Dear You,
I won’t put your name out here for the world to see, but you know who you are. She’s eight now. Eight! Can you believe it? Eight years ago, we brought home a dark-haired, blue-eyed baby girl the day before Mother’s Day in 2011. That day, you were Dad of the Year! I mean it sincerely, because for that one year, that’s exactly what you gave her.
But after we split, and you moved back home, that was the end of it. I never kept her from you—our legal papers wouldn’t have allowed it, even if I had wanted to. You knew my phone number, my address, your family knew them too. Yet none of you cared. You told everyone I was keeping her from you, but you didn’t bother to show up to your scheduled visitations. Your family never called.
In seven years, your family has seen her exactly twice. The last time was almost six years ago. You haven’t seen her in over five and a half years, maybe closer to four now. You let girlfriends, friends, hunting, and every other priority come before her. You had plenty of chances. You would cry and beg to see her, we would make arrangements, and then you either wouldn’t show, or you would—always two, sometimes three hours late, every single time.
The last time you saw her, it had been about six months. You brought your now-fiancé, and neither of you understood why Brodeigh didn’t act excited. Did you really expect a three-and-a-half-year-old to run to a stranger with open arms? Did you think she’d want to ride in the car with you immediately? You didn’t know what she liked, didn’t know she loved cheese sticks, didn’t know half the things that made her who she is. You were a stranger to her, and somehow, that surprised you.
I’ve heard that you are a phenomenal father to your son now, that you and your family are there for birthdays, holidays, first days of school, t-ball games, graduations, weddings, the whole lifetime of milestones. That’s wonderful, truly. But how did you choose one child over the other? If I could ask you one question, that would be it. Did someone give you an ultimatum? Does anyone even ask about my daughter?
She is extraordinary. Her hair is long and light now, so different from the day we brought her home. Her eyes are crystal blue, dotted with the cutest freckles. She’s petite, curious about science, loves reading and music, and just got a huge opportunity to model for a well-known children’s clothing brand! How could anyone not want to be part of her life? I am grateful for every second I get with her.
She never asked much about her lack of a father. She never seemed to notice. She would bring little gifts to me and my dad (her Granbodie) on Father’s Day. I took her hunting and fishing. She sat in my lap and “drove” my Jeep around the yard. I did it all. I went to every doctor’s appointment, school function, birthday party, holiday gathering—I played both roles.
The day you signed your rights over, your fiancé holding your hand, I was a mix of relief and fury. I couldn’t believe how calm and casual you were, laughing as if it was no big deal. My husband and I watched in disbelief. How could it be so easy for you to give up an amazing child? Did it not occur to either of you that the roles could have been reversed? That day, by signing away your rights, you gave her a chance at a life full of love and stability—and I am thankful for that.
I have saved every single cellphone I’ve owned over the last seven years. Every text, every paper, every document that could ever apply to us is saved. One day, she may ask questions, and I will be ready to answer them honestly, openly, and with love.
Thank you. Thank you for giving me such a sweet and unique child. Thank you for allowing my husband to adopt her. That choice changed everything for the better. She is happy, loved, and chosen every single day. My husband chose to love her, to be everything you didn’t want to be. And because of that, she will never feel the absence of a father she doesn’t know.
Sincerely,
Me
