Hello from a stranger

This past Christmas, I thought it was odd that I didn’t hear at all from B. Being very pregnant, being married, and moving on with my life, however, I didn’t think too much about it. I noted it, filed it away in my head, and focused on what I needed to—myself, my belly, my daughter, my husband, my family and lovely friends…

It’s such a conflicting bunch of emotions: you want to know that the man who fathered this beautiful little girl, the man you spent a good 6+ years with, remembers that little girl’s birthday. That it means something to him.

And at the same time, just the thought of hearing from him makes me nervous. It’s always sad to hear from him, because it’s always a confirmation of how ill he is and will continue to be.

I don’t even remember how, but somehow, B’s name came up on Saturday when we were visiting my parents.

My mom somehow explained that in December, on C’s birthday, she and my sister discovered a large box left on the front porch.  They went through it, and tossed out “the really sick items.” My mom clearly felt uncomfortable for keeping this from me, but she didn’t want to tell me because I was pregnant and yes, I feel very vulnerable when I am pregnant (as I believe I’ve documented). 

As far as I know, my parents have never kept anything from me. I was a tad annoyed that she didn’t share this with me right away, but what can I do? That’s in the past, so let me focus on the here and now. Also, as a mother, I can understand that urge to protect your child when they seem more vulnerable than usual.

Okay, to move on…

What my mom and sister got rid of, I don’t know. I do wish they hadn’t gotten rid of anything. In the closet of my old bedroom  at my parent’s house, I keep every bizarre note and present B has sent to C and to me. When/if I terminate his paternity, I plan on using these to demonstrate that he is not a fit parent. Take, for example, the fake check he sent me in 2009 with a crude phallus drawn. I think this was his “clever” or “artistic” way of saying money is a whore, or something like that. But really? And the bogus check was made out to his daughter.

Classy. Sad.

But…what they didn’t get rid of is a collection of things I haven’t fully gone through yet. I could cry in happiness for one item.

He sent me his old laptop. This was the laptop that navigated our way across the US several times. This is the laptop on which he stored all our photos and videos of baby C. I think I will go through the laptop on Friday, because it’s clear from his notes scattered amidst the other items that there’s at least a movie he thinks we should watch, as well as some music.

I’m guessing most of the music is on the iPod mini he sent. It’s pink, and it’s obviously for C. The message on the leather pouch it was in reads, “For my favourite seamen.”

Horrible pun. Horrible way to think of your daughter, although I know it’s his sick way of saying he loves her. It amazes me that I remember how his sick mind works. That I “get it”.

He did write out in other notes that he loves her, us. He sent a copy of the Velveteen Rabbit, as well as a stuffed velveteen rabbit.

I can’t help but think he’s comparing himself to the velveteen rabbit.

There’s a cabbage patch doll “of color” with a racist note saying to watch the movie on the laptop for the reference. I might give C the doll, sans note. It’s a cute baby doll.

There’s a book for me. He made notes in the margins about…well, us and how certain comments remind him of me. The book is about:

The international economic collapse. And yet the few notes in the margins I’ve read made it clear he still loves me in some way.

So…I’ve got some emotional work ahead of me. I want, obviously, to be by myself as I go through this stuff.

And then I’ll probably update here, sometime next week, about what I find…if anything…

I just really, really hope all the photos and videos are still on the laptop.