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04-04-02 - 7:25 p.m. Because it was on my mind so much, I called my biological grandparents (mom's side) from work today. Before them, though, I called my real brother, Brian. Brian said he had made a call to them months before, to introduce himself as the grandson they never really knew. He said they were very nice and seemed eager to acquaint themselves with him. So he gave me a quick "You'll be fine" pep talk, I took my lunch break, and called them on my cell. They didn't sound very old to me. Maybe that's because they're not. I got right to the point. I told them I was "expecting" and asked if there were any health risks I should know about. "How old are you? You sound 15." "I'm 18." "Very much like Ann with her first. Are you married?" "No." "Planning to marry?" "No." "Seeing someone?" "No." "Financially independent?" "Yes." "The women on this side usually have boys first." "Okay." "Usually, the babies are small. I think you weighed only five pounds." "Eight and three ounces." I was quoting my birth certificate. I was told that my mother, as a baby, was very mellow and quiet, a fast learner, and very polite. It made me feel good to hear stories about her childhood, about how for the first seven years of her life she refused to go anywhere or do anything unless her stuffed giraffe ("Hobo") was allowed to come, how she sucked her thumb, how she had bucked teeth and loved to dance and made good grades and had a bright future ahead of her. It made me feel good, but also angry that my father could have ruined such a person, and very sad that such a life had been wasted. It made me want to turn back the clock and meet this woman, this mother who had abused me and made me feel worthless, and somehow make her realize that she could have done so much better, that suicide was not the answer, that if she'd just given me the chance I would have loved to love her. The stories painted another whole side of her, made her seem real, and lovable, and I missed her. They made me feel good. But I'm sure they were better (and so much more difficult) for her parents to relate. I could hear them smile reflectively over the phone. I really didn't find out much about the physical aspects of the babies on that side of the family, but I had a good time anyway, and I think I'll call them again. And again and again. They asked me what I look like. They have no pictures of me and weren't sure I was even alive at all. So I told them I was short, with brown hair and blue eyes, almost apologetic in tone, for I know I take after my father in looks. Another good thing that happened today? Barbara took me off her block list and we had an hour-long conversation. She's unsure as to whether my having a child is such a good idea, as well she should be. She has a grown child, she knows what it's like. I still need to call Leif. I don't know why that's so hard...I guess I just don't want to hear him tell me again that he wants no part in this. But I'll do it. Soon.
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