Four years. I was laying in the hospital bed, expected to die, and that is the last I heard from my adopted family.
The last brief phone touch with the “mother” who raised me was while I couldn’t lift my head off of the pillow. Her first quistion was not “how are you” are you alright” or anything close.
“Are you working? Do you have a good job?”
That was the last time I spoke to any of my adopted family… Until now.
The man I called ‘Father’ was always a good person, and always tried to be better. With the pure hell that “she” is, I cannot help but admire him for sticking with her – but I also see him as a fool.
No words for over four years. Leave it to me to fuck their reality.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thank you for all that you gave me, and tried to. I will always love you for that – you let me have a beautiful childhood…
and I will never forget it.
Please know that you did not fail me – my soul was/is simply to big for your world.
Again – you did not fail. You gave everything you could, but… I followed my soul.
My heart still loves you.
Attached is a photo of me & my Birth Mother. My actual father still does not know I exist – I am the product of a New Years Eve romance. My Birth mother is healthy, lives in a small town about two hours north of San Francisco called Philo, and is very happy that I found her. She did not search for me, even as much as she says she wanted to. It was far too dangerous – think about it. She couldn’t even know if I knew I was adopted…
Dad, I love you. I always will. Thank you for everything.