I truly believe that there aren’t any accidents. In fact, I’ll go as far as saying that without some incidents that appear negative in evidence are really, just the way its supposed to go.
I’ve never met my biological father. My mother loved men, a little too much, more than she loved her vows and any type of moral or ethical standards. I will give you she was mentally ill and her mother was quite abusive, no, she was severely abused to the point I believe my mother became dissociative and she wasn’t my mother at all most of the time. There was a part of me who loved my mother dearly, she was funny, smart, talented and generous to me, in small amounts, not very often, yet, I saw her when she was our lucid mother and her true being would present itself now and then, and it was beautiful.
Anyway, we lived on a piece of land of which we had many horses and with those horses we had trainers. My mother fancied one of those trainers. A man she called Ralph, well, I guess that was his name. Wish it was a bit more sexier, seriously mom, Ralph? Well, my mother ran away from home like a love-struck teenager, leaving her four children behind. She left my father [non-biological, you probably guessed that, but ya never know, so I’m clarifying], a doctor, and very busy, holding the bag. As I’m told, my grandmother, his mother, stepped in to help.
Gone for 6 months, my mother came home, downtrodden and begging forgiveness carrying unwanted baggage. She was 3 months pregnant. Several attempts to end the pregnancy failed and the sperm-donor fled like the ‘chicken shit’ he is/was, as my dad would refer to him when discussing him later in life, never to be seen again. Spoiler alert, here I am and you probably have a clearer picture why I’m as fucked up as I am. I was a sex-child, not a love child, because it wasn’t love that brought me here, there wasn’t any love at any time.
So I’ve never met Ralph. It wasn’t until I was 19 when my father’s second wife told me about Ralph and the whole salacious story. Dad’s second wife, Janet, was my dad’s nurse. After my parents divorced she wooed my dad into marrying her, then divorcing him knowing after 7 years she would get half his fortune. So as one of her divorcing gifts to him, if there is such a tradition, bitch, she told me the entire story. This conversation started with, “you have the most beautiful blues eyes, have you ever wondered where they came from?” I’ll never forget that day, in the middle of the kitchen in grief from hearing the previous news on that day that my stepfather had committed suicide. Is the picture getting clearer now?
So this little blue-eyed Barbi went on a mission to find Ralph. Instead I found my biological grandparents who in turn notified Ralph. He never took the initiative to find me or talk with me. I found that out why later. By the way, wonderful people, sweet as could be, huge hearts and wonderful souls, they said, I had his laugh. Sadly and with great regret to this day, I abandoned them and moved forward. I’d like lay blame and defend my actions by saying that it was because what Ralph had done to be when I reached out, but in reality, it just hurt too much to keep a relationship with them. However, I did allow them to see their grandchild when Joshua was born. I don’t have much memory in fact, bits and pieces are missing, yet what touches my heart, I remember. Good or bad.
Writing a letter in manic mode because I had not slept in 3 days. Flooding in my brain were memories of conversations I had overheard as a child. Over and over again hearing the name Barbi Christensen and never understanding why they called me that, my last name was De Coro. As a small child hiding under the dinner table during family gatherings, listening to adult conversations and clearly not understanding shit, I knew my name in those ‘talks’ had some significance, but not enough to put the pieces together. As I got older the dinner conversations ended and so did my memories, locked away forever.
I received a letter from Ralph [which I never kept because it was too painful] in response to my letter. Asking him why he didn’t take responsibility for me, why wasn’t I good enough for him, why wasn’t I part of his puzzle? He responded, “I can’t have my family know that you exist, I have a wonderful wife and 3 daughters, they must never know about you”, it’s all I can remember, because it killed me and that part of my puzzle went up in flames.
Truth: I wasn’t an accident, I was born of different blood for a reason. Granted, I’m not as smart as my siblings, and thin or pretty, but I’m different in other ways. Stronger in many ways, yet, not sure what my purpose is and should be in this life.
Once I became comfortable, as the decades passed, that he was only a tool in bringing me here, it hurt less, and yet, it hurt different. All I can surmise is that with each hurt, I grew and now have grown to see the world differently.
Our family is not close, my 5 other siblings they are close, not I, I never made that puzzle or click. I kept/keep a distance because it’s what I do, and a side effect to what I remember about my treatment, because they knew, trusting them or anyone and it’s probably something I’ll never be able to manage. I have 3 half sisters out there somewhere and wonder if I had known them, maybe it could have been different.
A year ago, I wrote a letter to Ralph, sending it to an address that I was 99% sure it was his last residence. Inside I wrote my story and the purpose of my story. I wanted them to know about the cancers and if they had any information for me as well. Considering, my 5 other half siblings didn’t have any of the cancers that I did. I enclosed a self-addressed envelope, email address, etc., in hopes that someone would reach out to me. Like I said, its been a year or so and the crickets are still chirping. I would think that even if the wrong people got the letter they would contact me back informing me that it was the wrong address, and it wasn’t ‘return to sender’ either.
My father told me before he died that Ralph committed suicide. How my father knew, no clue and some things you don’t want to know. Seriously, I already was swimming with the sharks in the sea of shit, I really didn’t need additional shit added to the sea.
Back to accidents are not real. I refuse to believe any of us are accidents, that some sort of divine purpose has been laid before us. I’m not a religious person in any faction of the belief. However, I do belief that a force bigger than us does exist and its energy based, where as, we are a piece of a bigger puzzle along with the grand scheme of things the purpose to the puzzle, well, I don’t think its been determined yet, really, it’s more of a plug and play sort of puzzle. I feel upon a quote one day that Ram Dass shared, I believe he got it from Rumi, it states, and it really hit home for me, “we’re just walking each other home”. Striking, isn’t it?
This is why when I say, I’m okay with Ralph’s decision in not taking accountability for his actions, I believe it. Not to discard the fact that I do wish at times that he had taken the time to puzzle me in and not had placed me as being the proverbial “elephant in the room” in this life and never quite fitting in to anyone’s puzzle.
ItsMeBarbi 