To My Son’s Birth Dad:
We have not met yet. I add the word “yet” with caution for my heart as well as my son’s: What if we never have the privilege of meeting you? The sadness that wells in my soul when I recognize the possibility that we may never meet you, in flesh or virtually, grieves me in a way I never saw coming.
It’s difficult for me to imagine my son one day having to process that reality, possibly more than once.
You see, you are a missing puzzle piece to my son’s identity.
I fear I will not have the privilege of knowing that part of him. Your part. You. What afflicts me more is the likelihood that my son won’t know that missing piece. He more than likely will wonder about you as the days inch by and the years fly. It is likely that he will ask questions that I cannot answer. He may want to reach out to you, and I anxiously wonder if there will be silence.
I don’t want silence. But this isn’t about me, is it?
What I crave is for our son to have the opportunity to know he is whole and wholly loved. If that means contacting you, meeting you and any biological family through you, I pray for the opportunity and will do everything I can to make arrangements. I dream of a beautiful and redeeming reunion, not one of awkwardness and rejection.
There have been a few pictures passed our way with your face on them. Seeing your face was like being given a small treasure, a glimpse into what my son’s features may resemble but also having a face to put with the name of my son’s birth father. You are handsome, just like my son.
His skin browns beneath the sun’s warmth, his hair slowly curling into wires, his nose widely set like a button, his lips so juicy and kissable, and his brown eyes? Don’t get me started on the sparkly almonds that they are. You have given him the racial identity as that of a Person of Color, you have passed along your beautiful blackness.
I have made notes in his baby book of the charming characteristics passed to him from you but I crave for him to see you face to face one day. Wouldn’t you wonder about your birth family and identity too?
I do not know what hobbies you have, where you live, if you chew gum or not. I do not know if you enjoy fishing, reading, or sunny days versus snowy days. Do you love a good cup of coffee? Do you have a family? Do you have people in your life that care about you, I mean truly and deeply care about you? Are you alone? Are you surrounded by people but somehow still feel lonely?
These are a few of the questions I have for you, but in all honesty above all of the questions, I wish I could tell you that our family desires to know you and we want you to know our son. Not a pretend-facade you, but you. Whoever you are and however your life is unraveling, whether it be “perfect” or far from it.
I have been told that you know about the sweet boy of ours who shares your DNA, and I wonder, do you think about him? We think about you.
You wear skin so dark, I often pray for your safety, wondering about your experiences with the pressure this country places on you. I wonder if you care that we are white and our son is brown, if you care that we are going to mess up and fail to fully understand what it means to wear color on our skin and texture in our hair. I want you to know we are trying. We are studying and researching and diversifying our community. We are working really hard to intentionally build relationships and listen to the experiences of People of Color. Our heart craves to give our son as much as we can and we know that our love is not enough, which is where community steps in.
But sometimes I wonder if we might one day have the privilege of adding you to our community, even if from across the nation.
I do not foresee connecting with you anytime soon, but I do hold onto the hope of “one day.”
Though we do not know you, we love you. You are half of our son’s biological makeup and that is something we cannot ignore.
Praying for you always,
A Mama who loves her son