Happy February!!

You may know about NaBloPoMo.  It stands for National Blog Posting Month.

The purpose is to commit to posting every day for a month.  Each month, you are given a theme.  This month's theme (February) is TIES.

It just so happens that I have some things going on in my life right now that apply... so I've decided to sign-up.

Here is the first installment - I'm calling it - A tie that binds.  When you see the category "A tie that binds," you'll know it's a continuation of this story.  I will try my best to post daily on some type of TIES theme.

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When I was just a kid my mother made the decision to pack me up from everyone I had ever known and move to the United States; the land of milk and honey. 

Her sister was here.  Her mother was here.  She believed we had nothing left in Bolivia.

She neglected to ask me how I felt about leaving my father behind.  If she did ask me, I don't recall.

I'm guessing it was a bad breakup because she told him to bugger off and never contact her or her daughter again.  The man, dutifully obliged. 

I spent the next twenty plus years with feelings ranging from hatred to abandonment and even resentment. 

Now that I'm a parent, I can only imagine my husband listening to me if I told him to bugger off and never try to contact his kids.  There'd surely be hell to pay...

But, it was a different time and my father, a different person.  He had a new wife to tend to and he knew that I would be fine; being that I'd be in the United States and all. 

Growing up, I rarely spoke of my father... I never suggested he might be dead or anything so final, but I also didn't daydream of him coming to get me either.  I never once felt the need to contact him.  Perhaps my mother's slighted feelings had transferred to me; who knows...
In this way, I allowed my mother to justify her actions.

When I graduated from college though, for some reason, my mother wrote to my father, sending him a photo of me in a graduation gown.  I believe she asked me first (fine time to start asking me my opinion).  I knew the action was more about her than about me though, so I agreed.

My mother showed me the congratulatory card he sent but she did not give it to me to keep nor did she give me a way to contact him.  And for some reason, I again respected her decision to keep me away from my father (who was clearly interested in some type of contact).  And that was that.

My mother died two years ago.  At the time of her death, I didn't even consider my father; I was so bereft by the whole incident.  But a few months ago, I realized that communication with my father might be possible.  I realized that I hadn't pursued him for her sake; odd as that sounds... but now, things were different.

I evaluated my feelings for him.  I certainly didn't hate him... how could I hate someone I didn't know?  I didn't love him either... how could I love someone I didn't know?  But I definitely wanted to get to know him...

So, I went on a mission.  I looked for him.  I asked long lost relatives if they could help me find an address for him.  But they were not very helpful.  I asked my aunt.  She admitted to never even having met the guy!  I did online searches, to no avail.  And finally, I thought of just looking through my mother's effects.  My aunt had given me a box of photos, letters, and other sentimental documents that had been my mother's.  Frankly, I was surprised my aunt had not tossed the entire kit and caboodle in the trash.

What do you supposed those artifacts contained?  Stay tuned to find out... (continuation is here).