I posted a few months ago on my search for my biological father (you can read the details here) and promised I'd update you on what my efforts resulted in.
Long story short, I emailed him. I even included a picture of me and Chikezie and the boys. I gave him a link to the blog. Maybe that was too much, too easy for him. I told him I turned out ok, told him the things I was good at and the kind of person I am. I just wanted a confirmation that I'd found the right person, that my years of curiosity could be put to rest. I sent the email out into the universe hoping for something, anything. I waited. A couple of months later, I sent one more email just for good measure, hoping it at least got there.
I've never received a response.
Who knows, maybe the email never got to him. Maybe it was the wrong person and I freaked them out. Maybe he just doesn't want anything to do with me. Maybe he has a family and a wife he never told about me. Any questions I've had will probably never be answered. It's hard to accept.
Now that I'm a parent, I really struggle to understand how someone wouldn't wonder. How someone wouldn't wonder how a child they created turned out. And, as said child, I believe I have the right to know where I come from. I didn't do anything wrong. If you made a person you didn't raise, you'd have to know they might come looking for you some day.
Of all the stages I've been through, and now that I'm an adult and have children of my own, I've entered a new stage of this whole thing. A stage where I think I'd rather not know this guy. A stage where I think it's kind of bullshit he can't man up. How hard is it to freaking respond? To say, "Yes, I'm the correct person". Whatever the circumstances were between he and my mom, I'm not part of it. I feel I have the right to a response, I feel like it's the decent thing to do, to respond. I feel like if I made a kid I didn't raise and one day they contacted me to see if I was their biological parent, I'd have the obligation to respond.
I'm learning that have these feelings of anger, annoyance, curiosity, confusion and even sympathy. However, I'm beginning to realize that I also have this small hole that I've been longing to fill that I'm trying to accept will probably never be filled. This might be one chapter of my life that will always remain open. An unfinished book.
I have that picture, though. And it helps. I feel like it's him but without a confirmation, I'll never know for sure. It sucks to have gotten so close and then left to hang.