When I spoke.......well I wrote

I can't say at what age it was that I began leaving letters for my parents rather then talking to them. At almost 39 it just feels like I always communicated this way. 

Why? When talking or eventually yelling at my parents I often felt like I was being told that I was wrong.

I can understand being told that you are wrong about things that are factual. I don't have much of an issue with that kind of wrong.

A child, teen, or even an adult shouldn't be told that they are wrong for the way that they feel. 

So often I was. I learned to leave a letter instead.

This worked for a while.

Then they started correcting the grammar or spelling. 

When I was about 19 or 20 my mother replied to one of my letters with her own angry letter, and that was the last time that I vented to them or spoke my mind to them through a written letter.

My mom wasn't a pack rat and didn't  hang onto many of our childhood mementos. She did however give me a small envelope of items.

My letter "M" from when I ran cross country. A couple of one page stories. And a letter that I wrote to them. I am not sure of the age, but it was in pretty bad cursive.

Mom & Dad,

I'm sorry for being so bad the past few days. I'v just been thinking why my mom (the one I was born out of) put me out for adopition, What she looks or looked like. If I have a hole family like I do now, and I want to see her, him, or whatever us left of them.

Sorry,

Goodnight,Wendy

PS I love you both a hole lot.

My mom gave me this letter back a long time before I started to find my truth, and when I read it so many years ago it broke my heart. When I read it now, it hurts even more. Is there a chance that somehow I knew all along that she was dead? 

I would need to give myself a day to grasp my ride. I couldn't call them in excitement, I would need to have my guard up. If I called with excitement their words would hurt too much. I was not sure what the words would be, but I've been their daughter long enough to know that many conversations included pain in some sort of way. I decided to call them Saturday. Shannon would be home. I would call in the afternoon which would give me most of the day to get my mind as ready as it could.

Adoption, birth family, search. None of it was ever open for discussion in my family unless it was in a light hearted sort of way. If my shrinks ever asked "How do you feel about being adopted" I would reply "fine." Truth is it was not fine, I just knew that it was the way that it was and addressing it wouldn't make anything change.

It's interesting how much I was able to learn from my parents, with so few words.

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