There is something so touching about compassion. When there is compassion.. true, genuine compassion, it just makes me cry. Makes me just want to vomit out all these words and feelings. I am just some touched some days.
We went to my (a) parents house for Thanksgiving. I ate too much, but I did wear my fat jeans so I could , and be comfortable. I looked frumpy, but I was comfortable:)
That day, my (a) mom made this statement:" I am just so thankful to have you two girls. My life would be so empty if I hadn't adopted you."
I love my mom. I truly do-I just don't feel her compassion. I talked to her on the phone for the first time since July a couple weeks ago. She asked how I was doing.. I got out half a sentence and she replied "That's nice, you should see the wood floors daddy is working on." (then why the F did you ask? I'm drowning over here.)
Every single time I go to my parents house, I end up looking at picture albums from when I was a baby. I've ALWAYS been drawn to them. This time was no different, but my perspective was.
I've always had in my mind's eye what I looked like as a baby. This was the first time I've seen the pictures, though, since I found out about my Betsy. I looked at myself the other day as Betsy's daughter-and I looked different than how I remember myself looking. I searched my face, remembering the picture of my sister, Carla, as a baby.. Remembering where my mother and family was during those years when I was away from them. It just made me really sad.
I'm still really sad. Compassion makes me cry. I am not worthy.
Thanksgiving came and went.. The quiet screamed in my ears all day. This search was more important to me.. I get it.
I just want to matter. I want to matter to them, to my parents, to myself.
oh, Fork in the Road, which way will you lead me?
Oh, and this is my current favorite.. take a gander.. what a beautiful, heart-wrenching, gut-mangling writer my friend Ms. M is. She gets it. I hate that she has to get it, but she gets it. <3