(A continuation of this post - A tie that binds (PI))

In my mother's belongings, I found a letter that my father had written to my mother with the card he had written to me. He had not been very kind to her.  Bitter is a good word to describe the tone... but of course he had good reason.  The letter was typed, which I found odd.  At the bottom was his work address and his work number.  To me that meant write me, but let's be discreet about it.

That letter was over ten years old.  And by taking a stab at his age, even if he was the same age as my mom, I could only assume that he was no longer working there.

But it was the only address I had; my only lead if you will.  So, around Christmas time, I mailed him a Christmas card with a photo of my two kids.  On the back I wrote that they were the grand kids of my mother (whose name I wrote in initials) and that she had passed away.  I wished him a Merry Christmas and a happy new year and I put my mailing address and my phone number on it.  I figured, if I wrote it in code, he'd understand but it wouldn't mean much if it ended up in the wrong hands.

I sent it knowing it may never reach him.  The logical side of me did not expect a reply.  After all, I have no idea how mail works in a third world country but I can only imagine they do not have mail fraud laws like we do here.  Anybody could just open it or toss the thing in the trash.  I felt it was a huge leap of faith to even send it in the first place.  But there it was, out there.

And, in the back of my mind, the little girl who wondered about her father, waited for a response.  Three weeks later, a letter arrived.

To be continued sometime this week... (continuation is here).