An Open Letter To My Father, BlackBerry Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, December 2009, photo © 2009-2011 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
I haven’t seen my father since I was six years old. He reached out to me that day for the first time since I was a toddler. But I was scared and didn’t want to come out of my room. I was only a child; he had become a stranger. I never saw him again.
I keep a pack of letters tied with red string in a shoebox on the top shelf of my closet. What is important comes in small packages. Snippets of correspondence become family heirlooms; letters are reminders of people whose memories and handwriting I want to remember.
One letter is from my mother, dated August of 2000. I had a hard time that year and (in an extroverted moment) reached out to 7 people in my inner circle. I asked if they would write a letter and tell me what my good qualities were; at the time, I just couldn’t remember. My mother wrote a beautiful letter to me from Pennsylvania, a story about the day I was born.
In the same shoebox is a letter from my father’s two sisters. Several years ago, by an act of grace, I reconnected with my aunts after 50 years, and stood with my mother and Aunt Annette under the Georgia pine over my Grandmother Estelle’s grave (the back story and photographs in Georgia Pine Over My Grandmother’s Grave.) It was a few months later, New Year’s Day 2009, when my aunts sent the letter from South Carolina, and something more:
I feel so badly our family never got to see or know you before now. I know Mother would be so pleased about our reunion. Mother left this ring to me and I would very much like you to have it. She had it a long time and wore it as a pinky ring. This is not much, but I never want you to be left out of our lives. I hope you feel the same about us. Maybe you could try to come for Christmas one year while Annette and I are still here. We are all very much family oriented and want our kids to know you. I’m proud to pass your grandmother’s ring to you, her granddaughter.
It’s as if all that time between us never happened. My trips to the South with Mom to research and explore family history have paid off in unexpected and miraculous ways. During our brief visit, my aunts showed me old family photographs and filled me in on the paternal side of my family. They told me my father had been estranged for 10 years; a dispute had erupted after my grandmother died. I don’t take serendipitous events lightly. I believe we are reunited with the past for reasons beyond our understanding.
A Letter From My Mother, BlackBerry Shots,
Minneapolis, Minnesota, December 2009, photo
© 2009-2011 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
That’s why when I called my aunts on Christmas Day 2010, they told me my father had called them out of the blue; he has cancer. He found out in September 2009, a few months before they mailed the letter with my grandmother’s ring. He didn’t contact them until a year later. During their visit, they told him they had seen me and my mother on a recent trip to Georgia. He did not jump at the chance to reconnect. Maybe for him, the past is the past.
My father was 17 years old when I was born, my mother 16. They divorced two years later—still teenagers. My mother went to work and provided for us. She eventually remarried a wonderful man who became my step-father. After the age of 6, I never saw my blood father again. And now I find I may never get another chance. Should I write him a letter? What would I say?
Dear ______,
A few years ago on a visit to Georgia, I reconnected with your sisters, my aunts, after 50 years apart. They briefly filled me in on the family history; it made me think of you. I live in Minnesota now, have lived in the West and Midwest for most of my adult life. I try to get home once a year to visit family — for me, home is both Pennsylvania and Georgia. I may be visiting the South again this year and thought it might be a chance to touch base. Maybe we could meet for coffee or dinner.
Your daughter,
__________
I start the letter, I stop the letter. The drafts seem to fall short. What would you say? Should the salutation use his proper name? Or Father. Would you ask him to meet for dinner? Or talk on the phone. What if he doesn’t want to have contact with me? Maybe you’ve been in a similar situation where you haven’t talked to a close family member in many years. In reconnecting with my father’s sisters, it’s as if we were never apart. With parents, no matter how old you are, they are still your parents. Should I send a letter to my father?
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, February 6th, 2010
-related to posts: The Dying Art Of Letter Writing (Postcards From The Edge), You Can’t Go Back, WRITING TOPIC — MEMORIES OF CARS, WRITING TOPIC — 3 QUESTIONS
He reached out to when you were a child, but you were afraid. He might have been afraid, too, might still be afraid.
What do you want to do?
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QM,
You are what I call a “smart & soulful cookie”. You’re a deep thinker with a wonderful kindness inside you. I know this from your blog writings, from the insightful (and patient) comments you make to others and even from the photos that you compose. I’m not smart but I get by with my plain spoken truths. I rule my life from my heart…and I have a big one (to a fault some will say). But even when it leads me a-stray, I know it’s for the best. I make the next time count even more.
My heart (and my gut) tell me you should do this. At the very least compose a letter to your Father with what ever is in your heart. People change so much throughout their lives that EVERYONE deserves a last chance. If the man I married had not… I would not be married to him now…and i would have missed out on the very kind and decent person he became.
I meet people all the time who have been away from their families for so long, they are embarrassed (or too stubborn) to even try to re-connect. It could have been a fight, an affair, a divorce, a death…whatever the circumstance. And things never find closure when someone is gone forever.
Your Father left you behind. But it doesn’t mean he did not love you. My Father loved all 3 of his girls with his heart and soul…but even on his deathbed, he still could not say “I love you”. Silly him. We knew it anyway.
Be the “better man” as I say allot these days. Write the letter without bitterness. Write it with a daughter’s love for what might have been. You will find a great peace in your own heart at the very least…and maybe a little miracle too.
God Bless Sweet Heart, H
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I could not say it better than anuevuestudio. I do think you have nothing to lose by reaching out. Where I am hung up is the salutation. Dear Father, Dad, Daddy? 😛 None sound right. What about: To someone I love (if true) or To someone I miss?
I hope this all turns out well for you.
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QuoinMonkey,
Definitely. Write the letter. Call him Dad. Sending him a letter is risky for all kinds of reasons, but you already know that. You won’t be devastated beyond repair if he can’t see you.
It’s a chance to hear his story. Tell him yours. See if your eyes are like his, or your nose, or your walk. Lineage is important. Even messy lineage.
Don’t delay.
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Kathy, that’s true. He may have fear as well. I’m struck that he didn’t take the opportunity to ask my aunts how to get in touch with me when they had dinner. But that could be fear as well. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care or doesn’t love me. To answer your question, I want to write the letter. But am having trouble composing it and knowing the right thing to say.
anhinga, thank you. I do have faith that it will turn out the way it’s supposed to. I do believe in something bigger than me leading the way through. I, too, am stuck on the salutation. But maybe that’s just keeping me back. I guess I have to write from the heart!
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H, your comment makes me want to weep. You have such faith in me, in the process. You bring up a good point — so much time has gone by, it could be embarrassment. Or stubbornness. I do know more details than I have written here. About the ten years+ after his mother died that he didn’t want any contact with his sisters or their families. And I know a little about him from when I was a child. I wanted to be adopted by my step-dad and he pretty much said, no way in Heck. My aunts have mentioned to me that he may not have changed much. But he did reach out to them by contacting them again.
When I talked to my aunts last Christmas Day, I asked each of them separately if they thought he would want to hear from me. Without hesitation, they both said, “Honey, I really don’t know. I just can’t say.” It’s telling. But that shouldn’t stop me from doing what I know in my heart I want to do. I know he once loved me, and that his family loved me. My mom said my grandmother loved me to death. I feel lucky to have reconnected with my two aunts. It’s a gift into that part of my life. I like what you say about writing what is in my heart. It seems like a difficult letter to compose. But maybe I’m making it too darned hard. Thank you, H!
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Sinclair, thank you for your clear-minded response. You are right, I won’t be devastated. But maybe hurt and disappointed. I need to go into it with no expectations and that’s hard. But so be it. You know what’s encouraging about your comment? That I have the chance to tell him my story, and to hear his. I’ve never heard his side of the story. I also am touched by your note about seeing what parts of my father look like me — eyes, mouth, the way I walk. Or what he may have had to endure healthwise over the course of his life. He went on to marry and have a large family. I have half brothers and sisters I don’t know. I wonder if they look anything like me? All those strange questions always enter my mind.
I think I needed to write this post to hopefully feel that little extra push of support I need to make it happen. I’ve been putting off writing the letter for a month. It’s good advice not to delay. My mother has always asked if I wanted to look him up over the years, every time we go South to visit. I have put it off. I may not have that choice much longer.
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This is one of the most difficult things I have read in a very long time. I haven’t seen nor heard from my youngest son in over ten years now. I fear it has been of my own doing. And I really don’t know how to respond to your question here…other than to say…follow your heart.
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QM,
I think the fact that he did not ask your aunts to to tell you NOT to get in touch speaks volumes. Maybe he feels just as insecure and hesitant as you do…
You write so eloquently, with an innate kindness that is easy to recognize. Write to him and let him know who YOU are. Even if he doesn’t respond, your thoughts are still out there, somewhere. And you never know, you might have another letter to add to that shoebox…
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Bless your heart, QM. This must be so very hard for you, obviously dealing with the dilemma of whether to reach out or not, but also sharing this with all of us.
I have to think that you wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t perhaps need the same nudge that caused your introverted self to reach out to that circle of friends back in 2000. I generally wouldn’t say Do it or Don’t do it, but in this case I have to say, Reach out. It will be OK to send the letter, and the very worst that can happen is that you will give a dying man a little gift. He might not respond, perhaps he’s too ill by now. But to do it, without expectation for what happens next, could be so healing for all of you.
You’re a sweetheart, QM.
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Such a difficult thing to do, but there is so much good advice and caring here. I don’t think I can add much more to the advice.
I think I would write the letter, trying not to become too attached to an outcome, letting things play out as they will.
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QuionMonkey,
At the moment I am speechless and don’t know what to say and yet like you, I there is a need to reach out, move from a position of solitude to one of engagement with the world. As an adopted child who decided to find my mother (more than 22 years ago), I have to say that it was one of the best decisions I made in my life. She decided to meet me, but in the end, didn’t want to have a relationship with me. I was disappointed in the outcome initially, but I think it was an important event for both of us. She told me she always wondered how I was and that she was able to live with more peace of mind after knowing more about me. By sending the letter, you at least give your father a choice, what he does with it is up to him. And what you do with your response is up to you. I think living life without regrets, doing things that seem scary, are the experiences that teach us this most. Experiential learning is very powerful and takes one out of living life in abstractions. Thanks for sharing this beautiful piece and letting us all in on your journey.
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I’m blown away when I read these comments. And moved to want to write the letter. I so appreciate all of you taking the time to write a note here.
Don, thank you for writing. I am left to wonder after reading your comment and realizing you are coming from the whole other side of things, perhaps more that of my father. I appreciate you stopping by. It makes me think my father has to have at least wondered about what happened to me. I hope someday you and your son will be in touch again…if that is what you each want.
annieoakcake, thanks for the encouragement! And you are right, setting an intention and following it has always led to good things for me. Or at the very least, neutral things. Maybe I can’t really go wrong in this. No expectations.
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Teresa, such a thoughtful comment. Thank you. From solitude to engagement with the world…yes, I like it. There are so many evenings I come home and want to simply disappear into my writing or art, to hide away. Some days, I’m just tired of working so hard to do the right things. Then it all turns and I realize, I just have to. I’m touched by your story about reconnecting with your birth mother. I’ve never talked to anyone who has had that experience. And the fact that she wanted to meet you but not have a relationship with you—at first, it seems heartbreaking. But then, the more you write, the more it seems like exactly what was supposed to happen. If that were to happen with my father, I like to think I would be okay with it. I’d be disappointed, too, but I think have lived long enough for it to be okay. I feel like I have lived a whole life without him. So whatever contact we have will be a bonus.
You make an important point — that what he does with it is up to him. And what I do with it after that is up to me. There is no script or right thing to do. We will both be playing it by ear. Thank you for sharing your journey as well. I’m amazed at the depth and grace of the people I have gotten to know through red Ravine. This community truly is a great gift to me.
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Robin, thank you. I do think it’s important to not become attached to the outcome. I am hoping I will feel some peace just having known that I wrote. I hope that will be enough.
ybonesy, thanks for saying that. And for the extra support. (There is something so nice about the word sweetheart.) I know I’ve been writing about this in our little Writing Practice group off and on. So I know it’s been bothering me. I’m glad I shared it here on red Ravine. I debated about it. But then I thought, why not make myself vulnerable to what others have to say. And maybe in doing so, it will give me that extra nudge, in addition to maybe helping someone else who might be struggling to connect with someone they have not seen in years and years and years. Part of the joy of the research I’ve done with Mom, and with the memoir research, has been all of the connections I’ve made with people from my past. So far, it’s been a great joy. No disappointments. I have to remember that when I go to send the letter. And send it off with a kiss and a prayer.
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I feel a need to add another comment for what it’s worth. I have two adopted children. Neither of them express a desire to connect with birth parents either because of loyalty to us or hurt from feelings of rejection. On the other hand, I am familiar with someone who found her birth mother. She contacted me through Classmates because her birth mother went to school with me and I was a shot in the dark to learn more about her. She finally called her birth mother. They both emailed and kept me up with the progress and my classmate even called and talked to me for hours. They were in different states and have long phone conversation, yet no plans to meet last I heard. The mother seemed fine with that, but loved hearing from her daughter. What keeps them from making a trip? Horses. Yes, it seems even lifetimes apart they both own, break and ride horses, which are the center of their lives. I don’t know what help this might be to you except to know that sometimes a connection does not have to be physical. Just talking and learning about each other might be enough.
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anhinga, that is helpful. It reminds me that there are all kinds of options out there. Your children have made one choice, your friend made another. I love how the mother and daughter have a passion for horses. Connections like that are amazing. No contact, yet the same interests. It’s also a good reminder that I don’t have to see my father. I can just write to him and let that be enough. Or talk on the phone. Don’t have to do anything more. Thanks for sharing more of your story.
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I wrote a draft in my Journal. I’m doing a Journal 365 practice this year. After my entry for the day, I wrote the draft. Now to revisit, transfer the draft to letter paper, and mail. One step at a time. The comments and support here have been helpful. I wrote more about myself than I thought I would. I am open to the outcome. Or no outcome. To send the letter may be enough.
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QM, send the letter to your dad. If you don’t and he dies, you’ll wonder. What if I had sent him a letter? But then death will have closed that door.
At least this letter will reach out to him in a non-blaming way and offer an opening for him to contact you. Please remember that, if he doesn’t respond, it only means that he didn’t respond and nothing else. You may never know how much or what your letter meant to him.
Blessings to you, my dear friend.
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Forgot something: what word should you put after, “Dear…”? Put the word that comes naturally to you when you talk to your friends about him. I think you call him “my dad” if I remember right. Use that familiar term because it comes from deep inside you.
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My dear QM, we never know what “silver linings” dark clouds may bring…(or rainbows.) When 9/11 occured it brought Mike together with his mother for the first time since his birth. When my brother died it brought his sons back into our family’s loving and accepting embrace.
All the love and support of us, your friends and family, are wings beneath you, lifting you up! What wonderful thoughts have been presented here on redRavine! I’m so impressed with their wisdom, and it looks like the consensus of the group is…you go, girl!!!
With all my love, as well, vaya con Dios!
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Bob, thank you. Your words are wise. I think we tend to underestimate the impact our words, intentions, Great Effort, have on others. I like imagining that they will make their way there; I don’t have to be concerned with the outcome. I did do a draft in my journal, as I mentioned, but have not transferred it to letter paper yet. I need some quiet time and hope to have another block of silence this Saturday morning to complete and get it mailed. I’m still not sure about the salutation. I like your advice…use what is familiar. I will see what comes when I rewrite it.
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Ms. Oliverowl, so true, so true. I have experienced many such silver linings. And I know you have, too. I think of your brother often because we have his photos on the fridge. One of him as a boy with his dog. Much love to you, too. I think of you often and so appreciate your support. I feel lucky to have this community around me. It’s always there, just a click away. Thank you!
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Dear, dear QM,
You have great heart and it will not lead you astray.
Follow it.
With love to you from me (one of your biggest fans.)
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breathepeace, thank you so much. I feel the same about you. And appreciate your support. I have gleaned a lot of strength from the comments on this post. The letter still sits in draft form in my journal. I have not transferred it to the letter yet. One more push is necessary from me. Maybe a deep night task. Hope you are well. I think of you often.
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What a beautiful, heartfelt post. I don’t have much to add that hasn’t already been said, I just wanted to let you know that I’m sending supportive vibes your way for whatever you choose to do!
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leah, thank you. I really appreciate the support. I still have the draft sitting here in my Journal from this year. I need to revisit it again. Perhaps I am procrastinating. I have made the decision to send the letter. I need to follow through and rewrite it, lick the stamp, get it in the mail! I will keep you all posted. It was this post that really helped to solidify my decision.
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I am sitting in my livingroom having a drink wondering the same thing. I havnt seen my father since the first or second grade. I live in maine and he lives in new orleans. He lost everything in katrina so I heard, and I have been down for two weeks, one week last year and I just returned Sunday from a week voulenteering. I stayed in the town that he lives in. That was hard. So now I am drafting a letter to him. What do I say?
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Amy, that’s a hard one. I didn’t know what to say either. It really helped me to read the comments that readers made to this piece I wrote on red Ravine. So many wise people. I did write a DRAFT and I tried to just be myself and write from the heart.
A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with Liz and a friend about how much to say about the relationship I am in, how personal to get. I purposely leave some things out, put others in. I have not revisited the DRAFT in a while. I need to look at it again and see if it still holds water for me.
Amazing that you were in New Orleans, in the same town where he lives, and couldn’t contact him or talk to him. I run into the same thing when I visit Georgia with my mother. I’m in the same town, yet have not yet reached out when I am there.
One thing I thought about after I wrote the DRAFT — what do I want to know about my father? What questions are unanswered for me about the big gaps of time? Do I ask them in the letter (it may be my only chance), or wait until I see if he responds.
I don’t think there is any right way. I hope you write. And that you’ll let us know how it works out for you. I’d love to hear from others who are attempting to reconnect. Thanks for stopping by.
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Dear QM,
This is a difficult comment for me to write because it is something I never comment on. Not because it’s a secret or I’m ashamed of it, but because it is very personal to me and I honestly never feel that I have to. I hope you read it in the spirit it was intended.
Two years ago, on my daughter’s 18th birthday, she told her dad and me that she was gay. This didn’t take me by surprise and neither did it shock me. It was something, deep down, I had always known; I don’t know why. We spoke for a while until I was confident that she was handling it, and that she was confident in her decision to ‘come out’. However, her dad was a bit more concerned. Not because she was gay, she was still our daughter, but because of how other people would perceive her. This was mainly because his older brother is gay and he experienced a lot of prejudice in the small town where he grew up (he’s now a successful accountant and been in a happy ‘gay’ relationship for over 25 years). I was less apprehensive. For many years I worked in community education, mainly with young people, and so I knew first hand how attitudes had changed, especially amongst her peers. There are still a few dinosaurs out there, which include some of my friends, who look at us sympathetically and declare, “Oh, it must be a heartbreak for you.” and “Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll grow out of it, it’s just a faze she’s going through.” We just smile sweetly and say, “You never know!”
What I’m trying to say is that Iona’s sexuality doesn’t define who she is. It’s just that some people find it hard to get past the ‘gay’ label. If I’d not known her while she was growing up and she wrote me a letter, I’d be more interested in finding out if she was happy and content, kind and considerate, funny, talented, extroverted or introverted… I’d like to know her ‘essence’.
I can only imagine how hard it must be for you to write your letter. And I truly hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn or trying to influence what you write. Only you, and you alone, can make that decision. I just wanted to let you know that you come across as a lovely, warm human being. You have a beautiful ‘essence’ that most fathers would be proud of. It is plain to all who visit redRavine and is a testament to who YOU are.
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annieoakcake, I really appreciate your candor. You are such an honest person. I’m glad you added your comment. And thank you for your kind words. Your daughter is lucky to have a parent as understanding and loving as you.
I feel blessed to have had a family that is accepting and loving. In fact, Liz and I both have family members like that, where we are both accepted and loved.
I am moved by what you said about wanting to know the essence of a person. When I wrote the DRAFT, I didn’t mention my relationship. As you said, not because I was ashamed of it. But because it didn’t fit into the flow of what I was saying about myself. After not seeing this man since I was 6 years old, I felt like I had to start with basics.
One thing I did think about. If I was straight, I wouldn’t make a point of saying that. It would be assumed. One thing that did flow into the letter was the desire to say I was in a happy and committed relationship. But then I realized, he would probably assume I was straight, and that wouldn’t be honest.
It made me realize how complicated it still is to be lesbian or gay, even after all these years. I still have to think about it in all kinds of relationship situations. For the most part, I am out and happy that way, even in work capacities. A situation arose today where I was asking about Domestic Partnerships in relationship to benefits. As soon as you do that, you are out.
I do think it’s getting easier. But, look, I still have to think about it. And make a conscious decision about whether or not to add it to this letter. When most people who are not gay would not think twice about it. That’s the kind of world we live in. Human rights are a long time coming.
I appreciate your comment. I really do. I imagine I will keep the letter more general. And leave the relationship for the next encounter. It’s interesting to note that when I talked on the phone to my aunt after 50 years (my dad’s sister), I told her within the first five minutes on the phone. It may have been because I knew she had been in a committed relationship with a woman and would understand without much explanation.
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Hi QM,
I’m relieved you didn’t mind my comment. And you’re right, I wouldn’t, for example, introduce myself by writing to anyone saying, “Hi, my name is Annie and I’m heterosexual and married to a man…”! It sounds too ridiculous! As you say, things are changing but, no matter how optimistic I am about the future, there are still obstacles out there that she’ll have to deal with which her peers won’t come across. However, I do see a cultural change, especially amongst the young people who appear to accept it quite naturally. This cultural shift makes me much more optimistic than any amount of legislation – legislation will be forced to catch up pretty darned quick!
I wish you well with your letter, QM. And I’m sure your words will be honest, loving and full of empathy – it’s who YOU are.
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I wrote the letter to my father in the silence of a Sunday morning. I went back to the DRAFT letter in my Journal 365 sketchbook and read it again. Even after all this reflection, it was near perfect. It kind of poured out of me about a month ago after I published this piece and got feedback from all of you. Thank you for that.
I wrote 3 pages on cream linen stationery that I’ve had around for years, only changed a few words and phrases from the DRAFT, added my contact info, creased the pages, and slipped them into a linen envelope. I addressed the outside. I’ll make a trip the local Post Office today and drop it in the slot.
After that, it has a life of its own. I just hope he receives it in the Spirit with which it is intended. No matter the past, the energy is out there, from my heart to his.
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May it touch his heart.
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You just did something very beautiful and brave – no matter what the outcome. Well done!
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I don’t know why, QM, but reading this brought tears to my eyes. As Anhinga said, may it touch his heart.
You are incredibly courageous.
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Thanks to all. I appreciate your warm comments and support. I asked Liz if she’d read the letter to me before I mailed it, and she graciously did so. She also had a tear or two when she read it. There was a certain turn of phrase when I was asking if he ever wondered about me, the way I wondered about him. I felt good after she read it, like the words conveyed what I wanted to communicate. Yes, back to the essence of a life.
I told Liz it was interesting the things I chose to tell him about my life. I guess those are the things that, to me, make up my essence. If I had to sum it up, the things conveyed were about places I’ve lived, travel across the U.S., importance of family, ancestry, and family history, my education, art, and writing, how I feel mostly happy and like I’ve lived a full and abundant life. It made me feel good about my life.
I mailed the letter on Sunday, March 6th, 2011. It will take 3 or 4 days to get to Georgia. If and when he responds, I’ll come back and add a comment here. If not, that’s okay, too. I thought about it today, about how it took a little over 2 months from when I first found out about his cancer, to the time I mailed the final letter. I couldn’t send the letter until I was sure it wouldn’t bother me if he didn’t respond. No expectations. I had to let go of outcomes. And not worry about them anymore. At that point, I could mail it.
Thanks again to all for the support. And to my mother and to Liz who have also supported me in this decision. I really appreciate it.
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Wow. So glad to hear. Wait with you and the rest of the red Ravine community.
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Thanks, Teri. And thanks for the support. I know I wrote about this in my check-in’s for the Midwest Writers Group. The last check-in, I remember saying I wasn’t worried about it anymore. I think that was the point when I could think about mailing it. I remember you saying something about the way I sit with things and ponder, then just do them. Was it an email you sent? Very helpful.
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*Hugs* to you, QM.
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Robin, thank you. I really appreciate it. I was thinking on Friday that he had probably received the letter on Thursday or Friday. And I was wondering what he was thinking.
Then yesterday, an odd thing on our answering machine. We were at the studio and came home late to a cut-off message that said, “I’ve got flowers for D…..” We had run out of space on our machine, so I have no idea who the florist was or who they were from. Or even if they will come back again. But Liz seems certain they are somehow related to the letter.
I don’t want to get my hopes up. But it does seem mysterious, since having flowers delivered is not something I’ve experienced in a very long time. It’s usually a bouquet that Liz picks up and hands me personally. I’ll keep you posted. Still, I have no expectations. I feel good about sending the letter, whatever the outcome.
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Ah, mystery on the flowers solved! Our neighbor just brought them over, I opened them, and they are related to a job. Who would have known that was going to happen? Timing strange. A lot going on right now. Everything is buzzing. Back to let go mode. If anything else develops, I’ll come back and check in here.
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Keeping you in my thoughts, QM. Even with no expectations or attachments to an outcome, I still find waiting to be a difficult thing to do.
That IS strange timing on the flowers.
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Thank you, Robin. It IS a strange thing to do. I find little thoughts of the letter landing in his hands run through my mind once in a while. And I do wonder what he thought when he read it, what he thinks. It’s a mystery to me, one that may never be solved. Still, I do like mysteries. My mind’s been drifting to the South lately. Spring will be there long before it will arrives here in Minnesota. The magnolias will be blooming. Ancient trees with a remarkable smell I will never forget.
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UPDATE: I can’t believe this happened, but when I got home from work yesterday, the same letter I sent to Georgia had been “Returned To Sender” as “Undeliverable.” Liz had picked it up out of the mailbox and brought it inside. When I got home, we looked online to see if I had put the correct address on the envelope —- NOPE! Incorrect address.
I had copied it down that Christmas Day 2010 when I was on the phone with my aunts and I must have copied it incorrectly. They also gave me the phone number, so yesterday when the letter came back, I looked up his address by the phone number.
Unbelievable! The saga continues. This whole time I thought he had received the letter, it was flying to Georgia, being returned to Minnesota, and landing once again in my mailbox, unopened.
I took the same letter, left it in the envelope, wrote a little bit on the back, and placed it in a new envelope with the correct address. I wanted to keep the record of when I first sent the letter in the timestamp on the envelope.
I went to the post office and mailed the letter again yesterday, March 18th, 2011. We’ll see where the story goes now. 8)
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My! It’s like reading a novel with all it’s twists and turns! I’m on tenterhooks!
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When there is a little push-back like this, QM, it always makes me think we get to deepen our resolve a little bit. *Yes. I do want to send this letter to my father.*
I hope he gets it soon.
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I agree with Annie about all the twists and turns. Is it me or does it seem like it took the post office a long time to return the letter?
Wishing you all the best — whatever “the best” may be — in this, QM.
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Robin, that’s exactly what Liz said when the letter was returned! Where the heck has it been all this time? It seemed like a very long time and we were trying to figure out where it could possibly have been hanging out for all those days. One thing though, I’m grateful that the letter was returned at all. What if it had gotten lost somewhere and never been delivered? That whole time I would have been imagining it got there and he just didn’t want to respond. I guess you can’t make any assumptions. I again imagine he will receive the letter in a few days. Strange to think about. If it does happen that I don’t hear back, I will eventually let my two aunts know that I wrote to him. I just think they would like to know. They are such sweet women.
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Sinclair, good point. I could have given up at that point and just thought, ah, he’s not supposed to get it. But I at least want the letter to have a fighting chance! It did deepen my resolve. I do want him to receive it. No regrets.
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As Father’s Day approaches, I think often about this letter to my biological father and wonder if he ever received it. I may never know. I haven’t heard back from him and told Liz this week, I’m not sure I will. When I think about it, I get a little sad inside. At the same time, 50 years has gone by. I can’t expect miracles. However he is, I am thinking of him this weekend. And my two step-fathers who have given me enough love over time to fill in what might be missing from any biological connection. Thank you.
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An interesting development on the letter to my father. I called my aunt in South Carolina on Monday. She said my father had been in contact with her and that he had apologized to her for his 10 year estrangement from the family. He has gone 2 years with the Cancer and is still going strong. She said he seems at peace with his life, not angry anymore, more open. She said they talk about twice a week.
I told her I had written a letter to my father and mailed it in March. She said he told her he had gotten a letter from me. She said she then asked him, “What did it say?” He said, “I don’t know. I haven’t opened it.” She said, “Why not?” He said, “Because….I don’t know if it’s really from her. I’m not sure what it will say.”
My aunt said, “Yes, it’s from her. You should open it. If you don’t respond, it may hurt her more than anything that has come before.” He is still sitting with the letter. She said she got the feeling he was a little scared to open up everything the letter entailed.
I’m relieved that he got it. And actually, I am okay that he is sitting with it. That’s kind of something I would do. Sit with something like that, unopened, until I could bring myself to look at what it said, to open it and read it. Maybe he’s afraid it says something hurtful. Maybe he doesn’t want to open up that chapter from his past. Not sure.
So there you have the latest on the letter to my biological father. He may continue to sit with it. He may never read it. But at least he has it. And I’m glad he’s in touch with his family, his two living siblings that are left, and that he feels at peace. It seems important when you know you may die soon. I don’t know what else to think right now. It’s an odd in-between.
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Quoin,
It’s good to know the letter is with him. In Taos, we find out that something powerful happens without verbal communication. Being in the space together (in silence) brings about another kind of knowing.
That’s how this seems to me. There is some connection that has now taken place between you and your dad. He didn’t tear the letter right open and send you back one the next day, but there’s something that has now passed between you. And he’s spoken about it to his sister.
And, it *does* seem like something you would do. Savor, wait, mull, consider.
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I am so glad you know something, QM. It seems to me so much better than knowing nothing. And I had similar thoughts to Teri, that there is a connection now, even if there are no further words.
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Teri, thanks for responding. I feel glad that he has the letter, too. Even if he never opens it, you are right — something has passed between us in the silence. And my words sit there, on a desk, a table, in a drawer. They are there in Georgia. Maybe I get that mulling thing from him. 8)
Robin, me, too. Knowing something in this case is better than knowing nothing. The connection has been made. And, for now, that’s enough. Thanks for stopping by this piece again. It feels good that people are bearing witness.
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[…] help but think of the things I will leave to 2011. I never heard back from my father, yet I feel glad I wrote the letter. It is one less thing I have to wonder about. Mr. Stripey Pants had surgery on Monday, December […]
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[…] know what it is this year, but Father’s Day sticks to my heart. Maybe it’s the letter I wrote to my biological father last year after 50 years of no contact. Or the way my step-dad from South Carolina drove over 600 […]
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It’s Father’s Day, a time when I come to reflect on this letter again. I mentioned to Liz last night, “Isn’t it strange that I never heard from my father.” She shook her head and said it was sad. It is kind of sad. But I still feel good about having sent the letter, about having tried. Perhaps he did read my words. If so, that has to be enough. As my friends have said, the silence that passed between us.
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