Turns out a brush with death alters a person’s viewpoint on a lot of things. I know it has had that affect on me.
Stuff that once seemed really hard now seems. . . .well, less hard. Don’t get me wrong, it still sucks, but it doesn’t suck nearly as much as waking up in the ICU after surgery that was supposed to be an out-patient procedure, a transfusion of blood slowly bringing you back to life. It still hurts, but not nearly as much as someone thumping on your chest to wake you up after you collapse in the hospital bathroom a few days post-op.
Perhaps that is why I don’t write as much in this space. This adoption stuff still hurts. It still sucks. I suspect it always will to one degree or another until I take my last breath. But perhaps the letters to my daughter have served their purpose and have run their course, just like the transfusions I received while at UCLA in May 2013. I am alive. I survived the worst thing a woman could experience and tonight, that’s enough.
Perhaps there simply isn’t anything left to say to my lost daughter at this point other than this: I am sorry. I love you. I am here for you when and if you ever change your mind.
And for now, that’s enough.