It could be any day now

I have really fallen off the blogging bandwagon.  Not because I don't have deep thoughts anymore ...my mind never rests... but because I scarcely have the time to sit at a computer for longer than it takes to update Facebook. 

But, the reason I started blogging in the first place is still a valuable one.  I want to be known - by my friends and, most importantly, by my kids.  My boys don't need a written record of every thought I've ever had....but what I wouldn't give right now to have a journal written by my mother or father.

Yes, I do realize that I'm a girl and they're boys ...and they may not care... but I'm writing anyway.  After all, my husband and my brother read my blog ramblings, so there's hope that my boys will too one day.

Without further adieu, let the confused rambling begin...

It occurred to me today that my half-brother might have received my letter and photos today.  More than likely it will arrive tomorrow or Monday, but it could have arrived today.  Of course, the intended purpose of mailing the package was for him to receive it, open it, read it...and call or write me back.  But, suddenly I'm nervous.  I honestly think I'm nervous because this reminds me of a call I made 13 years ago.  I was calling a man with the exact same name as this younger man who will now be left to decide do-I-call-or-don't-I?  When I heard the voice on the other end of the line all those years ago, I said:  "Hello.  Is this K?  This is Tonya S.  How are you?"  He replied saying, "Who?"  To which I repeated myself and added, "Your daughter."  I was nervous and feeling a bit awkward.  He was in shock, caught completely off guard.  He knew who I was as soon as he'd heard my name.  I could hear it in his voice.

As I was cleaning house today, moving furniture around, doing laundry, repacking what was left of the Christmas decor...I realized that I might be caught just as off-guard by this man's son, my half-brother, catching me in the middle of something, saying: "Hi, This is K.  Your brother."  What exactly do you say to that?  (Of course, I will want to squeal and start talking really fast:  "PRAISE GOD!!!  You got my letter!  And you called!!!  What do you think?  What do you know?  What do you look like?  Are you tall?  I'm tall.  Our dad was really tall.  My kids are really tall.  I have a wide nose and our father's eyes.  So does our grandmother.  And my youngest son.  How about you???  Do you have red hair?!?!")  Thirteen years ago, I said, "How are you?" and from there the conversation somehow managed to flow.  I don't know how.  

Waiting to hear from my brother is all just so reminiscent of that first phone call to my father.  Surreal, really.

I have several hundred questions - 30 years to catch up on - but it's a first phone call / letter, so I'm going to need to pace myself.

Not only that...  But, if I'm being completely honest, I'm having to deal with the ...disappointment, anger, grief, I'm not quite sure what to call it... that our father put us in this situation to begin with.  If he hadn't walked out on us, his children wouldn't be complete strangers to one another.  And we wouldn't have been complete strangers to him.  I wouldn't be wondering how much information is enough, but not too much, to share upfront with my brother.

But, in spite of this uncertainty, I am at peace with where we're at today.  I had known of my brother's existence for 15 years, but did not even know for sure what his name was.  I knew which state he'd lived in when he was five, but had no idea where to look today.  And then, unexpectedly, I met someone whose mother-in-law is a Private Investigator, and 15 hours later, I had my brother's name and address in my hands.  It couldn't be that easy if it wasn't meant to be; if it wasn't the right time.  Whether or not he writes or calls, I believe I was meant to write when I did.  Silence, if that's what comes, may not be "no", but rather "not yet".  I know how much it has taken to get me to this place, and I have eight years (and 15 years of processing time!) on my brother.  If he's silent, I will assume that it means "not yet".  And he will know that I'm here; that I'm ready.  I do hope and pray that one day - preferably sooner rather than later - I will know my father's other child.  My brother.