I can hardly believe how old I am. I was young yesterday, now I’m middle aged. Oh well, what choice do we have? I still feel good. My kids are grown, and life is a bit easier. I’m enjoying this time of life, but still fearing the end.
My father did not wish me Happy Birthday. He sent me a card once, and a check for $100. This was when I turned 49. Since then, nothing at all. So, in total, he gave me $100, and bought me 2 glasses of wine, and a BLT sandwich. And he gave me a ride to the adoption agency in his car. That is all I got from my father.
Can I really have done something so bad to deserve this treatment? I don’t think it’s possible. I’m sure Dad would not shun his kept children. But I was not kept, so I am not his child? I guess that’s how it’s supposed to go.
The only problem is, I am his child. He is my father. His siblings are my aunts and uncles, their children my cousins. His parents my grandparents, and so on. Everyone can agree that this is not the case, but I cannot be convinced. I have DNA proof.
Another birthday goes by. A very hard day for some of us adoptees. I felt, and still feel that my birthday is something to be ashamed of. I should not have been born. It was a mistake. My adoptive mother was not there. My birthday reminds her that she could never give birth. My birthday ties me to another woman, and that’s painful for A-mom. So, my birthday is bad.
It’s also the day my sorrow began. The day I met my mother. We were together for 5 days in the hospital. Then we were discharged, and Dear old Dad picked us up and drove us to Spence-Chapin adoption agency, where they left me forever.
And, that’s why he’s not my father anymore. Get it? Well, I never will……