By Michelle Talsma Everson
I think about you almost daily, but it doesn’t sting as much anymore. I am so grateful for that because I don’t think that people are meant to hold onto that much pain for too long.
“You are your father’s daughter…” the Disney song played on my radio. Yes—yes, I am. The man who raised me will always be my dad. I cling to my maiden name like it’s made out of gold. Pictures. Stories. Tattoos. I cling to them all.
“You can sit in the suck while still looking forward to the future.” My therapist chirps and I wrote it on my phone notes. For once we’re not talking just about you. The passing of time does help.
Still, those same phone notes have a list of things I want from you—bare minimum bullet points that I hold close to my chest. When I mention them—those closest to me re-affirming, “No, it’s not stupid to want that.”—that helps. Each small acknowledgment helps.
You’re the part of my story that almost broke me. The part only those closest to me know. However I came into this world, half of my genes are yours. Still, I only whisper your name to those I trust wouldn’t “out” you. (I am so scared to out you.)
I apparently have your nose and your hustle. I, too, can work a room and make strangers into friends. I’m hurt. I’m embarrassed and self-conscious (though I did nothing wrong). I’d never expect anyone to replace my dad, but to know you exist and that your life won’t change because I also exist is a pain I cannot explain. A friend put into words what I couldn’t: “You expected his life to change too.” Yes, unmet expectations perhaps hurt the most.
I could corner you, rant and rave and ask about my list. Or calmly “make” you admit X, Y and Z. But I will not force myself into your life (no matter how much I want to). The person who is coming to rescue me is me. (Which is so hard to tell my inner child who apparently was still waiting for someone to come.)
And everyone, all well-meaning, have their opinions on what I should do or how I should act.
But they’re not the ones whose world crashed, and they weren’t left putting the pieces back together. They’re not the ones whose hearts break at nearly 1 a.m. in the bathroom, tears falling, wanting to scream into the ether that, “It’s not fucking fair.”
Some days I’m glad it happened. Other days I wish it never did. Always I don’t understand how you could see photos of my growing boy (genetically, your grandson) and not want to rush to know him. If roles were reversed, I’d have been on the first flight.
As time goes on though, so many wonderful people restore my faith in humanity.
“We are so glad you found us,” your sister, my aunt, wrote on a Hanukkah card.
“Well, we recognize you and our children recognize you,” your brother-in-law said.
“It’s ok, I’ve got him,” my best friend says as he takes my son under his wing and allows me the privacy that comes with the occasional breakdown.
“You did nothing wrong, this isn’t your fault,” my bonus mom says as I lose my shit from time to time.
I am so grateful for the amazing people in my life; I pray their awesomeness overshadows those who aren’t supporting or seeing me in the way I would have it if I could control things. I have learned that I can only control myself. (I’d have preferred to learn this in so many other ways.)
So, I move forward and enjoy the moments where it doesn’t sting as much. I embrace those I love, and I keep a small flame of hope and prayer. I tell God thank you and I ask for peace for both of us.
“I have a good history of bouncing back,” I texted you once. It’s true, but even the strong need rest and safety. And I will find that, just not with you.
Michelle Talsma Everson is an independent journalist, editor, and storyteller from Phoenix, Arizona. She discovered she was an NPE (not parent expected) in March 2021 and, since then, has been navigating how to best blend her writing and NPE discovery to be a voice and provide resources for those affected by surprise DNA discoveries. Read about her NPE journey on Scary Mommy and the Jewish News of Greater Phoenix. She’s also written about the topic for Next Avenue. To learn more about her career outside of her NPE discovery, connect with her on LinkedIn, visit her website, or follow her on Twitter.
