So I just start typing, just like that? Yeah, I guess it really is that easy. What if no one wants to read what I write? I recently asked a friend that question, and her response was something like, all writers worry to some extent, if people want to read what they write. Well, okay, I will continue this thing I’ve begun. Sharing my story, in the hopes that one day, somewhere it may help even one person find a little light at the end of a dark tunnel.
November 1974. I am three months old. My birth mother and I are temporarily living with my father’s parents, in Illinois, while he is currently in the Army, stationed at Fort Leonard Wood, in Missouri. My grandparents return home one evening, finding the door open, and my mother missing. I am still there, alone, but I am safe.
Sixteen years later, she came back. Sometimes I think I could have lived the rest of my life without that experience. I want to believe that she has good reasons for her behavior, reasons I just can’t understand. I also don’t possess the ability to bite my tongue when it comes to “talking back” to her. A few weeks ago I sent her a text asking her about the night she left me. She responded asking who I was, saying I had the wrong phone number. I apologized, thinking, she could have changed her number, it happens. Except yesterday she sent my sister a text from the same number. So, naturally I sent her another text today. No response.
That woman may have given birth to me, but she is not my mother. My grandma became my mom that night back in November of 1974, when I was three months old, and I wouldn’t change it if I could.
FearlessHapaGirl 