Say

Some of you know about my biological father. Most probably don’t.

He denied that I was his child when my mom told him she was pregnant with me. He denied that I was his when she took me to see him after I was born. My mom married my stepfather, and they decided my stepfather should adopt me. (my feelings on this are another blog entirely.) So they took bio-father to court for his parental rights. Still he denied who I was until his attorney told him to either fork over the money for a paternity test, or just sign the darn paper. My mom told him then (I was like 2 1/2 at the time) that I would know who he was and she wouldn’t stop me if I ever tried to find him.

A year and three months ago, I did. Well when I was younger and going through therapy, I wrote him letters and sent them. I never heard anything back. But that fateful trip to meet him was because of several things – most of which I’m not going to get into. However, I was tired of being mad – okay not mad per say, pissed off is a better term – at him. I felt abandoned, I felt that he allowed the things that transpired to happen. That those things where HIS fault because he didn’t get involved. After much soul searching and dropping my mom off at work, and before my husband flew out to LA to join me for our Christmas vacation, I drove down to San Clemente and found the place where he works. (It is the same place he’s worked since before I was born)

I walked in and asked for him. We stepped outside and I introduced myself. He wasn’t surprised and didn’t seem mad that I was there. I told him I wasn’t looking for a dad, and still don’t think that I am. I was looking for closure – to hear his side of the story, to offer the chance to get to know me now if he wanted to take it. He was very clear in saying he couldn’t promise anything, but did want my address and phone numbers (perhaps to block them?) so I felt that I left there with things open. My mom wasn’t happy about me going to see him, but she felt he deserved what ever he got from me (in terms of anger). Meeting him was about 9 months after I had miscarried. I left what felt like a huge weight sitting at his feet when I left his work – it wasn’t mine anymore and that’s all that mattered to me! (not that some sort of relationship wouldn’t be nice to have, but he obviously can’t or doesn’t have it to give)

Then I got pregnant with Jr. Call it hormones, pregnancy insanity what ever but I felt he deserved to know that there was going to be another branch to his family tree. I’m not mad at him anymore and it’s not like I wanted him to know out of spite. (And if he wasn’t some type of father, he wouldn’t have asked how my husband treats me and straight out asked if he had ever hit me, right?) I wanted him to know, and have wanted him to know since I got passed what I call the point of no return (the point I miscarried at). But didn’t know how to tell him. A letter seemed so impersonal. A phone call wasn’t any better. It’s not like I can just drive over to his work again – he’s in southern CA and here I am in South Texas. My impulsive side got the best of me. I called his work.

He answered – and I told him. I just thought he should know about him becoming a grandpa. The response I got, “Thanks for letting me know. I hope everything goes well for you.” Typical response, or non-response.

This is one of those things I just had to say – to him – to make me feel better about it. I guess a small piece of me had hoped it would strike a nerve with him, perhaps it did. Most likely it didn’t.

At any rate – no more fighting with the shadows anymore. I’ve said what I needed to say.
“Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open” – and I did it.
Lyrics - Say by John Mayer