My father and I have exchanged a few messages lately. My replies have been fairly casual and somewhat brief, as my mind has been focused on finding a job and figuring out how to make ends meet. I'm hesitant to add any distractions to my life because, frankly, this is some pretty serious shit!
In fact, he hadn't responded to an email I had sent him and after some two weeks, I sent a message that read: "Are you still there?" I wasn't sure if he had regular access to a computer, or whether he had chosen to abandon his quest to know his daughter. But, I knew that I wasn't comfortable with the "not knowing."
He apologized for the delay and said he had been busy repairing a clarinet. Apparently, my father repairs instruments to supplement his income. He has to be 70 some years old... a motivating factor for me to consider opening this door to him.
His message today struck a chord of sweetness with me. He said I must be "after his heart" because I tend to nature and feed the birds. Something that I enjoy doing, despite the strain on my budget. Near the end of his message he wrote, "Last I held you we were playing on top of a bed in Grace's Milford Street house....I missed that...you were thinnish and strong.....Matt was literally angelic in behaviour and appearance....you also..."
"Thinnish and strong." I can picture myself as a little girl. I was quite thin, but boy, was I a tough one! Little did anyone know that surviving my brother's endearing beatings required me to be so. Thinnish and strong echoed in my head. I am thinnish... and most importantly, I am strong. Literally and figuratively. And no matter how hard I try to convince myself that being weak and relying on the support of others (or even "giving up") would be a much "easier" path to choose... I always go back to my strength.
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