I got this from you today:

Unable to deliver

Left no forwarding address

My fiancé handed it to me saying, "Sorry, honey" – my heart sank. I shook it off for the moment but I felt like crying. I think I said, "Easy mom, easy go." I imagine you’d say something like that.

I had picked out a special piece of stationery from my box of flowered papers and unsent Birthday cards. (That's a habit I got from my mom -- buying cards before you need them.) I took it to the laundromat and tried to write but the table was shaky and I messed up a few times.

I guess it doesn't matter because it came back.

Did you know that I’m getting married? I can’t remember if I had a chance to tell you. That’s why I was writing that letter. I wanted you to come. I wanted you to feel welcome and meet my family and stand as a witness. It would be difficult but I wanted it. I really did. I still do.

I call you Laura but we know that’s not entirely accurate. It’s not like we’re friends and we’re barely acquaintances. I hesitate to call you mother and I know I can’t call you mom. Anyone can be a mother but the difficult part is being a mom. I think I was, at times, a tough kid to raise. I felt that we spoke a different language, my mom and I. We still do, in some ways, but I try to ignore the bumps and stutters. I can’t ignore them from you – everything little thing carries so much weight.

Who am I to you? Am I Nicole Marie, as you named me? Or, do you accept me as I am? I could be a friend or a stranger but I don’t really know which. I’m not that little girl you left behind. Maybe that’s what scares you. Maybe you’re not scared at all.

It was hard to search for you. I could’ve done it at 18 but I wasn’t ready. At twenty I felt it was the right time. I had to push all my fears into a small dark corner of my mind. Those fears would jump out at me from time to time but I actually welcomed that emotion. I should feel fear, shouldn’t I?

It cost $500 and I had to talk with a social worker. She told me that you might not want to see me, that you might have moved on, that you could be dead. I knew all these things and I waited. Then, one day, she gave me your name and your address and your phone number. Then those fears were real and I pushed them down. I waited and ignored the scrap with your name and number.

Then, you phoned.

We talked and I shook and I spoke with your teenage daughter, my half-sister, and later I cried. But, I shouldn’t have been afraid.

Then I wrote you a ten page letter. Ten pages typed – it was my LIFE. Maybe that was too much. Maybe I scared you. Maybe you thought you weren’t good enough. You kept me for six months. But, back then, you didn’t think you were good enough. The fact is, I just want to know you. That’s all. Don’t you want to know me?

I’ve moved three times in the past year but the forwarding addresses are there. I left a trail of bread crumbs not for the student loans or the credit card bills but for you. You have to find me now. It’s your turn to wonder. I can’t find you again. I can’t be afraid.

Yours,

Amanda