Dear son, I did something hard for you. (Again)

Hey, kid. I’m so grateful to be talking to you again in this sort of context. The last time I wrote to you, I was pretty upset over some “conversations” (?) that took place between your (adoptive) dad and I.

The conversation wasn’t initiated by me, yet it left me feeling………so many things. Awful? In the dark? Useless? Afraid? Unnecessary? Used?


All of the above, and more.

I wasn’t necessarily a bad conversation. He reached out to me, asked me if I was okay, asked me to open up, and I did. But then he left and did not respond the second I brought you up, and asked what I could get you for Christmas. I still don’t get it. Why open up the wounds for me by reaching out, only to ignore me, never to respond….to a question I always ask?

That “conversation” happened just before thanksgiving. Right before I’d typically send “the text”. The “what can I get my own child for Christmas?” text.

The whole thing left me fucked up and broken and absolutely terrified. I’ll never be anything but “grateful” for what I have of you.

It’s quite literally nothing….but the rare pictures and updates I get are…..they fucking keep me alive. It’s the only blood being pumped into my massively bleeding system.

But…in a rare moment of strength and…boldness?

I reached out again. This time, on my own terms. Because the last time wasn’t. They caught me off guard emotionally….and it wasn’t on my terms. (Not that it needs to be, but this close to a holiday….I always send “the text.”)

I asked what I could do for you, could get for you (and your brother) for Christmas.

A simple ask with an impossible weight.

Your dad answered me not very long after. He told me books. Graphic novels. He asked me what about my boys? (Your brothers.)

I told him they’d appreciate blankets…anything cozy. (Much like me. Dang. My kids appreciate the cozy.) He thought that was a great idea.

I then asked him if there were any topics you (and your brother) were particularly interested in. And he told me Pokémon and science.


Son…just…I wish you knew. I wish you knew how important you are to me. To us.

Your dad suggested that I get you and your brother “a book each”.

And I sure did. As well as…I don’t know. A few hundred dollars worth of other gifts?

See, you don’t live with me….but still try to know you as best as I can.

Your dad says “science”, and that sounds exactly like you. I’ve seen so many pictures of you wearing your Star Wars masks. And reading those same books. I know you like Harry Potter, and musical instruments, and so much more.

I don’t know you, I don’t live with you, and I have to ask someone else what I can get you for Christmas.

And frankly, that sucks. To have to ask someone else what my own child might like for Christmas is…it’s heartbreaking.

I’m grateful for the answers that he gave me, and I’m grateful that I have enough of my own knowledge of you to come up with some of my own ideas too.

This whole situation sucks.

But you’re worth it….you’ll always be worth it.

I know there’s not much I can do for you…but it makes me feel a lot better to physically have something that I’ve held to send you. Something that I’ve touched, wrapped myself, and put love into.

I hope that when you get it, you’ll feel how loved and special you are. You probably won’t know who it’s from, but that’s okay. I don’t know what you know about me, if anything.

But even if you never know me or love me…

I hope you know it anyway. You were never forgotten, you were never anything less than the most special person to me. And to your brothers here, too.

You’ll always be worth the pain and the fight.

I did the hard thing, because you’re worth it.

I love you, kid.

((I miss you always, but today I missed you extra.))

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