Three years later, I had a baby boy. I have a baby boy. I went back and forth in my head as to how we were to strike up our relationship again. I knew for sure that I wanted to get back in touch with him, at least before the holidays. I wanted him to meet Oliver and Shane. I wanted him to be a part of his grandson's life. My father was always amazing with children (attentive, silly and loving) so of course I wanted that for Oliver, and for myself. It took me several conversations with myself to muster up the courage to break the ice until one day, one Saturday, I decided to track down his email and send him a message. It was simple, not very sweet, but I mentioned that I had a son, and that I wanted him to be in my son's and my life. It took me a while to sign it.
I chose Normita; this was a childhood nickname he had always called me by.
I waited very impatiently for him to respond and the next day, after I had run around the house with Oliver doing chores and playing games, my older brother called me to tell me that my father passed away on vacation in Mexico.
My heart is forever broken. I kept my child from my father and he never got to meet him.
I will always struggle with this pain and regret. If I had just messaged him a day earlier. Or if I had had the courage to call him instead of sending him an email...
This post is a jumble; seemingly unorganized and not thought out well. My brain seems the same with everyday tasks and even though loving my family is perpetual instinct, I feel as though I am falling by the wayside. I feel like I let them down.
Today is Thanksgiving. My brothers and my mother will be in my home in a few minutes and we will all be thankful for each other, for the love, and for the silence that we will share. My Shane and my Oliver will never know my father, and that breaks me to pieces.