Monday, 20 April 2009

I Didn't Want You

Imagine being sat in a stationary car with the windows down and other traffic whizzing past; you hear snatches of engine noise, music, horns. The day of the phone call has to be one of the most distressing days of my life and all I can remember of the conversation is snatches hurtling through my mind. Wyn had obviously reverted to furious mode and was determined not to have anything further to do with me. She started off by saying that she’d sat down to write a letter to me, the contents of which she knew I wouldn’t like, so she’d decided to ring me instead. I wasn’t feeling too good that day and was about to ask her if we could maybe talk on another day; but every time I started to speak she told me – angrily – that if I dared to interrupt her, then she would hang up on me. This seemed to be the wrong way round to me – she was cross and upsetting me, so surely it would have been my right to hang up on her?! I didn’t try to speak again because I was curious to know just why she was ringing.

‘You’re making me ill …… I didn’t want anything to do with you ….. you kept writing to me … I want to enjoy my retirement without you spoiling it …my health is suffering …. I didn’t want you …. I didn’t bond with you … and I certainly didn’t love you ….you didn’t have to be dragged from me, kicking and screaming …..I never wanted to keep you… mother has died, she’s far more important than you…..your parents must have spoilt you rotten for you to turn out so selfish….to think so much of yourself… you’re not part of my family … you never have been and you never will be ….we’re a very close family….you’re nothing to do with my family’

‘……didn’t want you … didn’t bond with you ….didn’t love you ….’

‘……didn’t want you … didn’t bond with you ….didn’t love you ….’

I managed to butt in and remind her that she’d offered to answer any questions I had, and her reply – curiously – was ‘not that sort of question’. When she had finished what I can only describe as a rant, I asked her if she’d told the other children about me, as she had promised on more than one occasion. Oh dear, off she went again. She was livid, despite us having discussed this, and her promising that she would talk to her children when the right moment arose. She’d had a year in which to find the right time, and I did have a strong instinct that these three adults should be aware that they were biologically related to someone else. Whether or not they had contact with me was completely up to them, but they should be given the choice. I suggested that I wait a few weeks and then write to them myself; this wasn’t a threat at all, I did genuinely think that it might be easier for Wyn if someone else told them and took this difficult task out of her hands. I really didn’t want to do something that Wyn didn’t approve of, and yet I couldn’t settle knowing that my biological half-siblings and I would go through life not realising each other’s existence.

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