Fictitious Account

Read lots of posts lately on blogs about expectations and fantasies, before and after reunion. I will post separately on my own experiences but the topic reminded me of this story I once wrote.

I wrote this nearly 3 years ago. I was pondering one day, deeply, what it would be like to be reunited with my daughter. I also stressed alot during those days about how, when, what to tell my other children about her (they are 12 and 17 years younger than my daughter).  Funny how things turned out. Nothing like this, of course. Yes, she found me, and then I found her and we made contact. But more on that in another post.

Again, this is totally made up.

A Reunion Imagined
by S. bednarz, 2003

The silly doorbell my husband bought is ringing. I don’t understand why he could not buy a standard bell.

I yell for one of my sons to answer the door. A few minutes later my oldest son comes into the room.

"Mom, there is a girl here to see you." he says.

"Who?" I ask. "What girl?"

"I don’t know. SOME girl!" states my irritated teenage son as he turns his back to me and walks away.

I drop the paintbrush that is in my hand (I was getting tired of painting the spare bedroom anyway) and I make my way to our front foyer.

Pacing the foyer, glancing around my home is a medium height dark haired girl. I have never seen this girl in my life. Annoyed that my son let a stranger into our home, I approach her with caution.

"Can I help you?" I say.

She turns quickly. She is white as a sheet. She looks as though she is about to vomit. I approach with even more caution.

"Uh, yeah, hi…I…" she stutters.

I stare at her. Suddenly something about her seems familiar. Something about her green eyes, her dark hair.

"Yes?" I say.

"Well, my name is …." I hear her say.

Suddenly I cannot breathe. I felt dizzy. Oh dear God. It cannot be. Why didn’t I take my anti-anxiety meds today? Greg? Where is my husband? I need to sit down.

She continues to talk. I realize she is talking but I cannot hear her. I start to cry.

My husband appears in the hallway with my youngest son. He sees me crying. He looks at the strange girl. Just as he is about to mouth the words "Who are you?" to her, I see a look of understanding on his face. He realizes who she is. He realizes the day I have waited for most of my life is here.

I feel his hand on my arm. I feel him guiding me towards the living room. He invites her to follow. I feel as if I am having an out of body experience.

My youngest son begins to ask the girl who she is, he asks me what is wrong with me, he asks if he can have a Popsicle.

My husband tells him to go get a popsicle and go outside to ride his bike.

I am in emotional overload. Anxiety attack hell. Too many emotions to speak clearly.

We begin to talk. Hours pass. She says she has to go. I don’t want to let her go. Not again. Can’t she stay? She says she will be back. She tells me she will call. She needs time to think and digest the day’s events. She imagines I need time too.

NO! I don’t need time. I have had too much time. I am fine. Please stay.

She hugs me. Promises to call and she leaves.

She is gone again.

My eyes hurt from crying. I am still having a hard time breathing but I feel good. A scab has formed on a part of my heart that has been bleeding for years.

2 Thoughts.

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