfully pull off. Bitterness and anger help. Another joke.
Brooke
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