PinkEye!

“Dear Dad:

Today I am dying from a horrible scourge of an illness. I will probably be dead soon but hope to be better tomorrow. Will write more then.

till then,
AM”

Dictated but not read,
Liberties taken,
JM (husband)

Day 20

Dear Dad,

This is my little baby Lazarus.  I know the picture’s a little blurry, but this image captures his personality so well.  I’m thinking about what it will be like to get to know him as he grows.  All the little moments, like this one, that will add up to the big picture of who he is in entirety.

You don’t get that with me.  Or, I mean, you didn’t get that with me.  And I wonder if that’s something that can even be overcome?  Will you ever be able to be a parent to me– not in the sense of parenting me, obviously; but in that being who I would think of you as.  Does that make any sense?

Like my mom is my mom; always has been, always will.  Whether she is mean, emotionally cloy, or otherwise, she will always have the standing in my life of mom.

But what will you be?

You’ll be… like nothing I can think of to compare you to.  I’ve never really had even a “father-figure” type in my life, so I don’t have that to gauge what fathers are like.  I have stories friends tell about their dads (good and bad, of course).  I have TV shows that show me different story lines of fathers in fictionalized settings.  But you won’t be like any of that, really.

I might not meet you until I’m 25, 28, maybe 40 if I really drag my feet.  What’s it like to try to appropriate a “father” at that point in life?  At this point in life?

I’ve left the nest and started my own family.  I am a mother for goodness’ sake.  I am trying to be a parent at this time, not trying to be parented.

And all the hard work of getting to know someone in the middle of his life?  Trying to delicately step into someone’s established family?  And what will your kids think of you?  Your wife?  Your own parents?

This all makes me wonder if I won’t do you more harm in trying to contact you than I will be doing good for myself.

Does that even matter?

Sorry if I ruin your life,

AM

Day 19

Dear Dad,

Yesterday’s post/realization still really bums me out.  I guess philosophically I believe that only Jesus can save me, but maybe I keep hoping I’ll find something here and now that will do it, too.  Something that will save me from what exactly?  Just that gaping hole that we all have that’ll only be totally and completely filled when the world is new and Christ has come again.  But I still cling to the idea that maybe something could fill it… and nothing can.  So disappointing.

The other night I was talking about how my mom has a master’s degree and both of Joe’s mom has a master’s too (and I think I thought his dad did, but actually I don’t think that’s true).  But it made me think about the value of education/how elitist I am about education (or, rather, people who have a “lack” of higher education).  Then that made me think of you.  I wonder what you do for a living and what kind of person you are?

More importantly, I wonder if I’ll just look down on you if you’ve only got a high school education (which, as I’m writing this, I realize is almost definitely not true as you and my mom met in college… but maybe you didn’t finish?  I guess you’d still have some college to your name, though… anyway…)?  I wonder if you work at a “blue collar” job and that I’ll somehow not be able to deal with that?

It seems obvious to me that there’s a lot of judgmental junk that I carry in my heart.  And, lucky you, you’ll probably bear the brunt of it.

It’s times like this that I think meeting you might be a mistake.  Like maybe I can’t handle what the truth of who you are as a person means for me.  Like you won’t be good enough for me.  And maybe I have expectations that I can’t even name yet that you won’t possibly live up to.

Who knew someone you’ve never met and rarely thought about would have so many expectations placed upon him?

Sorry I’m judge-y,

AM

Day 18

Dear Dad,

I often feel like an abnormality; like I’m so different how could anyone else possibly experience or feel the way that I do?  Especially growing up not even knowing who you are.

But I feel like so many people I talk to have “daddy issues” of one kind or another.  Somehow even wonderful parents manage to wound their children in some way or another.

And I guess this all just goes back to the fact that nothing in this life is ultimate or will truly fulfill us– not even the most perfect, caring, wonderful parents ever.  So I tend to think that, while I did miss out on something big by not knowing you, I don’t know that it would’ve changed my life so drastically that I wouldn’t experience at least some of the pains, fears, and hurts that I have.

And I do believe that Jesus loved me sacrificially, and that he will continue to even after I “meet” you and whatever may happen with that.  But it does make me sad that not even you, this huge part of who I am in many ways, will be able to make me okay all the time.  It’s sad that you won’t be everything that I ever wanted and needed; that you’ll probably hurt me no matter what; that nothing will be perfect about you even if you are nice.

It’s disappointing (but realistic, obviously) that you won’t fix everything.  You can’t save me from anything, can you?

Maybe one day we’ll meet,

AM

Day 17

Dear Dad,

Today sucks.

Bye,
AM

Day 16 (aka MLK JR DAY)

Dear Dad,

Unfortunately, I really don’t have anything to say about the good Doctor above.  I do sometimes think about civil rights in this country, as I am a woman (did you know that?) and at one time our country as a whole didn’t think much of the likes of me.

It does make me think a little about you, though.  Because I do think that you’re Mexican (still not sure on the PC-ness of that, or if, since it’s technically true, that it’s okay to describe you like this?  Way to be educated, right?), and I wonder if you think about civil rights or Dr. MLK, Jr. and the ideas he brought to the forefront.

I wonder:  how different might my life have been if I had grown up claiming that as part of my whole being?  Would it have mattered?  Would anyone have believed me?  (I am extremely pale at this point in my life and cannot stand to be in the sun long enough to even get a tan let alone a sunburn.)  Would I have bothered to care enough to take part in your heritage and maybe learn Spanish?

If I remember who I was at 13, the answers are all probably no.  Especially to the question of caring.

But, maybe if I knew you and you knew me, I would’ve been different.  Maybe.

Talk to you tomorrow,

AM

15/366

Dear Dad,

I am a highly anxious person highly prone to worrying. Yesterday and today Lazarus had a fever. Zoe was never in her baby life sick, so for him to be so little at 9 months, it really freaked me out.

Well, at first I was okay. But then my MIL was over yesterday when I first noticed his fever, and she was ready to take him into the hospital (not entirely true, but she does have a tendency to be even more worried than I am). And I’m reading a book on vaccinations that describes the different illnesses that the various shots ward against. Almost all of them start out with cold-like symptoms and fever. HELLO! Don’t kids just constantly have cold-like symptoms?! Anyway, I worry even though my gut tells me not to.

I used to get really scared when Zoe was a baby that she would die suddenly of SIDS. (Do babies die “of” SIDS? Is there a different word that should be used there?) Every time she would sleep for longer periods of time, I would think she was dead. One day, when debating whether or not I should go to check on her, I asked Joe what he thought. He said something like, “Well, if you check on her and wake her up, you’ll feel bad about that and wish she was still sleeping; but if she’s dead, she’s already dead and there’s nothing you or I could do about it now.” This may seem absurd, but that really comforted me. I guess just knowing that if it was done, it was already done and there was no fixing it now.

Which is why, generally in life, I am a fatalist. I don’t think there’s any point in doing much because if it was going to happen, it’s going to happen no matter what I do or don’t do.

Okay, I guess I used to be a fatalist. Because, after all, I am searching you out and putting effort into thinking about what I want to do in this situation and about the different outcomes. So, that’s not very fatalistic, I suppose.

I wonder what I’ll think of you if I meet you? I wonder if I’ll just write you off and think you’re lame? I wonder what in the world it is like to get to know your father as a grown adult?

You have 351 more of these “coming” to “you”;
AM

Day 14!

Dear Dad,

I am very sleepy. I need to get into a better habit/routine with these “letters”. Like, maybe write them during the day when my brain works? Although, I feel like my brain only works once a day for about 35 minutes…

Zoe is really crazy when she doesn’t nap. I wonder if I was when I was little? I wonder if your kids are crazy when they don’t nap, too?

Wow, that is really blowing my mind– how can I be that much older than your kids? I mean, assuming those were your kids in that picture on Facebook. What are they, like 10 and 12 or something? And those are (potentially) my siblings! WHAT.

I just can’t even handle the thought right now for some reason. Having undiscovered siblings seems like way too much right now to even think about. Who does that? Who finds out about their much older sister one day?

For some reason, though, I also feel really excited by the idea that I have a brother and sister. Zoe and Laz can have more than one uncle. They could have TWO uncles AND an aunt.

When I was 11, your kids weren’t even born yet. That is just… bizarre.

Welcome to Bizarro World, Pops;
AM

Day 13!

Dear Dad,

I had this really nice conversation today with a friend who is an adoptee. Did you know I wasn’t adopted, because I totally was NOT. But I find that I can relate to some feelings/emotions that adoptees feel.

And it was really nice to feel like somebody could understand that this is a huge deal– seeking you out, contacting you, possibly meshing you into my life and vice versa– but it’s also something that’s not smothering me.

Because it’s not.

But it was really weird to think that, really, I’m just a dial tone/stamp/4 hour drive away from you knowing about me. That’s a big deal. But, until it happens, it’s no deal at all, really.

So, I’ll just keep writing you letters on here until I write a real one and you’ll get to see it. That’ll be different. And horrifyingly scary. Whatevs.

I really like writing these letters; they’re pretty silly sometimes.

SEE YA!
AM

Day 12 (and I almost skipped it)

Dear Dad,

I’m typing without really being able to see as I’ve already taken my contacts out for the day.  You know, because I was going to go to bed.  Until my husband was like, “Oh, you have to do it; you made a commitment to write a letter ev-er-ee da-ya.” (It sounded just like that, I swear.)

So now I’m mad at him because I was in bed about to go to sleep.

 

And I don’t really care all that much about you when it is late, and this seems like a big, stupid project that I’m BOUND to fail eventually.  Every day?  I’ve never done anything ever day aside from my two bouts of pregnancy (I am so cranky right now!).  Every day for a year?  It has seemed pretty miraculous to me that I’ve done this now for 12 days in a row, let alone if I make it to the 366 mark.  Plus, starting next month, I’ll forget which day I’m on.

This whole plan is failing already!

 

So, Dad, have I mentioned I’m melodramatic?

BYE,

AM