Another rainy day. I can feel the melancholy in the air. It's hard to concentrate and I find myself wandering, both figuratively and literally.
Yesterday was my 49th birthday. I guess that means I need to update my profile (but I don't think I'll rush - let's pretend I'm still 48 for another couple of days). All day yesterday I found that I was holding a conversation in my head. A one-way conversation (okay, I guess that makes it a monologue) with my birth mother. I've been having this conversation since I was a child, but this year it seems particularly difficult, I think because I know who she is - where she is, even. It's one of those 'so near and yet so far' things. Since I can't seem to let go of it, I'm going to write it down and see if that helps. It went something like this:
Hey, do you remember what you were doing 49 years ago today? God, I wish I knew what it was like then - what you went through. There are a million things I want to know. Were you in labor a long time? Was anyone there with you? I hope you didn't have to go through it alone. I know you delivered me without C-section, and I'm glad you didn't have that particular scar to remind you - if you were trying to forget, which I'm guessing you might have been.
I wish I knew what it was like for you in the preceding 9 months, too. You must have been scared. I hope you had people - friends or family - who stood by you and helped you through it.
Do you think of me on July 7th each year - or is it one of those things that you thought about the first few years, but gradually stopped noticing? Did you picture me at different ages? When I turned one, did you wonder if I was walking? When I was five, did you think about me starting school? Were you ever curious about whether I got married, had kids of my own?
If only you'd talk to me. Answer some of my questions - or at least pass on the medical information I need so badly. If only I could say the things I've held inside for so long. If only I could tell you how much I appreciate what you did 49 years ago. Thank you for my life.