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On October 14 of this year, I had a 45 minute phone conversation with my biological father and half brother, first time I ever spoke to him, or saw a pic of him (fb stalking) in my entire life.
And that was the last time I got to speak to him. He passed in his sleep Saturday night due to complications from COPD.
I spend all my life wondering if anyone was going to tell me anything about my father, but nobody did. And I, being the type of person who likes to avoid conflict, kept my mouth shut for fear of dredging up old memories and risk having to see my mother cry, or learn information that I really just didn't want to know.
Then my mother sends me a text on Oct 12 asking if I want to talk to him. Apparently he finally found her after all this time, and wanted to talk with me.
So, on the 14th, I called him up, and we had a pleasant conversation. I got to call someone "Dad" for the first time in my life.
Fast forward to Sunday, and he's gone. I'll never get the chance to meet my father in person, shake his hand, give him a hug. Which is messing with my mind something fierce. I don't know whether to cry like a bitch or beat myself up for not saying something sooner and trying to track him down myself.
The silver lining in all of this is that even though I lost my father (even though we only "knew" each other for those 45 minutes), after almost 34 years on this planet as an only child, I found out I have 2 half brothers and 2 half sisters. So I've got that going for me, which is nice.
And that was the last time I got to speak to him. He passed in his sleep Saturday night due to complications from COPD.
I spend all my life wondering if anyone was going to tell me anything about my father, but nobody did. And I, being the type of person who likes to avoid conflict, kept my mouth shut for fear of dredging up old memories and risk having to see my mother cry, or learn information that I really just didn't want to know.
Then my mother sends me a text on Oct 12 asking if I want to talk to him. Apparently he finally found her after all this time, and wanted to talk with me.
So, on the 14th, I called him up, and we had a pleasant conversation. I got to call someone "Dad" for the first time in my life.
Fast forward to Sunday, and he's gone. I'll never get the chance to meet my father in person, shake his hand, give him a hug. Which is messing with my mind something fierce. I don't know whether to cry like a bitch or beat myself up for not saying something sooner and trying to track him down myself.
The silver lining in all of this is that even though I lost my father (even though we only "knew" each other for those 45 minutes), after almost 34 years on this planet as an only child, I found out I have 2 half brothers and 2 half sisters. So I've got that going for me, which is nice.
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