a new chapter

The man who gave me half of my chromosomes is dying.

Today I went to his birthday celebration. I didn't really say much to him. Happy Birthday, its good to see you, all those surface level things we say. He is my brothers' father. I haven't spoken to him since I was pregnant with Brooklyn. It wasn't a good conversation. I was very reluctant about going to his birthday celebration, on my dad's actual birthday no less. My brothers wanted me to go, and so I went.

I could try to explain to you the story of how I began, it would leave you more confused. I could try to explain how I came to know he was my biological father, but it doesn't matter. It is my life and I don't get it- I could never expect anyone else to. To be clear, I have a dad. He raised me from the moment I was born. He is my dad and I am his daughter and although we don't share a genetic code, what we have goes much deeper than that. I thank God for my dad every day.

When I walked up to Gregg, I was shocked at how thin he was. There wasn't much more to him then bones and skin, and seeing him was like a blow to the chest. It is one thing to know someone is terminally ill, it is another to see their illness killing them. With a smile he said, "Now there is a familiar face." I gave him a half hug and told him happy birthday.

I was thirteen when paternity was determined. It was an awful time. I didn't really want to know, I felt like I had a father and that was all that mattered. I didn't know what difference it made, either way. After finding out the results, I was immediately thrown into an additional family. He wanted me to call him dad. He bought things at Christmas and tried to teach me how to oil paint while standing over my shoulder. I think he was disappointed at my efforts. He talked about how sometimes talking to me was just like talking to my mother. I think he might have made an appearance at some program in high school. When I got pregnant my senior year, he wasn't happy about it. He was especially unhappy about the fact that my baby was biracial. Someday I will share the story of how Brooklyn began. After that conversation, I told myself I would never see him and he would never see my baby. Every time I was around him or had a conversation with him, I felt conflicted. I couldn't be or act the way he wanted me to, in my heart and mind I already had a father. I went into the situation with ill feelings because of the way he had treated my mother. That's another song. It just never really felt right.

I had been dreading this evening. I knew I needed to go. He had become so malnourished that they stopped the chemotherapy, feeling his poor nutrition was a greater threat to his life than the cancer. I wanted to go for my brothers. It was actually my half sister who threw the party, and she did a wonderful job. She is the oldest, my oldest brother is 36. I don't know much about that situation, just that she was born before my mom and Gregg were together and she was put up for adoption. After many rejected attempts, she was finally able to grow a relationship with Gregg. I think what they have is something special. I admire her, and I think for a brief moment tonight I actually looked at her and saw my sister. It was a little weird.

There was a lot of family, all of which told me they were so glad that I came. I was glad too. I don't know what I was so afraid of. There was one of those big blow up jump around things for the kids, and Brooklyn just played played played. Most everyone just couldn't get enough of Charlie. I was uneasy most of the time, and I didn't really know what to think or feel. The whole family has always referred to Gregg as my dad and even tonight when speaking to Brooklyn they referred to him as grandpa. She just met him for the very first time this evening, and then people are telling her he is grandpa! I didn't know what to do, and I just let everything unfold. Brooklyn didn't really ask questions. It was like she knew I was uneasy and having a hard time.

It was time to sing the song and blow the candles. Family and friends gathered under a tent with pretty lights, and it was nice. They sat the cake before him. Then it hit me. I started to cry. I wondered what it must feel like to be blowing out the candles of a birthday cake for what would probably be the last time. I wondered what it would be like to know that this would probably be the last birthday. I was singing happy birthday and crying for a man I didn't really know, that without which I would not exist. I have been angry with him for so long, and tonight I let it go. When I smiled at him, it was genuine. When I hugged him, I meant it. When I cried, I cried for him. And despite what had been said, I introduced my daughters to him with all the pride a heart can carry. One with curly brown hair and dark eyes, with the most perfect color of skin- one with big blue eyes and blond hair and a sweet shyness about her. I had a hard time looking at him. It hurt just to look at him.

As we were leaving we made our way up the deck stairs. Brooklyn was ahead of Charlie and I. I was saying goodbyes and I noticed Brooklyn at the top of the stairs with Gregg. It was dark and I didn't want her to be uncomfortable and I didn't know what was going on so I hurried up the stairs. Gregg was hugging her tightly. I knew he was saying something to her but I couldn't hear. I told him goodbye and eventually we made it to our car. I was hurting in all kinds of ways, and some had nothing to do with the events of the evening. I was ready to go home. I asked Brooklyn what that man said to her. She said, "Oh, the one who was hugging me?"

"yes, did he say something to you?"

"Yeah, he just told me that I was the most beautiful girl in the whole world."

I smiled and secretly cried. I think he meant it.

That was the best gift he has ever given me. There is nothing better that he could have said. I love him for saying that. I love him because I am part of him. I love him because I am tired of hating him. I love him because I don't have much longer.

He will die soon. I will live on. My brothers and sister will too. And while none of us really know or understand the story, we are parts of the story nonetheless. I am starting to understand more and more that the ones who wrote the story before us are still writing it today. My mom was molded by parents that were molded by their parents. My brothers and I raise our children based on what we have been taught, or learned, from our parents. We are all a part of this grander plan, this intricate story of love and pain, of human-ness. We all need God. And every single day, we all get to write the story with Him.

I hope that I can learn some really great things about the man who gave me half of my chromosomes. I plan to spend all the time I have left loving, despite differences. And I am going to love my daughters every single day, the best that I can, because I can. Because I have time and I don't know when it will be over. Every birthday I will blow out the candles with sheer joy. I will thank God for every single day. I will write with intention my story, and their stories, and subsequently their children's stories. The older I get, the more I realize that it isn't so much how the story begins or how it ends, its all the space in between. I need not know the story of how I began, or of how I will end. The substance is in the space between. That is what matters.

I am alive. My life is a story co-written by the greatest author of all. He knows my beginning and my end, and He knows the beautiful in between. Let this be known to all the world: the most beautiful parts of my story are my two daughters, Brooklyn and Charlotte. They are the very best parts of me, of anything I shall ever do, or say, or be. It matters not how they began, it only matters that they are.

To my...Gregg,
Thank you for playing a role in the beginning of my story. Thank you for letting me play a role in the ending of yours.
Love Always,
Kali