Title completely stolen from something Stacey said to me.
I didn’t realize how hard it would be to tell my truth the other day. I’d been holding that one back for so long that it became almost a secret. It wasn’t something I wanted to be secret. It just sorta happened. In a way, telling my non-secret felt freeing. In other ways, it just made me tired. This is something so personal to me, that it’s hard to leave it out there for the world to see.
Truth, as my friend Stacey said to me last night, can be hard.
My instinct is generally to protect my heart, as it’s been broken so many times before. Yet this week, I choose to open it up and share. To tell you my dreams. To share my fears. My fear that it’s too late. My fear that my baby days are over. That my PCOS has ruined my chances. It is my greatest fear. I’m not going to give up until I try everything though. That’s just me. I’m stubborn like that.
You guys are amazing by the way. I can’t believe how many people are out there cheering me on. I just thank you, all of you.
So now you know. Now you all know and I can’t put that Jeanie back in the bottle. Not that I want too. I never wanted this to be secret. I’m not ashamed of what I’m doing. Not in any way. I’m really excited about the possibilities actually. I, for a time, let my fear of getting hurt in some way keep me from speaking. Someday I’ll get over that. I’ve come so far in the past few years. But I guess the statement that old habits die hard, is true.
I’m tired you guys. This process makes me tired. It’s an emotionally charged (hi hormone pills) process. Which is just plain tiring. Mostly I just wanted to say thank you. For accepting me as me. For being here. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it.
Last week I contemplated deleting this blog, shutting down my Facebook account and getting rid of Twitter. Not just a passing moment, as has happened before, but for weeks I considered really doing it. I tell you this, mostly because I didn’t do it. I don’t know that I ever really would have. I just know, something has to change. I have to change. I can’t do this the way I used to anymore. I feel like I’ve just called it in the last six months on here. Looking back on previous years, I know this to be true. I have written here just to be here for at least that long.
The reason is fear.
Fear of being real. Fear of saying what I need and want to say. Fear of being judged. That’s the big one. That’s the hard one. The piece that keeps me silent when I want to talk. Frankly, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being afraid of my own thoughts. I’m tired of being afraid to share what is really going on in my life. When it came to the point of me seriously thinking I just needed to walk away, I knew it was either man up and talk, or just fucking do it and be gone. So here goes nothing.
For a long, long time, I’ve wanted to have another baby. Logan and I were actively trying the entire year before we separated. I had a miscarriage in May, 2009 and well we never had any luck after that. It has nothing to do with why we divorced, it’s just fact. We wanted more kids and it just didn’t happen. The thing is, just becuase I got divorced, doesn’t mean I don’t want another baby. I want another baby badly.
That’s my truth. I’m actively trying to have another baby. Surprise.
I am trying to have a baby, alone. Just me. Every piece of this will be happening in a doctor’s office. Just know that.
The hard piece of this, is that it’s not easy for me to get pregnant. I have PCOS. In July I went to see a phenomenal Endocrinologist/Fertility specialist. I have some other issues, because of the PCOS. It’s complicated. Basically? I’m going to start menopause in say another year or maybe two if I’m lucky. I’m only 31 years old and this is my reality. I am not done. Every day I long for another baby. Every night I dream about a little girl. Every fiber of my being knows I’m not done. There is someone missing. However? My body is almost done. This is my last shot.
I know I could consider adoption. Yet with only one income and adopting as a single mom, it’s not feasible for me. I’ve considered becoming a foster mom. That is something I still may do, but not until my children are older.
I have given this much thought, I promise. I debated pros/cons/am I crazy’s for almost a year. I’ve decided that yes, I’m probably crazy, but that doesn’t make it wrong. I didn’t make this choice lightly. Yet it is the right choice for me.
We (my doctor and I) were shooting for October. I no longer create eggs on my own. I have a perfectly good uterus and my ovaries are fine. But I don’t create eggs. In my October cycle, we tried Clomid. Clomid makes me insane by the way. Fun times. Ahem. It wasn’t enough. I had eggs, but at some point they stopped growing. I was crushed. Completely crushed. Leave it to me to think that things would be easy.
In November, we tried Clomid and a shot that I’m forgetting the name of. Three days of me injecting myself. Not so fun, but I did it. Yet again, it wasn’t quite enough.
As hard as it was, I decided to take a break in December. With Morgan’s birthday and Christmas, I just couldn’t try again in that moment. The drugs are harsh. I needed some time to relax, some time to feel sane for a bit. I quit my antidepressants in June because of this. October and November were hard without them. The insane amounts of hormones coursing through my system, plus the lack of meds? Yeah. I was a mess for a bit.
This month I will try again. Because I want this more than anything in the world, I’m willing to subject myself to more Clomid. To shots every day for my entire cycle. I’m willing to do this all, because this is what I know I want. A baby. There is no certainty in this world. I have been given no guarantees. Everything is up to chance and luck. I do know, that if I don’t try this, I will spend the rest of my life wishing I had. That’s something I’m not willing to do.
I’m scared. Not of what I’m about to try to do again. No, I’m scared of hitting publish. Of sharing myself with all of you. Of putting myself out there. It’s been a long time since I’ve been real here and I’m timid.
I know though, it’s time for me to be me on my own blog. If I’m not willing to do that, I have no reason to be here anymore.
Please note that I stole this idea from Jodifur. Hey, at least I ask before I steal post ideas.
It’s come to my attention that the remainder of this year is going to be COMPLETELY INSANE, so I believe it’s time to post and call an end to my posting for 2011. I promise I’ll be back in January. Hopefully with some changes around here. Anyway, before I show you my favorite posts of this year, I thought I’d wish you all a wonderful holiday. Whether that is Chanukah, Christmas, Winter Solstice, Kwansa or just New Years, I hope you enjoy it. Whatever you celebrate, I wish you health and happiness for the remainder of this year.
In January, I made a goal to remember the good in this year. To count my blessings and try not to be such a pessimist. It’s a goal, I’m happy to say that I’ve managed to accomplish over time.
In February, I found out that I have PCOS. It’s changed my life in many ways and I’ll be honest, it’s not all bad. It’s nice to know that certain medical things in my past had reasons. It’s made me less hard on myself. I also love this post about enjoying the small things in my kids lives. Days go so fast and some days, I do wish for a second Sunday.
While writing this post on my step-mom was hard in March, it also led me back to therapy to deal with a few things that I thought I’d let go of. It’s nice to say now, that I have let go of a few issues. It’s helped make this a better year for me. I’ll never forget things that happened when I was a kid, however I don’t have to let it color my world any longer.
April brought my 500th post, which I chose to write for my best friend Liz. I love her even more now than I did then, so I’m glad I gave her that milestone post. April also came with big decisions about the brother I’ll probably never know. I am confident in my decision. Finally, there was the list I made to insure the kids and I had a great summer. I am thrilled to say, I managed to accomplish my goals.
In May, I head great news about Morgan’s future in fifth grade. I have to say, she’s had a phenomenal school year. Her teacher is amazing. We owe her so much. Luckily, because my kids go to a charter school, Morgan will have her next year as well! I also told you all about my lunch date with my dad.
Parenting isn’t always easy, as I realized yet again in June. Making the hard choices is something I am willing to do though. A part of June, I’d rather forget but never will is when the evil clown ate my blog. I’m still thankful to Jenna for fixing it. Also in a funnier post, I shared some text messages I get. Even now, they crack me up.
In July, I got off my anti-depressants after four years. There have been times when I wondered if I could stay off of them. But we’re halfway through December and I can honestly say, I’m doing great right now. On the 18th, my Bailey turned seven. She is one of my very favorite people in this world.
On a random day in August, I wrote about my step-dad for no real reason. Just because I love him. I also went to BH11 and my BFF trip. It was one of the greatest weeks in my year.
September was a harder month for me. I’d rather not re-visit it, except for this one tiny thing. My baby boy turned three. He’s so very three and I adore him for it. Most of the time.
In October I celebrated making it through the first year of divorce. A strange thing to celebrate, yes maybe. However, in my quest to change how I think, I had to look at the bad, to remember the good.
In November, I did quite a few things that scare me. It was a hard month emotionally, but luckily I came out okay on the other side.
December has been very busy. I’m loving ever second of it. For the first time in a long time, I’m truly happy. My baby girl turned ten and had an amazing party. I’m looking forward to everything that we have planned for the next two weeks.
My wish for all of you is a wonderful next few weeks. I’ll see you in 2012.
Love, Issa
I don’t remember where I saw that line, or if I heard it somewhere. It’s stuck in my mind for months and months. It may have been said to me, it may have been on the side of a bus. I think of it often.
It takes courage to feel.
Truer words have never been spoken. It does take courage. Maybe not the courage one thinks of, because we tend to think of the word in larger ways. People who run into burning buildings to save little old people. Kids fighting cancer. Anyone who stands up to a bully. Courage means all of that and more. That’s the joy of words, they tend to mean many things.
Can I tell you what else feeling your feelings does? It makes you very, very tired. I feel kinda foggy this week, if that makes sense. Which it may not. I’m not depressed. I’ve had no trouble getting up. Darkness at 5pm no longer makes me weepy. This week, so far, has been pretty decent. Yet, I feel like I’m walking around in a fog. Everything takes more energy than I have.
Last week was emotionally exhausting for me. Dealing with things that I tend to ignore, is hard. I don’t like being that person, the person who gets triggered by things in the news. I have to be honest and say, I am that person. Being triggered all week, was tiring. I am proud that I didn’t give into the depression. But it wasn’t easy.
Saying what I said the other day, wasn’t easy. I hate opening that closet and sharing what’s inside. I’d like to close that closet door and throw away the key, but I know that’s not healthy either. Tried that for years. It worked until it didn’t. I can’t do that again.
For now, I’ve re-closed that door. It means I can’t respond to your lovely, kind, supportive emails and comments. I’ve tried. Oh how I’ve tried. Just know, I appreciate every single one of you.
This week, I’m trying to be kind to myself. Last night I opened up the bag that was hiding the chocolates I bought for Christmas. My first Christmas purchase. Whatever. I will buy more. Sometimes you just need some Harry and David Treats. This week, I’ll recover from last week. Hopefully by next week, I’ll feel back to normal.
In other news, I just want to say a HUGE congratulations to my amazing friend Christy on the birth of her new baby boy yesterday.
I’ve tried to ignore it. For an entire week I’ve tried so very hard to ignore the Penn State drama. I’ve ignored Twitter. I’ve stopped reading news sites. I hit mark all as read on BlogHer in my reader. I’ve not commented on any posts about it.
Yet, I’ve been depressed. I’ve been falling. Sinking into a place that I hate. A place that I am having to fight very hard to not stay in. I could have blamed that on the time change. In fact, I have tried to blame it on that. But…I’ve been having stomach aches. I’ve been getting headaches. A single commercial can make me sad. I’ve started having nightmares again. It took me a few days, but I did figure out why.
This Penn State thing is a major trigger. In fact it’s the first major one since I spent a year in therapy trying to learn to deal with my issues. Trying to learn to not flip out like this at everything. Therapy was successful to a degree. There’s only so much work one can do on an issue though. It never goes away. I can’t seem to get away from this one, this time. With small triggers, I can. I’ve learned the skills to deal. This is EVERYWHERE though. I don’t blame the media, or people on Twitter for talking about it non-stop. It needs to be talked about. Maybe then next time someone will stand up and do the right thing. Next time someone sees or hears about a child being abused they will do the right thing. Instead of just thinking it’s none of their business. This issue? It’s everyones business.
I am triggered, because no one protected me. I was abused from seven to fifteen years old. I was sexually abused as a child and no one knew and no one ever protected me. I am damaged people. I put on a brave face and go about my life. But I’m still damaged. No amount of therapy changes that. I’ve learned to cope better. I’ve learned what not to watch, what not to read, what not to listen too. However, this will never go away from me.
I wasn’t protected. All kids deserve to be protected. All kids, no matter what, deserve that.
So…I hope you’ll forgive me for ignoring Twitter at times. For getting off Facebook. For not reading your posts about this issue. It’s not that I don’t care. Its that I have to protect myself. Because I’m the only one who will.
Yesterday I posted that I needed a break. That I was burned out on the Internet. It’s still in a way correct. However at some point yesterday I realized why I said it. Because of her. Because four years my happy (as I saw it then) life changed forever. Four years ago, I lost my Piper. I can lie to you and say that I knew this when I wrote that post yesterday, but I didn’t. I just knew that I had nothing to say. Turns out, I was lying to myself as well.
Losing her changed me in more ways than I can even begin to tell you. I have written about it before. At times I may continue to write about it. I may be a different person now than I was six months ago, or a year or two years ago. However I’ll never again be the woman I was before losing her. I don’t know that anyone can get back that kind of innocence once it’s lost. All I can do now is keep working on me.
I have a lot to say. Yesterday, I thought I had nothing to say. Turns out, I’m a bit afraid of my words. I’m maybe also afraid of myself right now. I’ve had a really great say week and a half and I’m afraid to change that. Isn’t that silly? A few good weeks and I’m afraid of going back to the way things were. I’m scared that one slip up, one small thing that sets me off will send me into a deep depression. Getting off of my meds made me realize that I never want to do that again. I never want to have those withdrawals again. However, I also can’t live my life avoiding all emotions because I’m scared of them.
I’m scared that sad will always equal depression for me. This may be something that I have to battle for awhile. Anyway, this is what’s really going on. I’m terrified to feel. I thought by closing off, I’d feel better. It actually made it worse. So….I guess pretend I said nothing yesterday. I’m sorry to you all that I’m like this. But I am. I act first at times and think later. Not as often as I used too, but at times it may always happen.
Piper. My baby. The baby girl I never got to see or hold, will always be in my heart. I will always love her, even though I only had her for a short period of time. 14 weeks isn’t long. Yet, it was our only time together. I try not to think about what she’d be like now. I try not to imagine a three year old bouncy little girl. If I had her, I wouldn’t have the bouncy two year old boy who has my whole heart. Doesn’t make me miss her any less though.
Today is her day. Today is the day I remember. Her name was Piper Isabelle.
Complete darkness is all around me. (Black out blinds, best investment ever.) My bed is comfy. Soft sheets, even softer blankets. My air conditioner is set at the perfect temperature. I have no reason for being awake. I just am. I wonder to myself for the seventh time that night what time it may be. I reach for the iPhone on my side table and stop myself before I pick it up. I have a strict don’t look rule when I am like this. It’s worse to know what time it is. If I don’t know, I can tell myself it’s only midnight. If it’s midnight I have tons of time to sleep enough to feel human. I know I’m lying to myself. It’s still better than knowing that it’s 4:22am. Or 3:46am. Or whatever time it happens to literally be in the moment. When I know, I figure out how many minutes it is until my alarm goes off. That is a guaranteed way for me to not sleep. I toss and turn the rest of the night anyway.
I haven’t slept well in a week. The only night I slept all of the way through, I took two Benadryl. I’m contemplating doing that again. My kids come home tomorrow after a week on vacation with their grandparents. I need to sleep.
My head pounds all day long. It’s a pre-migraine headache. It hasn’t turned into a migraine, yet I can’t get rid of it either. No matter how much water I drink or Advil I take, it won’t leave.
I went through a few days of being slightly nauseous. Now, I’m eating everything in sight. I believe that last part is PMS, but really I’m guessing.
I am irritable. At everything. At nothing. I get on and off of Twitter. Mostly because you all breath. Literally. I’d like to give a real reason, but I don’t have any. Everything annoys me. Which is odd, because I can ignore most things online. When things annoy me, I hit that pretty red X. Yet, right now, everything annoys me. I’m finding myself grouchy non-stop.
I just yelled at my dog. Because I tripped on her bone. Yeah, she was asleep across the room. I am thankful my kids haven’t been here for a week. I’m sure pissy, yelly mom wouldn’t have been fun for them. I’m hoping I can keep myself from being like that when they come home tomorrow.
I send emails and after a week of no response I wonder what I did wrong. Sigh. This is the part I hate. The over thinking. The believing it’s always about me. It’s not me. I am sure of it. But I have trouble not jumping to that first.
I’m half the time so spacey I can’t remember why I got up and the other half the time there are so many details in my head, I can’t write them down fast enough.
I’ve been off my anti-depressant a week and a day. Awesome side effects huh?
The weird thing, is that the irritability is what bothers me the most. I hate being that person that is grouchy at everyone and everything all of the time. I hate watching every word I say, just to make sure I don’t spew my irritation at others. The rest I can handle, but this annoys me. Ha. I’m annoyed that I’m annoyed. Fun times.
It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, the side effects of withdrawal. I feared the anxiety and so far, I’ve been mostly okay. It’s not pleasant, that is for sure. Yet, so far? I can do this. I have not gotten depressed. I have not had a panic attack. I think I can deal with the rest of it. I need to keep myself in check at times. But because I’m aware of how I am, I’ve so far managed to do this. I’m being hyper vigilant right now.
Anyway, I wanted to share. Because you all have been here with me for years and you deserve real. What I posted yesterday? Total crap. I know this. It was my need to not feel like I was over burdening anyone. Yesterday was a bad day. Today will hopefully be better.
I keep telling everyone I’m okay. And I am. Not great, not bad, just okay. I’ll take it right now.
This, by the way, is my theme song right now. Not sure why, but it just seems to sit well with me. I thought I’d share.
It will be four years in July. July 26th to be exact. Four years since I lost my Piper and for a while, myself. I’ve been on anti-depressants for nearly as long. It was needed. I needed them. At first they helped me get out of bed. They helped me re-join the world. To see that I didn’t cause what happened. To help me see that I could make a difference in what I was currently doing.
Since then, I’ve battled depression. It never seems to fully leave. At times it lays dormant, just laying in wait for the next opportunity to pounce.
I’ve dealt with more in the past four years than I could begin to put into words. PPD twice. Childhood abuse issues. A pretty much complete distance from my dad, step-mother and her children. Separation. Child sharing. Divorce. Life after divorce. That’s just the surface words. The reality was much harsher.
I’ve lowered and upped my doses for years depending on what was in my face in the moment. I’ve battled many horrible bouts of depression in the past four years. I’ve also battled some not as bad ones. I’ve spent weeks hiding in bed. I’ve had days that I honestly believed the sun would never shine again. Depression does that. It takes over your entire world. It makes you tired. It physically hurts. It makes you doubt everything good in your life. Those commercials with the dark cloud following the cartoon person around? Those are a fairly accurate picture. When I’m depressed, I’m pretty horrible to myself. My head gets all messed up and I over think everything said to me and everything I say to the point of making myself and everyone around me crazy.
I’ve also had some amazing depression free periods. Some last days, some weeks and lately it has been months. Months in-between bouts with darkness. Even the darkness, when it comes hasn’t been as long. Days instead of weeks. An occasional week, instead of months. Life has gotten better. My life is a lot more sunshine these days. My head is a lot more mellow.
On Friday, I went to an Endocrinologist for a plethora of reasons. I plan on explaining some of what was said at a later time. For now, let’s just say, I adore the woman. One thing she said to me, was that she’d like me to think about getting off my depression medication.
I’ve thought about it for days. I have been on the lowest dose possible for the past three months. The longest time I’ve gone that low since starting it. I’ve weighed all of the options. I know what could happen. I know it could throw me into a depression. I know the physical side effects of getting off of it. I know what my head may do. How I may get. I know all of this.
Yet, I’m going to try anyway. I’d like to give it a full six weeks before I consider if I can do it for good, or if I need to return to it. Six weeks. I’ve picked a time of sunshine and warmth. I’ve made a list for myself of fun thing that are happening in the next six weeks and a second list of things to do when I start feeling bad.
I’m going to try. I want off of this. It wasn’t what I wanted when I got on it. It was what I needed. The hard truth is that I may always battle depression. That doesn’t mean I need to be medicated forever though. If needed at a later date, I will go back on it, knowing that I gave it a good shot. Whether that’s in six weeks, six months or six years. It’s okay.
I’m scared. I’m terrified that I’m making a huge mistake. I’m worried that it will set of my anxiety. I think I’m most scared that I’m deluding myself. That I really do still need the medication to function. I have to give it a shot though.
Today is day one.
Bailey: MOMMY you WILL drive me to Pixie’s house for the sleepover RIGHT NOW or I will walk there my own self! MAKE A CHOICE MOMMY!
Me: Oh my choice? Funny that you should ask. My choice is you give me your iTouch right now, since it’s now mine until Saturday and you go sit on your bed. That’s my choice. NOW! Until you can act like a calm human.
Bailey: You are the worstest mommy EVER! *slams door*
Me: *opens door* For that door slam, your iTouch is mine till Sunday. Would you like to try for longer?
Bailey: *glares* I didn’t say HATE! BUT I COULD!
Me: You are seriously pushing it.
Let’s just say it wasn’t the best evening. She wanted to go somewhere, a last second un-planned sleepover. Yesterday was the last day of school, but it didn’t matter, I didn’t want her to go. Anyone with a child can understand the rest. She sat on her bed randomly screaming things at me for a bit, before she calmed down. She normally does, the easily calming down. She’s actually my easiest child. So far at least. Her iTouch is mine for a few days and she did apologize to me for her behavior. All ended on an okay note.
The hard part came later. The hard questions at bedtime. Mommy, I know I was rude and I’m sorry but why can’t you ever say yes to me going to Pixie’s house? You never do, you know? Every time you say, maybe next time. When does next time come?
Sigh. I’ll tell you what, I will think about that one, if you will think about how you can act differently next time, when I say that no means no. Deal?
Deal.
For tonight? We’re going to go with, it wasn’t a good night for it.
I left her room knowing that I sucked at parenting in the moment. I know that I made that entire thing worse by not being able to explain my real reasons to her. I know that I tell her maybe next time every freaking time she asks. I let her go other places. I let her sleepover with other friends. If it had been any other friend, she’d of probably been there last night. The girl has playdates. She goes to birthday parties. But not there. Not with this friend.
How do you explain a gut feeling to a six year old? How do you say, her dad creeps me out and you will never ever be allowed to play over there?
Because that’s the truth. That girl is welcome here. I think she’s a bit odd, but she’s nice enough. Her dad gives me that feeling though and I will never allow my child to be at their house. Not for a birthday party, not for a playdate and certainly not to spend the night.
Chris Rock once made a joke about his only goal in life was to keep his daughters off the pole. Funny, yes. Accurate, not quite.
My goal as a mother is to raise happy, intelligent, self-confident, responsible, caring, loving individuals. To send them out into the world one day and know that they will make good adults. That’s one of my main goals as a parent.
The other? Is to keep them safe. I can’t foresee so many things. I am not a higher power, nor do I have one on speed dial. But dammit it’s my number one goal to not let anyone touch my babies. Not a single person harming my children. Never. I know first hand the damage that causes. I will never knowingly put my kids in that situation. The only way I can even try to make that happen is by being super vigilant. I’m over the top neurotic on who my kids are left with. Trust me when I say, that I know this may not be enough. But the only way I do this each day, the only way I let them leave my house each day not in a protective bubble with a electrocuted barrier around it, is to be like this. To never falter in my job. My job of saying no. My job of never letting them go with the people who give me the creeps. Not even for a minute.
It makes me a bit unpopular at times. I’m okay with that. I’m lucky that my ex-husband is 100% behind this. Before he lets the kids go anywhere with new friends, he always asks me first.
But to explain that to my almost seven year old? I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that. Not to her. Not to her big sister. Not to their baby brother. I do not know how to do it. How do you tell your children, I need to protect you the way I wish I was protected…without ever burdening them in that way? I have no clue.
Last night I chose to say, no means no. Last night I chose having my daughter mad at me all evening. Last night? I chose the easy door.
He loves to spring the hard stuff on me at random times. My brother, he’s good at that.
We’d been hanging out at his house for a few hours. I’d played with his dog and kitties. My step-sister had come and gone. We were getting ready to go out to eat when he said it. So…I know more about our brother. Which brother I asked? (Legit question. As we have a brother that we don’t see (his family is his drugs) and a step-brother monster that I choose not to see.) The brother we have never known, was his answer.
*silence*
Oh that one. The one my dad helped create, yet never cared a second for. The one my step-mom said had been given up for adoption at birth by his mother, in Sweden no less. That brother. Huh. For a minute I considered just changing the subject. Of course, my curiosity never lets me do that. Okay dude, tell me.
What she (step-mom) told us was complete bull crap. He wasn’t adopted. His mother kept him.
I am not surprised by any of those things actually. You’d think I would have been. But no. I know my step-mom is a liar. Even in a drunken rampage of everyone’s emotions she can still pick and choose what she says.
But then he dropped the bomb. He lived in the Valley his entire life.
For those who don’t know? The Valley is the San Fernando Valley in California. It’s a large part of Los Angeles. Mere miles from where I grew up. Say 15 at most. I have relatives who live in The Valley. I spent a lot of time there as a child. Apparently my little brother lives there. Always has.
Here’s the thing though. My bro and I? We’ve (since finding out ten years ago) always wondered how we could find him. Now, we know where he lives. We know people who knew his mother back then and all logic tells us that they know her now. At least they could tell us her name and we could search her out.
I’ve spent ten years trying to remember her name, as I do remember her. She was a passing figure in my dad’s life for a month or two when I was five years old. Yet, I can’t seem to remember.
We talked about this the entire walk to dinner. We talked about finding him. About knowing him. About the probability that he’s the spiting image of my dad. We wondered how tall he might be. If he has other siblings. What he’s done with his life. All valid questions.
Except for one thing. He’s 25 years old. (Or maybe 24. Hard to know exactly.) He’s never come looking for our dad or for us. There is a very good possibility that he was raised by a man who he believes to be his dad.
While we know that in time we could get the right people drunk and find out his mother’s name and locate him…the true question is, how do we ruin someone’s life like that? Just because we want to know him, doesn’t mean he’d want to know us.
We have no answers. We may never do a thing. Maybe just knowing he was raised in the same area as we were, is enough. That he wasn’t given up in Sweden. Maybe knowing that he’s alive and could easily locate us if he wanted too, is enough.
I know how to be a good sister to my bro. We were raised together. I know what he means when he says something odd. I know he’s the only person more stubborn than me and that’s saying a lot. I know that when he calls me late at night, he’s lonely. I know that he’s one of the hardest working men in this world. I know that he tells everyone he doesn’t want kids, but will make an amazing dad one day. I know him. He knows me. We are very close.
We decided to sit on this decision for awhile. Maybe a few years. We both said, we’d let it go for now. Until we have an answer to the question, if it were us, would we want to meet us? Would we want two adults showing up and claiming to be long lost siblings, if we’d never been told our dad wasn’t our real dad? If we knew nothing, would we want two strangers ruining the life we thought we had?
Until we know, we wait.
Grab My Button!
I’m a joiner
