Your birthday is in a few short months. Your 18th birthday. I weep as I write those words.
It means you will be of legal age, an adult.
It means I have to decide: What do I do?
I wish I could read minds. I wish I knew what you wanted me to do.
Do you want me to send you a letter and let you know that I am here, always loving you, always wanting to have you in my life again? Or would a phone call be better? Or do you want me to let you make the first overtures towards rebuilding our relationship? Do you even want to rebuild a relationship with me? And how do I even explain how all of this came to be like this? Do you even want to know or are you fine in your life, knowing only what your adoptive parents have told you of me? Since you will be a legal adult, do I need to go through your adoptive parents? Or are you really an adult, independent and autonomous? Can I send letters directly to you? Friend you on Facebook? Follow you on Twitter?
Most importantly: Do you want me to?
I know what I want, but I have the feeling that this must be about what you need. After all, you were the innocent, voiceless part of this whole equation.
So my dearest Ms. Feverfew, please tell me: What do you want?