I got the call yesterday, while I was in the movie theatre seeing “Funny People” (which was actually more sad than funny.. I don’t recommend it.) I walked out of the theatre, and checked my cell phone that had been turned off during the movie. And, lo and behold, I had missed a call from the Catholic Charities. I could have kicked myself. I didn’t , of course, but I did use a bit of profanity when I realized that the office was closed for the weekend and that I couldn’t call back. I immediately chcked my voicemail:
“ Hello Amanda? This is SusieQ from the Catholic Charity- I want you to know that I received a letter from your sister, and forwarded it to you this morning. It should arrive early next week.”
I literally almost cried. It’s still only the “anonymous letters” that the charity is forcing upon us until we iron out all the legal kinks to obtain “direct contact”- but I don’t care! I don’t care if the charity opened the letter meant for me, edited out all identifying information, and then stuck it back into an envelope and sent it to NY. I don’t care if it looks ridiculous after being edited by the charity, just like the letter I sent to my sister surely does.
“Hi sister! My name is Amanda____. I live in ___. I go to ___ university. I am ___ years old. I grew up in ___, which is a borough of ___.”
I don’t care if all the identifying information my sister has shared with me in that letter is crossed out, or whited out, or CUT out for that matter. I don’t care what it looks like! I’m not interested, really, in where she lives, what she has, what her surname is, or what kind of education she’s received ( though I already know that she went to college and has at least a bachelors.) Of course I want to know everything- but these things that I know will have been edited out are not really what I’m looking for.
I want to know what she loves, who she loves, and what her passions are. I want to know what she knows , how she feels, and what she wants out of life. Is she married? She could be! Does she have children? What languages does she speak, what was her favorite subject in school?
I hope that this letter that is already on it’s way is only the beginning. It’s merely an introduction, a greeting, a shaking of hands. Nice to meet you, it may say, and who knows where we go from there?
The title of this post is “briciole”. It is the Italian word for “crumbs,” or “fragments.” That is what this letter will be. Bits and pieces of information, the small, seemingly insignificant fragments of her life that she has chosen to share with me. Tiny windows which I can look through- just to get a peek of what I’ve longed for for months.
You take the pieces and you put them together. Slowly slowly, bit by bit, we reconstruct the fragments of our lives. The briciole of our pasts that, once entwining, will hopefully meet once more.
