Forgotten

I was raised by my dad and my stepmother. My stepmom has been a part of my life since just before my 2nd birthday, and I call her mom. 

My birth mother was in my life sporadically at best- she was an absentee mother. That I remember, I never even called her mommy or mom, I only called her by her first name. 

I would go years without hearing anything from her- no birthday cards, no letters, no phone calls. Nothing. Then, out of the blue, she would call, and promise to come see me, or tell me she was sending me a present, and time after time, I was disappointed.  

Sometimes she would ask me to come stay with her for awhile, and part of me desperately wanted to. She was a stranger to me though, and I was too scared... too hurt... too afraid of hurting the parents who raised me, to say that I wanted to go see her. It was an impossible situation for a child to be put in. 

I grew up feeling unwanted and unloved by the one person in the entire world who was supposed to love me beyond all else. I was pretty sure she didn't even remember when my birthday was. I learned early that I didn't matter, and that I was easily forgotten. 

I also have three (half) siblings who were raised by my birth mother- two of whom I hadn't seen for close to 30 years, and one who I had never met- until a weekend in 2008.

My maternal grandmother passed away on August 18, 2008. She was the only person on that side of my family who ever kept in touch with me. She would write me letters occasionally, and she sent me birthday and Christmas cards every year. She always included ten or twenty dollars, even after I reached adulthood. I told her she didn't need to, but she insisted that I buy myself a treat with the money. It was cute, and it meant everything to me that I was important to her.

One day, I received a call from a maternal aunt (whom I had never spoken to before) letting me know Grandma had passed away, and when the funeral would be. I was shocked that anyone even remembered that I existed, let alone thought to call to inform me. My aunt said she came across my phone number in Grandma's address book.

I felt sad and gave her my condolences, but I wasn't planning to go to the funeral. I had never been part of that family, and I felt like I would be an intruder during a private family time- their time to grieve and say goodbye. 

I had also just lost my Dad two months prior, and was still grieving over him. I felt a sharp pang of guilt at the thought of attending the funeral, and seeing that side of my family, as if it would be some sort of betrayal to him.

Things changed when the phone rang again, about an hour later. This time it was my older brother. I have vague memories of playing with my brother when we were small (we're 11 months apart) and I have a few photographs, but we hadn't seen or spoken to each other since 1980. The memories seemed more like a fading dream that I couldn't quite recall.

I always carried my brother in my heart, and so desperately wished he could be part of my life. I had hoped that he remembered me all those years, but I honestly figured that he had forgotten all about me. I assumed they had all forgotten about me. 

To say I was shocked when Nathan called is putting it mildly. He asked me if I would come to the funeral. I instantly wanted to go, but I didn't want to seem too eager. I told him I would consider it, but I couldn't make any promises.

After some careful consideration, and discussion with my husband, we decided to make the drive from San Diego to Phoenix. 

I was terrified to see the family I had lost so long ago- the family that seemed to have forgotten that I even existed. But I wanted to say goodbye to my grandmother. More than anything though, I wanted a glimpse of the family I had missed out on for so many years. 

I decided to go to the funeral, but I was just going to sit in the back and observe. I wasn't planning to speak to anyone, because I didn't want to cause any drama at an already emotional time. 

As I sat in the back of the chapel, I watched the people who filled the room. I searched their faces, looking for some resemblance to myself- looking for eyes and noses and hair like mine. I assumed I was related to a lot of them (which I was) but I didn't know a soul. It was such a strange feeling. 

And then I saw her. I recognized my birth mother instantly, and I was quickly able to piece together who my brothers and sister were.

I sat in my seat and watched my long lost family interact with each other- support each other, hold each other, and cry with each other. I felt numb, and sad, and so very lost.

I could see the love that they had for each other. A love that I had never been included in. It felt like a dagger right in my heart. 

I watched my birth mother hold and cuddle one of her granddaughters, and I felt a twinge of sadness and jealousy for a moment. Jealousy seemed an odd feeling for a 36 year old to be feeling, but I couldn't remember ever feeling that type of love and affection from her, and it was something that I had wanted from her for so long.

My heart broke as I watched Nathan sob uncontrollably as he stood over Grandma's casket. They were very close as he grew up. She was there for him a lot of times through his tumultuous childhood, when no one else was, including my birth mother. 

I waited until after the services were over, and then summoned the courage to introduce myself to Nathan. Actually, it was more like I was pulled to him. I had an overwhelming urge to comfort him, and I had no choice but to go to him. I was following behind him, and I called his name. He stopped and turned around, and said, "yeah, what?"  

His face showed no sign that he recognized me. For a split second, I considered just offering my condolences for his loss, and then racing to my car. I wanted out of there so badly!

Instead, I walked closer to him, and said "Hi. I'm Lisa." I could barely get my voice out. 

The little sister whom I had only met one time before was standing next to him, and she audibly gasped when I introduced myself. Nathan instantly bear-hugged me, and started sobbing again.

I also met my younger brother for the first time, and an aunt, and a couple of nieces. As we talked, my sister just kept grinning from ear to ear every time we made eye contact. It was heartwarming, and surprising, to see that she was happy to see me.

My birth mother was standing just a few feet away from this scene, where all four of her children were together for the very first time. But I couldn't go talk to her. I couldn't be the one to reach out to her. The hurt little girl inside of me needed her to come to me, to show me that she wanted me. I shouldn't have had to be the one to chase after her.

I stood there, both hoping and terrified that she would come to me, but instead she walked away. 

In that moment, I was slightly relieved that she didn't come over to me. I had no idea what I would have said to her anyways. Then I decided that I had made a mistake introducing myself.  I started to convince myself that I made an already upsetting time worse. I wished I had stayed in the shadows, and left quietly like I had planned.

But as we drove away from the cemetery, I was suddenly flooded with feelings of heartbreak and hurt. All of the feelings from my childhood, that had been kept under lock and key for so many years, came spilling out.

When she walked away from me that day, she showed me once again that I was unwanted and unworthy of her love. It was like being abandoned for a second time.

I found myself at a fork in the road that day. I had an opportunity to stay in touch with my siblings, and to finally get to know them.  Would I take the path that included my siblings, and possibly my birth mother? Or would I wait another 30 years to see them? I wanted to get to know my brothers and sister. I have always wanted to know them. The adults in our lives failed us though. It should have been important to them to make sure we had a relationship with each other.  

However, I wasn't sure I was ready to have my birth mother in my life, and I wasn't sure she even wanted to be in my life anyways.

I was terrified to take the risk, because I didn't know if my heart could survive more rejection from her.

Edited to add: Despite the unbelievably sad tone of this piece, this event was the beginning of my journey into forgiveness.  The path has been filled with bumps along the way, and moments that I wanted to give up- plus I discovered that forgiveness is often fluid. I have learned so much about myself, and I have become a better person, and a better mother, so I wouldn't change a thing that has happened.