Does every conversation merit an ultimatum?

With each passing day I check my email, than my spam, than my trash looking for the email from my father saying, "today I can see you" and each day nothing appears.

It's only been 10 days since he said he wanted to see me.  I think to myself, should I have added a timeline to this attempt at reconciliation?  What is an appropriate amount of time?  A week, a month, a year?

If he called me or emailed me and said, "you matter to me, can you drive 2 and 1/2 hours to meet me and we can discuss our differences, I would probably do it within a day"

It takes me to a narrative of, "you matter to me, just as soon as nothing else matters more and I find myself with an empty slot of time, it's all yours"

It's easy to know when you are loved.  When you are loved, people make time for you, or at the very least they offer to meet you halfway, or they send an update to let you know they are working on making it happen.

So now, he'll either at some future date make an attempt or our paths will cross at the next family event. What shall I say or do at that time.

I love all the little quotes that say things like, "like go or be dragged" and that sure is what it feels like.    But the rope is not linear, it's more of a web, and it's impossible to let go of one end of the rope while your still connected to the other lines.

It will always be difficult

I was moved by my father's recent email so I sent him a note letting him know I'd welcome a chance to get together next time he was in town.  Some back and forth and he said he would make it a priority to see me as soon as he can.  That was almost a week ago.

Funny how all the insecurities set in again.  I know why we hate, it's so much more comfortable than risking love only to be rejected again.   It's so much easier to put up a wall and accuse someone of being awful rather than admit that you care and risk feeling foolish.

I wonder if my siblings feel that way about me? Do they wonder if I will reject them?  Or is this a perspective that is only possible because of my inherent insecurities.  Does one ever have enough love? enough security? or all we all born with some amount of insecurity that we can never shake off.

My father sent me a package via a sister recently.  It frustrated me because when he does something nice it is in the presence of others, when it's a mean letter, he uses the post office.   The package was a life story about his mother.  He asked me two days ago in an email if I had read it.  I felt like my response was conditioned upon his decision to invest time in a visit.  We shall see.

After church...

I received a nice email from my dad after church.  He apologized if any if his words hurt me and asked in a somewhat cryptic manner if we could move forward in harmony.  (He always is cryptic so the message was not a-typical)

My first reaction was excitement and hope and I wanted to reply, "yes, let's get together and hug and be merry"

Than came the realization and memory that this church service was a finale send off to a long family vacation my father just had with his family, his family that excludes me.  

I read the email at least 100 times.  At one point I thought I would forward it to my sisters and ask if they believed in their heart of hearts if my father had any love for me whatsoever.  But the email itself reveals the answer to my question.  He asks me to be kind to those he loves and lists his children.  

Perhaps he doesn't mean a slight to me when he says, "please be kind to those I love" but I can't help but to feel its analogous to the picture he and his family have about good and evil.  And that picture is that there is good and there is evil.  And good is what lies within the walls of the family home.  Evil is what resides everywhere else.  And because I come from the outside world, I am that evil, at least until I prove myself otherwise.  

I believe that there is good and evil in all of us and in all of our homes.  Or at least there is the capacity for both great good and great evil in all people and in all homes   I subscribe more to the Ying and Yang theory rather than the saint and demon theory.

I read John Bradshaw's book titled "family secrets" and it has been so far the most helpful book in understanding my secret family.  The book is directed towards the person growing up in the family with the secret, rather than the person who is the secret, but it gave me perspective.   Mr. Bradshaw explains this concept of the family unit protecting itself from the outside "evil" trying to tear them apart. 

The reality is yes, there is an evil tearing them apart, but its not outside their home.  It's within the walls, it's the evil of the secret.  And because I'm the secret, they have transferred the fear of the evil to me, rather than to the source of the secret.  And so when I am asked to be kind to someone that the laws of nature indicate I would do so automatically, it feels like a slight.   The only analogy I can give is asking a mother to be patient with her own child. 

Back to my fathers email.  I am glad he sent me something.  I am grateful to know that at some level he does care, even if he still cannot connect that for me being excluded still hurts.  And while I would love to call him and be with him I cannot, because the relationship will always be a hurtful one.  One in which I will forever be asked to understand how difficult it is for others to acknowledge I exist. Or as I have heard too many times, "can't you understand how difficult it is to see the face of a lie?"

I did respond to the email. "The blessing was sweet." I said, "Thank you" and I left it at that.

Went to my dad's church yesterday...

My youngest sister invited me to the blessing of her new baby. And so I went.

Five of my seven paternal siblings where there, as well as my dad and his wife. The two siblings that weren't there are brothers whom I've never met, ever. That left the oldest brother and all the sisters. None of the foster siblings were there.

The drive took me a little under three hours. The entire time, my stomach was in knots and I questioned myself over and over again why I was even going. But all the same pressed on. I was late leaving my home. I found myself shaking when I was trying to get ready and while I knew I needed to hassle, my body just seemed so unwilling. Than in the car, I realized that I would have to do 80 m.p.h. or I would miss the entire service. Since I assumed that my sister didn't think I would make it, I felt even more challenged to do so. For reasons I can't determine, I didn't want her to think I wouldn't come just because I hadn't accepted this types of invitations before.

I don't know if anyone can understand how difficult it is to be in this position I find myself in.  It is like a bad dream I cannot escape.  A dream that seems so close to being a fantasy, but only offers inescapable disappointment.

The week leading up to this event was filled with family activities for my father and his family. They came close to my home town for part of their family vacation, but of course I wasn't invited to that less dad's wife have to be forced to see "the face of a lie" Oh, how I despise and loath that label.

My sister that is sweetest to me included a stop to my home as part of her vacation. A constant reminder to me of her love and her longing to have me in her life. And I hurt for the balancing act she must perform. It was in contemplating this thought that it occurred to me, perhaps I need to be there for her. Maybe I have seen this wrong, maybe instead of her being there for me, maybe she needs me as much as I need her.

And so with these thoughts whiling in my head and my heart pounding, I found myself traveling at 80 m.p.h. to go to my dad's church.

When I arrived, it was a crowded hall. I walked in solo, wearing one of the few dresses I actually own. A power suit that is more business than Sunday school. As you know if you've read any other blogs is that this church is a Mormon church, and what you may not know is that it's a small town Mormon church. This means that not only does everyone know everyone, they also know the family members of everyone they know. My intention was to be a fly on the wall if possible, but that if I must say anything about who I was or what I was doing, it would be with my shoulders held back and my head high and my words resolute. For I will not live another day of my life being ashamed of who I am.

And so as I walked in, I took the little paper program as it was handed to me I scanned a sea of faces and not seeing anyone I was biologically related to I quickly found the closest empty bench to sit down in. I had made it with less than 2 minutes before the service would start and for that I was grateful, now I had good reason not to mingle with anyone until I gave my nerves a chance to settle down.

Two elderly women were already seated behind me and one woman asked me if she knew me. I explained I was just visiting (which is obvious as I don't introduce myself as sister so-and-so, but just by my first name). The sweet elderly woman explains that I look like the member of the ward that often sits where I have seated myself. This is not too terribly interesting to me because I happen to think most Mormon's look like each other. Being the entire church was founded by Scandinavian missionaries and polygamists, it's a relatively small DNA pool.

Moments later a couple sit down at the end of the bench and smile towards me. The service starts and now from my vantage point at the back of the church I can clearly spot my relatives, including my dad. They don't see me, and they won't until the service ends, I find this a welcome blessing. The blessing of the baby is sweet. I remind myself of my Grandparents and think of the many wonderful memories I had as a kid going to Mormon church with my Grandparents and I'm comforted by that memory.

After the blessing and sometime in-between speakers, the woman to the left of me, leans over and says to me, "I feel as if I should know you"

"I'm just visiting, I'm here for the blessing of the baby" I reply

"Oh, than you must be a friend of _________?"

"No, I'm her sister."

"Oh, you mean her sister-in-law?"

Remembering my promise to myself and not wanting to put this kind lady in an awkward spot, I say with a smile on my face but firmness in my voice, "No, I'm her sister"

The blood drains from my new companions face as the look of revelations consume her.  She puts her hand on me as if to reassure me and starts to immediately stumble for words. I know this feeling of awkwardness, it comes right after you tell someone, "yes, I'm the unintended child from my father's extra-martial affair." It's not the receiver's fault. We have all had our moments of awkwardness in times of unfamiliarity.

She says kindly, "It's just that I'm a friend of the family and I know them all" I smile and let her know that it's fine. We enjoy the rest of the service together. At the end, her husband kindly introduces himself and I make my way to my family.

I find my sister who is sweetest first. Than to my older sister who has always been kind and than to my youngest sister, the mother of the baby. In small talk, I make my way to the back of the church where I find myself seating again in small talk with members of the family that have been kind to me through the years. A baby is placed in my arms and I am grateful for the bundle in my arms. I learn that the oldest brother is saying his good-bye's to everyone else outside the service hall. I share with my family that I'm okay walking out to this location, again so grateful that the baby is in my arms. The poor thing is less than a month old, and I'm already using him as a shield to hid my fear and insecurities.

My brother musters up his inner strength to come and address me. I'm now on auto-pilot. I can no longer access my conscience mind to think of words and I cannot see anything in my peripheral field of vision. I don't even remember how he addresses me, I just say, "Hello ______, it's nice to see you" and he leaves and his wife comes over and I say the same thing.  And than the sister who has been so un-accepting of me comes and oddly touches her hand on my forearm in a gesture of what seems to be kindness. My automated sub-conscience continues in an expanse of hospitable niceties.

Lastly my father walks towards me.  I know my face tightens and I try to hid my anger and hurt yet cannot force myself to smile. He doesn't address me and I don't address him. He is anger at me for denying him to call me a pet name and I won't call him dad or father so we skip the formalities and he begins instead in conversation. "Thank you for coming he says" and I reply "thanks for having me." The sister who is sweetest to me as at both our sides. He points out his tie that shows repeated images of him and and the sister next to me and we make small talk about it. Later, I think perhaps I should buy him a tie of his face and just a blank silhouette with the words "Lie" over it but that would be mean and vindictive and I may think thoughts like that but mostly I don't want to be mean.

My sister with the new baby asks me to join in her in the Mother's room so she can nurse.  Everyone leaves while I'm in the room with her. She says to me, "you're welcome to come to the house but you probably have to work"

"yes, I have a lot on my plate" I lie in response.  And than I drove home.