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Thursday, November 18, 2010

Bringing my Past Into my Present...

As I mentioned in an earlier post, that last time I seen my real (biological) father, had been when I was 5.  I never seen or heard from him again.  Two years ago, after much back and forth, should I or shouldn't I and and whole heap of what ifs, I decided to contact him.  I would like to share my feelings and thoughts throughout my childhood about my father and where my relationship with him is right now.  Another path, this one grown over, hard to get through, but never forgotten.

I was born to C & K, January 31, 1975.  Both to young to be parents. Married when C was 8 months with me.  In my personal opinion they were not ready for a baby, but then what 16 year old is?  Of course as a baby I don't remember anything.  My mom's version of what came down was completely different  than my father's version.  I have my side that I believe.

C & K split up when I was only two.  I was taken away from my father.  Ripped out of my family home.  From that day on, I was told that K was abusive to my mom.  That he beat her regularly, that he wanted nothing to do with me, that he found another woman and had kids with her.  I never heard from him or  even received a birthday card from him.  This is what I was told from the age of two.  I learned to hate, despised, loathe a man that I didn't even know.  I used to say if I ever seen him, I would want to kill him. 

But I was never really sure how to feel.  My grandmother had kept pictures of me and my dad.  She had a wedding album of C & K.  My mom had gotten rid of most, if not all of the pics of K.  As far back as I could remember, I would sit and look at these pics.  Me smiling, sitting on my daddy's lap.  Him smiling, holding onto his little girl.  There was happiness there, in the first two years of my life.  Security.  Love.  The wedding photos, show a very young bride and groom.  You couldn't even tell C was pregnant.  So tiny.  They smiled on the outside.  On the inside only they know what they were really feeling. 

I was always threatened that if I wasn't good, or if I did something wrong, I would be sent to go live with my real father, the man I hated.  I would cry, beg not to be sent with the horrible person I had developed in my mind.  Abuse, hate, neglect. 

When I hit about 16/17, I really started thinking about who K really was.  Did I want to know this man?  Did I want him part of my life?  The part that hated me so much, too over all the time.  I thought about inviting him to my grad, to my wedding, letting him know about the birth of his first, then second grandchild.  But I never did.  I let life go on, wondering what if.

In 2004, I wrote K a letter.  I asked every question I could think of.  I expressed how I felt, the reason for writing the letter.  I never sent the letter.  I held onto it for about six months.  Then I opened it, read it and burned it.  Burning is symbolism for letting go.  I was ready to let go of any thoughts, bad and good.  Letting go of a person, who was really never part of my life.  Who would never be a part of my life.

Fast Forward four years later.  I thought of K again.  I can't tell you why because I don't know why.  I had a feeling of 'needing to know' overcome me.  So I search him.  I found out his number.  I held onto it for quite awhile.  I dialed it, but never actually called.  I thought about mailing another letter, but wanted to talk to K.  Words on paper mean nothing.  Then I sent him a message on FB.  Good old FB, connecting people everywhere!  I asked him if he was the person I was looking for.  I told him who I was.  We had a few words back and forth.  Then the phone call...

I was going to be strong.  I am strong.  The phone call lasted forever.  I asked every possible question that popped in my mind, all the whys.  K's story so different than what I was brought up with.  He let me go because in his mind he was doing the right thing.  It broke his heart, when he last saw me.  Crying, scared.  He let me go.  He apparently sent me gifts, cards.  None of which I got.  My name was always brought up in their home, I was a part of their home, even though I wasn't there. I have two younger half brothers, and a younger half sister. We have not met, but in the future I hope we do.  The conversation brought light to some topics.  Of course I had my doubts prior to talking with K.  I have known C for all of my life. 

My children, husband and I took a trip to visit K and his wife E.  It was a really nice visit.  We had dinner.  They were so comfortable being around.  I found out some more things.  I really enjoyed being there.  At the end of the visit was the awkward part.  E gave me a hug, but K didn't.  I don't blame him.  I didn't know what I should do either.  In the end I felt that I had filled in an empty part of my life.  A void. 

We exchanged Christmas cards that year.  I talk to K on msn.  They write me, call, email.  To let me know that they are still alive, that I should still be thinking about them.  For them I am thankful. 

As for K, my father, yes I still want to keep in touch with him, but yet again, it's been two years.  So I feel as though I am back at that place where I am asking myself should I?  Shouldn't I?  I guess times and guts will tell.

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