The Dare: Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda

The Dare:

Category: Coulda, Shoulda, Wouldas
Write a letter to someone you owe an apology to but never gave one. It does not have to be a long letter. Just write the letter (not email),  send it and then post it for us to see.

The truth is that I never really thought about it. I never really thought that perhaps my parents were people, too, who got their feelings hurt, too, by people who said stupid things sometimes. Even though as an adult I’ve seen time and again that my parents were (gasp!) human but…apologizing for going through growing pains? Nah.

Then my birth mom popped into my life and my world become oddly clear – all my life my adoption had been my adoption, my pain, my hurt, my confusion, my isolation but now I see this touched more than just two children in need of a home.

While dad assured me that he knew that if I met and liked my birth mom that wouldn’t mean that I would love him any less, I knew his words were not just to reassure me. After meeting my birth mom when I talked to my mother on the phone her voice was low and halting, I knew she wouldn’t find the same comfort that I did when I looked upon the woman who shared my face. When conversations with friends started including identifiers like adoptive parents, birth mom, biological brother, adoptive siblings I began to wonder if that was how the rest of the world saw my family. When the word real started to replace “birth” and “biological” my heart froze and I began to wonder if that was how my family saw my family?

Then I remembered all the times in heated arguments when my brother and I would declare ourselves bonded in blood, all the times I screamed in anger “You are NOT my mother/father!”; the times I secretly (and not so secretly) wished we had never been adopted. Although to me, these things were just flippant, angry, pissed off things to say; I knew they would sting and they did. But now, here I am with my real parents on one side and I hear fear in their voices because of the presence of my equally real birth mom and I wonder,

“Do they not know?”

So it was clear to me which dare was mine.

I am sick about sending this letter. I am afraid to hear my mom tell me I’m being too mushy and ridiculous. I am worried my intentions will be misunderstood but I am ashamed at the thought of my parents not realizing how much they mean to me and I am hopeful that we can all find peace.

Update: This letter was mailed the week before Mother’s Day. I’ve had no response about which I am both glad and not glad. Glad it could be done and now I can feel better knowing I’ve said what I needed to say (avoidance is a thing I do); not glad to not know if they see, if they understand, if it means anything to them. But that’s the way of apologies: I get to say my piece but that doesn’t make always make it better.