Knock. Knock.

 Dear Friends and Family,
Bear with me as I go through this. I try to be open-minded and respectful of people and their feelings. I like to see all sides of a circumstance and understand the perspectives and feelings of those not my own and hold no judgment in their differences. I know we all have a right to our feelings. Right now, though, I am not interested in seeing the other side. Right now, I want to be angry, happy, sad, scared, frustrated, and hopeful. I am not interested in measuring my feelings. I will, I promise, but in the meantime I may (most certainly will) say, think, and feel things that will hurt someone’s feelings and for that I am truly sorry. But right now, I want to feel what I feel and not have to try to be so fucking understanding about it.
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 So this woman, my birth mother, knocked on my virtual door. Actually – a man with my once last name knocked on my virtual door at the same time a woman with my birth mother’s first name and an unfamiliar last name did. The shock was immediate even as I was saying to myself, “Not possible. Not. Fucking. Possible.” But the Gods in all of their Facebooking wisdom said, “Yeah. We just did that.”


This should be fine, though, right? I’ve magnanimously forgiven her. I found a peace in understanding that life was hard and she wanted better for my brother and me. I understood she didn’t give us up lightly. It was probably the hardest decision of her life. I knew these things, didn’t I?


I came face to face with the reality of what I know and what I know. What I felt was not peace nor was it understanding. This woman became again, maybe still now out of the cover of lies I had been convincing myself that I believed, the woman who gave me away. With her new name I scoured the internet for information.


Who was this woman? What has she been doing? Who was she living a life with while forgetting I existed? Did she have the audacity to live a happy one?


Then I sat there and did the thing I hate most in this world: I judged her.


  • She’s been married for 24 years. So the bitch forget about me, eh? 
  • Ha! Says she’s been looking for her children for years. I bet. If she had tried hard enough, she would have found us. If she wanted to, that is. She should have found us. She is a liar. My mother, the Liar.
  • She has some fucking nerve to be smiling in these pictures. 

And so it went; petty, mean, ugly things.  


My mom called, the mom who raised me, to see how I was doing after my brother broke the good news. He was really upset because his apple cart has just been knocked the fuck over and she wanted know what I was feeling. NOTHING. I didn’t feel anything. After my minor annoyance that from first *glance* this wasn’t someone worth knowing, I felt a very big nothing; pure and unadulterated apathy.


I had feelings about the apathy, though. Scared; scared that I wasn’t able to feel things that should carry weight. Let’s be honest – I’ve spent a lifetime thinking, wondering, raging, obsessing about this person. Now she’s here and…crickets… What is wrong with me? What does that say about me and my capacity to feel? Oh, god, is it permanent?? Jealous; jealous that I’m sitting here in the nothing and my brother is off over there having feelings. He’s losing sleep about it. He’s confused. Memories once forgotten, now remembered. Angry; angry because I just want to feel something. It can be happy, sad, good, or bad…anything but indifference!!!


Then she replied to my confirmation that I was the person that she thought I was, “Thank you for responding.”