Dear Frank,
I woke up this morning thinking more than usual about life and death and everything we get to do in between. I thought about my arrival to this lifetime, of my beautiful mother, who was just a kid herself when she had me at 20 years old in 1968, of my beloved grandparents who took us in, and of the safe and loving (and even sometimes magical) childhood they made sure I had.
As I started my day, I marveled, as I often do, at the miracle that any of us are even here at all and of the majestic collision of science and soul that it took to create us. I'm fantastically fascinated by all the impressive and unimaginable, mighty things that had to happen evolutionally for us to have made it this far.
Then, for some reason, I thought of you and your place in my world and the divine synchronicity that was at play the day you and my mother met in 1967 – as a bell chime of the Timer of Destiny set long ago – so that less than a year later I could arrive into the world too.
I love how you both needed to collide at precisely the right moment in time and space to create my unique tapestry of DNA, which I needed to be me, and to get a physical container for my soul to drop into and live for a while.
Over the years, people have asked if I feel bad that you abandoned us, and the answer has always been a confident "No." Because I can see the bigger picture, I know that our arrivals and their circumstances are predestined and on purpose.
And because of your absence, so many beautiful things got to happen.
Things that would eventually define the kind of woman I'd grow up to be, how I showed up in the world, and how I affected others and the earth around me. Things that early on helped to color the fairy tales that I still believe in today and taught me to feel immense respect and beauty over how differently our journeys are meant to unfold.
First, I came to realize that it's not the people who leave our lives who matter most—it's the ones who stay.
Like your soul contract with my mother, I got to keep mine with the man who would later become my Dad. A man who courageously served our country, returned from the Navy at the age of twenty-two, courted my mom and me, and by his tender age of twenty-five, proudly called me his daughter.
A man who raised me as his own and taught my young, impressionable spirit that sharing the same DNA has nothing to do with earning someone's love, respect, and admiration.
I got to experience a mother's raw courage and profound love from a front-row seat.
Seeing my mother go at it alone in our early years, I witnessed her stand by me unwaveringly, with a fierce devotion in her heart and a wild mama-bear protectiveness in her eyes, daring anyone to harm my body, break my mind, or dent my spirit. I got to see first-hand what it means to go to bat for someone you love and responsibly care for your child like only a single parent can.
I got to grow up with my beautiful Grandma Rose, who became my hero.
I had the indescribable gift of living with my maternal grandparents for most of my childhood. Over and over again, I witnessed their kindness, open hearts, and family values in their generosity to all of us. I got to spend all my little girl days waking up to the most incredible Grandma in the world, who early on became my best friend, my teacher of God, my best memories, and the most significant, incredible influence on my life.
And I got to believe in love stories and learn the Gift of Forgiveness.
Yesterday, my mom and I tenderly sorted through a box tucked away at the top of Grandma's closet – it had old cards, a few photos, and several letters she had saved before she passed away two years ago. Some things were vague and seemingly irrelevant, like scrawled phone numbers of people we never knew or can't remember. Still, others were quite wonderful, like the anniversary card my Grandpa gave my Grandma decades ago, in which he wrote:
"You have been the best 35 years of my life. I love you so big."
They went on to be married for 21 more rewarding years before he passed away over a decade ago. No matter what struggles life brought them (there were many), they were there for each other at the end of every day, and they persevered.
All at once, as I held this decades-old anniversary card, a reminder of my grandparents' timeless love story, in a rushing surety, I remembered once more just how holy, powerful, and strong the stories of our lives are.
And I want you to know that I am in great love with how my own played out. These invaluable gifts wouldn't have appeared if you had stayed.
I wouldn't have seen life in the same way if you were in mine.
So I'm writing you today to thank you.
Even though it wasn't your conscious or desired decision on a human level to become my birth father, my soul nods in appreciation to yours on a deeper level. Thank you for your long-ago soul agreement to meet up with my mother, to gift me with my LIFE, and the circumstances that were allowed to follow.
You can't possibly know how much I love being alive – and not just being alive, but more importantly, for having an awake-at-my-wheel, holy-human reverence that I'm here at all. Every day, for just a few seconds, in my mind, I drop to my knees to praise everything almighty for my beating heart and faithful organs that have stayed dedicated to me for the past 47 years and have kept me feeling good. I will never take for granted that my lungs fill with air so easily, my body pumps blood without asking it to, and every morning, I wake up with voice and sight and mobility.
I love the people in my life and knowing they are here because they want to be.
I love the reels of memories from my childhood and how much my family loved me.
I love my brother and sisters and feel extraordinarily closer to them because we have different fathers.
Everything I love about my life and its entire existence depended on YOU showing up for a brief flicker in time and disappearing just when you did.
So thank you for being right on time. Thank you for leaving when you did. Thank you for not showing up or making random appearances during my childhood so that it could carry on as pretty and healthy as it did.
Thank you for playing your impeccable part in my beautiful life this time around.
With love, your first birth child,
Rosamarie
This is an actual, unedited letter I sent to my birth father.
コメント