I have been attempting to find myself – literally!
I applied for an unabridged birth certificate a few months ago and after numerous phone calls between myself and home affairs it was discovered that I was never registered under my ‘after adoption name’ and they suggested I fill in a late registration form.
Are you kidding me!!!!
I’d rather sell my soul to Jabba The Hut before I’d purposefully enter forms that would further alienate me from my heritage.
So it was back to the drawing board. I had attempted to get information on my adoption from the government agency for probably the better part of 15 years….phoned, faxed, emailed – nothing. (The home I was adopted from had closed and all the paperwork had been sent to Pretoria). I Never heard back from a live person, not once. But as the Universe is an often unpredictable beast, I decided to try one more time. I picked up the phone and got through immediately. The following morning I had emailed my request for my adoption file and the day after that, before 8am, my adoption file was in my inbox.
I had to tell the angels to shut the hell up as their laughter and glee were ruining my morning oaties!
Now I knew most of what was in the file, but seeing it in black and white was still very distressing. There were funny parts, i.e. a finally had a birth certificate, but it was for the ‘other me’, the one before adoption. It was sad, I saw my mother’s handwriting in her signature for the first time, and it was shocking, very shocking – I discovered that my biological father had known about me!
It said that he had been contacted and refused to help. And there, in black and white, could most likely have been the reason for my adoption. From what I could see, my mother had kept me for about a month or 2 before I went into foster care. She would have been unemployed and virtually destitute. There was no way she could have managed without help.
Now I spoke to his son, my step brother and he was convinced that had his father known he would have taken care of his responsibility. When I finally found and met my father all those years ago he certainly expressed the same sentiment. BUT – after I met him I waited for 2 and a half years for him to call. He never did, and then he died and it was too late.
So what is the truth? Well I may never get the answers I’m looking for, which rankles. Being a seeker of truth has always been part of my intrinsic nature. As hard as it is, I understand that I have to concentrate on creating new truths now that I have found, met and fallen in love with my new/old family.
But between you, me and the dandelions, I must say that I am heartsore, truly.
I am going to honour myself by no longer making excuses for a father who even without the contents of this file has already hurt me so badly. I am no longer going to forget how I refused to go out on my birthday or Christmas for 2 years after I found him in case he called. I am not going to pretend that he died before he had the time to form a relationship with me.
I’m going to allow myself the fullness of my rage and despair and vent until I’ve burnt off the worst of it. I don’t do well with long-term hate, so I know that forgiveness will slide through when I’m done.
The one good thing is that since I’m actually officially two people, I get to be pissed off twice as much.
Works for me……
and works for me too……..