Saying goodbye...

"Sometimes saying goodbye is giving yourself permission to move away from the self people think you are to the person you believe yourself to be."

            Rarely do you ever cross my mind.  It took a long time to let you go…As a child I wished and prayed for you often.  I wanted to see your face and to hear your voice.  I begged God to make you present in my life.  Finally, he succumbed to my wanting desire and you were there the day I came to meet you.  When I walked into the room I didn’t know which face was yours.  I had no recollection of you; all those memories had been washed away by the hands of my mind.

             But, there you were looking nothing like me.  I was scared.  I had so much to say, so much to ask.  I didn’t know which to do first.  So, I didn’t speak, but I opened myself up and absorbed every detail of that day.

            We began to spend more and more time together but I was still so far from knowing you.  So many years had passed, maybe too many.  Instead of being someone I didn’t know, you became someone I still didn’t know.  Life didn’t change much after you presented yourself to me.  In fact you replaced no one as I expected you might.  Instead you became the upset part of my life.  You left me feeling more lost than before I met you.

            One day I woke up and realized that I didn’t need you.  All the people I loved and those who loved me were still around and doing a better job than you ever tried to.  It saddens me to say this, but it is my truth.  My life functions well without you.  You are not the missing link I was looking for; it was here beside me all along.

           Perhaps if you had made different choices I wouldn’t have to say this, but that is not the case…Goodbye

This piece above I wrote in 2001 several years after ending visitation with my birth mother.

Growing up without the reality of a parent altered the person I became.  The care givers in my life were persons in the business of providing temporary care to children; foster parents.  But for one reason or another Michelle and I were raised for 17 years by temporary parents.  I know not what it means to have a mother or a father.  I do know what it feels like as a child in grade five trying to explain to her teacher why she can’t complete her family tree assignment.  I know what it feels like to be bullied and tormented because of the setting in which I was raised.  I don’t know what it’s like to call home mid-semester in first year of university to ask for $50 for groceries.  Sadly, I know that I am not alone in my experience.

When a child reaches a certain age, he/she/they begin preparing themselves for their understanding of self.  This journey is often travelled through asking a series of questions.  Where did I come from?  Where do I want to go?  Who am I?   I never expected the journey to be easy, but I also never imagined that at the age of 30, some of those questions would still not be answered.  They might never be answered and that reality became part of my foundation of self.  It enabled me to permit myself to become without a definitive history of who I was. 

It doesn’t matter if I am Scottish or Irish.  It doesn’t matter if my birth parents loved me or not.  It does matter that I am here, that I didn’t just survive but that I was resilient.  It matters that despite the sadness that has found its way into my life; I can see beyond it and be confident that it doesn’t define me.  It matters that I care about my needs and the needs of others in a way that embodies love and empathy. I have learned that we are not creations of the past defined by others.  Instead we are an evolution of a being that is always becoming.