Letting Go

If I had to count the number of people over the years who said they would always be there for me and then failed to do so, I know I would run out of both fingers and toes to count on.  This sometimes makes me wonder if it's me that's failing and not everyone else.  It seems like everyone has let me down at some point - but am I really the one letting people down?

I ran across a letter from my former stepmother while I was digging for a copy of my birth certificate.  I've had this letter since I was about fourteen years old and I'm now twenty-seven.  It's creased from too many readings, the paper soft and stained with what looks like coffee or dark tea.  One corner of the paper is missing, torn away at some point to jot a note down.

I don't remember when she gave it to me.  One of my last memories of her is of packing boxes.  Her friend, Jeff, was there to help.  They were talking badly about my daddy, their voices lowered.  Jeff blamed my daddy and, it felt, me for the separation.  But my stepmother's letter states:

I want you to know that what has happened between me and your dad has nothing to do with you.  I'm telling you this because I know lots of kids blame themselves when things like this happen, and this isn't your fault at all.  This is strictly between me and your dad.  No one, and I repeat, no one else can be blamed but us.

So why then was I also abandoned?  It's been approximately thirteen years and I still can't answer that question.  I think it's partly because I got scared and a little freaked out when she told me she'd always thought of me as a sister, that day in the parking lot overlooking her dentist's office.  But I'm not sure.

One thing she said has always, and will always, stick with me.

Never doubt yourself.  You are intelligent, beautiful, and witty, she wrote.

Those words still have the power to break me into tears.  In my way, I hope she's proud.