Thoughts Long Unspoken


I have had a recurring dream for most of my life. I shared it with my family for the first time on Christmas Eve this year. Come to find out, my dream was not a dream. It was a memory. One of the few I have of my father. I had guessed this before, though I had the place and some of the people guessed wrong. Sharing the memory was difficult for me. I was scared that if I told anyone who would remember, too, then the dream would disappear. But, the moment was enlightening. We reminisced about those loved ones long gone… My father, my aunt, my cousin. Laughing over memories with those who shared in this love was wonderful, but it brought back the nagging questions that have been in the back of my mind.

Have you ever been faced with a question that has never been answered? What about one that is so old people think you’ve forgotten? That is what is going on with me today. I have a 19 year old question that has yet to be answered. Why did this happen? Why didn’t everything get fixed? What happened to the people who caused it? Why won’t you answer my questions? I know those who hold the answers. I know who to ask. But that would be going against an unspoken code I have created for myself.

I have decided that I need to keep the code intact. Maybe it is my pride standing in my way. Either way, I have to know. I have started the process of finding out the answers to my questions. I have looked up the contacts and notified them. Now comes the worst part. Waiting. Don’t you think 19 years is long enough? But, I am patient. This is not because of morbid curiosity. This, my friends, is a primal urge. An intense fire racing through my very core. Closure. I need closure. For now, I shall wait.



One thought on “Thoughts Long Unspoken

  1. Denise

    Bri, my birth father was killed in an accident just before I was a year old. My mom remarried a year later, and my stepfather adopted me. During my early life, I understood that I wasn’t to ask too many questions. The unspoken message was that my questions hurt my mother and showed ingratitude for my adoptive father. So I was left with a big hole in my life — and a million questions — until I was about 30, when my birth father’s sister contacted me. I didn’t respond for a year, still struggling with out family “code.” When I did get in touch with her, it was tremendously liberating. For everyone. But especially for me. I can’t know what questions you need answered, but I’m so glad you’re taking this step.


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