February 3rd, 2006

Dear You,

I want to meet you. I never really wanted to give you up, but I had no choice. I want to know what you look like. I often wonder if you look like him or me. I hope you look like him. He was gorgeous. I loved him so much. We would have stayed together, but it was too much for us to handle. We were so young and something like this changes who you are. It was like we didn’t know each other anymore, and every time I looked at him I thought of you. That just became painful. I really don’t want you to hate me, but I understand that you probably do, or will, or have. I can’t imagine how you must feel. I realized the other day that I don’t even know who adopted you. I hope they’ve treated you well, that they’ve loved you more than I could have.

It’s hard, knowing there is a piece of you out in the world and having no idea where it is. I hope that we can forge some sort of relationship out of this. I would like to get to know you. I would like to be able to visit you and be involved in your life, now that mine is actually stable enough to handle something like that. I understand if you don’t though. I completely get it. You might only see me as the woman who abandoned you, who tossed you out into the world, selfishly. I’d just like to meet you and explain everything. I’d really like that chance, just to tell you what I can. I hope I can give you answers to questions I know you must have. Once we’ve done that we can see where to go from there.

Me