My search for the missing link

So I started looking for my birth father this week. I haven’t had much luck. I called social services, but the whole confidentiality thing came up. Then I tried the courts, but the court case between my mom and father predated the computer system and I found out that my mom has to contact the courts because it is her file. Again the confidentiality arises. I asked my mom, but I am not sure if she is willing. Both times I asked people for information and when it was apparent that none could be given, the conversation ends with “good luck.” As if I am doing something brave and endearing, but it would be nice if someone said something other than that. However, I have found out that birth fathers are easier to find then mothers because they are not likely to change there names. No one said this was going to be easy. I sometimes wish this wasn’t a burden I had to bear. It’s not my fault but I am the one paying for it. I know my mom might take offense to this, but every time I bring up the f word she seems so indifferent followed by apologies on how she didn’t try harder, etc…

Perhaps I should go back to the beginning about how this whole journey started. The obvious would be mom meets boy, mom likes boy, mom makes sweet, sweet love to boy and then nine months later I arrive. Unfortunately, the other contribution to my DNA (because right now my father might as well be a sperm donor than an actual father) went MIA. My mom tried to tell him that she was pregnant with me but he called her a liar and broke her entire heart.

Then about 16 years ago welfare located my father and made my mom and him to court over child support. I vaguely remember talking to her about it at the time. Unfortunately, my brother who was just recently diagnosed with epilepsy and cerebral palsy was in a not so good way to so my mom skipped out of court and took Tony to the children’s hospital, leaving the link still missing. I am not angry at my mom because I am assuming it was a tough decision, but I still feel like she robbed me of a chance of at least knowing who he was. I wish I knew more than a name or how I have his curly hair.

If she only knew that sometimes if I stare into the mirror I see half of who I am missing. That for some years I used to say he was dead because people seemed to understand that better. I used to feel ashamed and angry that I didn’t know him for some reason and it was awkward as hell when people asked about my parents. Not knowing one of your birth parents is hard to explain the emptiness to ones who do. I can’t believe I wasted all these years to finally get the courage to find the missing link. It’s scary because I think I have to do it on my own.

P.S. I hope a certain someone changes his mind. :P