Not right now

The box, again, contained not a single picture. But I got to the end of the two page letter and a short paragraph said that he wasn't up for talking, writing or meeting yet. And it felt wonderful. Why? No picture since Christmas 2004, no indication of any chance of contact and then, finally, there is the acknowledgment that he has been given the option. Wow.

I am okay with his not being ready. First of all, from what I understand it's normal for a 16 year-old adoptee. Second, it probably means he's happy in his family unit and I want that for him. Third, he knows he has the option when and if he's ready, and that is awesome.

Grief

I've experienced loss before - my best friend, my son, my father-in-law. Losing my father is even worse, and I thought it would just be the same.

My father was the one person I felt knew me best. He and I had so much in common. I felt like I was his reflection and now I have nothing to reflect. It is amazing to me how many things in any given day make me think of him and are therefore touched with that sadness of not being able to share them with him and then wondering what the point of it all is, then.

He was a bit old fashioned and felt that once I grew up I should be independent, and after I was married his job was done. As a result, we did not talk often, but there was definitely still a bond, a love between father and daughter. When he was terminally ill and I spent time with him, I did not feel that there was any unfinished business between us.

I miss him incredibly. Not being able to share observations and thoughts with him bothers me so much. Sure, over the years there were few I did share with him, but the option was always there and now it's not. And it's killing me.

He used to send me flowers at Valentine's Day with a card that said, "From the first man in your life." I would jokingly tell him that technically the doctor was, but I realize now my father really was the first man in my life and that I have spent my entire life loving him, seeking and receiving his approval, living in his shadow, finding my meaning in life through his. Now that he is gone I feel lost and pointless.

My Brother

My brother.

When he has no one else, he has me and during those times we made wonderful memories (for met at least) of trips together to Europe, me visiting him in a certain southwestern state, and great phone conversations. Yet when he has someone else, he barely bothers with me. It's kind of like when you had "friends" in school, but then you were suddenly second fiddle when someone cooler came along. Being treated as second best, why do I put up with this?

And my brother’s derogatory comments to me, at any age, have simultaneously cut me and imprinted themselves upon me.

My brother thinks I am fat, yet his wife is larger than I am.

My brother practically spits at me when he speaks of my knowledge or intelligence, like it’s a bad thing. He has a learning disability, but he is otherwise a very sharp man. He has self esteem issues, though, stemming (of course) from his childhood in regards to his self worth due to his learning disabilities as well as his being second born to a girl.

I wish there could be love there, but there isn’t.

And my sister treats me similarly, at least in the context of being ignored.

I didn't want my son raised with this family pattern. And I only can wonder at this point how things will go now that my dad is gone.

Death

My father died a week ago this morning, 8 weeks and 15 hours after being diagnosed with lung cancer.

I know people mean well by sending sympathy cards or saying "I'm sorry," but for me it just comes across as "HEY!!!! HE'S NOT HERE ANYMORE!" Just a big, fat, ugly reminder. And I am not handling it well.

Sure part of me registers that I'm in the denial phase of grief, with some bright touches of the anger phase. I'm angry at him for not facing it, not dealing with it, not giving ANY of us a farewell, including my mother whom he adored for reasons none of us ever understood.

And then there are the comments, again by well meaning people. "You're awfully young for your dad to have died." NO SHIT. But what I said was, "So was he," in a tone that said, "Drop it, lady." She got the hint, thankfully. And the email from someone else that said something along the lines of a mother being most important, but a dad being #2 is also a hard loss. Wrong buddy. My dad was my hero.