The Space Between...

It looks as if the visit isn’t going to happen. Surprisingly enough, it has nothing to do with my end. I called my birthfather over this weekend, informing him of the death of my aunt (who he had met on more than one occasion) and he told me that he probably would not be able to make it up North to visit. His work, paired with his stepdaughters wedding, would make it hard for him to get away. I was disappointed, of course. I had finally gotten used to the idea, and was even looking forward to it. I was hopeful about what this would mean for our relationship. But it looks like any visit will have to be put off until next summer, once I return to the USA.

His reasons are totally valid. I get it. And yet somehow I can’t help but wonder if its some sort of excuse, if he is just making up some reasons to not see me. Isn’t that silly of me? He has wanted to have a visit for a long time. He has never done anything to give me the impression that he doesn’t want me in his life. In fact, quite the opposite. And yet I can’t shake these feelings of “Oh God… he’s going to disappear!”

I know that even now, after 10 years, there is still that element of caution in our reunion. My birthfather usually allows me to call him, not the other way around. He tells me that he does not want to disturb me. I always gladly pick up the phone when I see his name on my caller ID, I always respond quickly to his voicemails…and he does the same for me. And yet he is afraid to bother me. He has never been anything but constant in his relationship with me, and yet I am afraid that he does not want to see me again, nervous that he is making up excuses to avoid coming to visit.

How does this happen? Our relationship, that was once so primal, is now so strained. For seemingly no reason! How does this happen- immediate family members struggling to bridge the distance, to close the gaps, to make up for the years we surrendered and lost. I can’t help but wonder sometimes if reunion isn’t just a sad, partner less dance : two groups of people moving in different circles- desperately trying to recreate a link that once existed.

By now I think both my birthfather and I know that it’s impossible- that the bonds that have been broken between us can never be repaired, not fully. I think we both know that the identity I was born into has long disappeared- that the baby who was once his daughter is now grown up, a woman who has created an existence around his absence, one that he can never fully have access to.

This is one of the saddest parts of reunion, I think. I can’t presume to speak for him, but I can speak for myself. It seemingly is not important what we do, how we act. No matter how many times we visit each other, no matter how many long and involved conversations we have, no matter how many beautiful moments we spend together- it seems that subconsciously we return to that one pivotal moment. It seems that no matter how many times we reach out and find the other person waiting for us, loving us- we can never forget that one time when we reached out and were left grappling- yearning for a love that we were never supposed to miss.