In July 2014 I turned 30.
I hadn’t been in touch with him since a few years prior. I didn’t even know he knew how to get hold of me. As far as I was aware he didn’t. But he found me – on my 30th birthday.
And instead of celebrating during the day I was thrown into a meltdown of ‘he knows where I am’ and ‘WHY?’
Why now? Why not the many birthdays or Christmases before as he flitted in and out of my late teens/twenties?
We ended up having one or two text messages. He hasn’t been in touch since. But I knew he wouldn’t. He never does until its convenient for him.
And I’ve accepted that.
I’ve also accepted that it’s been painful.
It’s been painful to know he chose to abandon us as young children.
It’s been painful to know that subsequently the times I…
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