Wow, I haven't felt this feeling in a very long time. A teenage angst feeling. Nothing big or too emotional but that brooding sadness and longing that makes the world feel so big and the future so unknowable. I spent some teenage time that way. Listening to music that exactly reinforced the feeling better than I can explain it now. I spent some time that way. The music playing and a brooding and waiting for something to begin not knowing if it ever will. Time was passed that way.
Why am I reminded of this feeling? Is it the full moon that fell up fat and orange which is now high and hot-white, small and dry? Is it the day alone that caused the brood? I know what it is - it's a simple hope that's tied up in cement and sinking. Am I being oblique in order to sound more writerly or just avoiding the issue? I didn't want this writing area to become an emotional dumping ground and I generally avoided it so far - so let me see how blunt works.
I was adopted. I found my birth mother. That went well. I had clues to the identity of my birth father. I contacted him and others still not sure if it was him. A few days ago his identity became concrete. Today I wrote a small email that took me a big three hours. It was good but the over-editing left one paragraph high and dry with no context. It's that sudden split into description (you'll read it below) - the why of the description got edited out.
That feeling, the one that reminds me of those more tumultuous years is all about rejection and waiting. Waiting and worrying about rejection, with a sadness. That sadness is the subconscious knowing that the waiting is already the rejection. And it is, but if one wants to wallow - one doesn't give up that quick. There's always that chance, that coming around, that thing that must of happened to delay, that hope.
And here's the email - with the split - with it all...but names of course...
Dear -----
After sending my last email I realized that you, the ------, are also the -------- consultant from ------. That plus a web of other information (social services records and information from ----) it seems that yes, you and I are related and that in fact you are my birth / genetic parent.
As you are aware, I've attempted to communicate with you before. I wonder what I can do to help you feel more comfortable in starting a dialog? Because we are both business people I don't think you would be offended at my suggestion that my lawyer draft an agreement that says I'm in no way entitled to any financial gains from our genetic relationship. If that is not a concern - perhaps it is one of secrets? If so, would an agreement on how we communicate - in particular that I agree not to contact any of your family (and extended) - be helpful? Also, to assure you, my parents I grew up with are my real family. I do not want to blur that distinction or try to become something to you I'm not - Christmas' are complicated enough.
I write this email as I look out at the ocean. I'm watching a sailboat work it's way up Discovery Passage with the wind, yet against the tide. There is a crisp autumn sun. A crow in our pear tree is working on lunch. The clouds are blurred and soft - moving south with the boat.
Please let me know what I can do to help make communication easier for you to broach. At the very least, some medical history background would be invaluable - I suffer from migraines as did/do you - but is there any history of strokes? What can I be preventative about?
Thank-you,
Sincerely,
Leah