Life has a way of sneaking up on you...
Three weeks ago Wednesday I gave my contact information to a social worker from ISS who's tone voiced a stress from a caseload obviously greater than her level of organization allowed. I was told that my info would be forwarded along to my birth mother and a two week time frame should be expected because, even in this day of immediate gratification and instant messaging, some organizations still love to use snail mail. Makes sense, right? I mean, why rush things...
Two weeks is a long time to wait, especially when everyday can bring a call, a letter or an e-mail. Making the cold walk out to the mailbox every day takes on a little more meaning, the hope of a letter from an unknown address giving way to the reality of a stack of daily junk and bills. Checking my e-mail became an almost hourly obsession, my mind an expanse of thoughts I seemingly no longer had control over.
The Wednesday that marked two weeks came and went, feeling more like a hump day than ever before. Week three brought with it my birthday, that Tuesday coming and going, the storybook wish of a Happy Birthday from a couple I only knew from forgotten memories and infant eyes never coming. It had been on my mind every day, the thoughts of who they were, what they were doing and how their lives had been constantly nagging at my brain.
The following day marked three weeks, a time frame short in reality and in comparison to a lifetime, yet painfully lengthened from the constant analysis of info and data I did not have but that my brain was more than willing to create. My thoughts wore at me, causing me to walk through life, not quite a zombie but similar in gait and mental capacity. Work, the fun and simple task of organizing soccer games and playing, was no longer easy, the simplicity replaced by a focus not on the world around me, rather on the one raging in my head.
Every Wednesday I stop off in the office to check e-mails and to flirt with our secretary, Natalie, a cute little Polish blond who is as charming in her wit as she is efficient in her organizational skills (maybe I should recommend her to the ISS...). My office is more of a cubby, a shared space with five other instructors that houses a couple of desks and one decrepit computer. The computer allows me access into my Hotmail account but seldom into my messages. It becomes almost comical, me hitting refresh so often in the hope that I could confuse the computer long enough for it to forget its antiquity and allow me access to my coveted messages.
This Wednesday was like every other, the battle raging on between man and machine, not quite a sci-fi channel worthy tale, but a struggle nonetheless. Upon logging in I immediately noticed that this Wednesday was to be different as my inbox contained an e-mail from a Candice Johnson, the same case worker who three weeks ago had promised competence. Of course machine again won and, with a mind flush with thoughts so vast and numerous that my train of thought felt like it had been boarded and robbed, I shuffled over to Natalie to ask if I could borrow hers for a minute. Looking at me a bit quizzically (I guess my blank stare was different from the one she was accustomed to) she reminded me of my old workstation, the office computer tucked away in the corner.
Quickly I logged in again and opened the e-mail, a small victory for humanity. I half expected a letter of apology, an e-mail explaining that my parents had died in some freak car accident, unbelievably, the e-mail contained no explanation, instead Candice was asking me again for my okay to pass along my contact information. Did we not have this conversation three weeks ago wherein I verbally gave her the okay, even told her it was preferred? It seems her lack of organizational skills had affected her capacity for simple tasks or the recollection of conversations of importance (though I do realize that my level of importance and hers probably varies a little)...
I wrote a hasty response, struggling against my anger to make sure I refrained from any salty language that may have further held up my case and expected to hear back some days later.
Remember that adage about life and sneaking....
My Wednesdays end at four, the last bowling class shuffling off to the remainder of their day, leaving me to exhale and enjoy the reprieve 16 hours of freedom allows. Normally I stop off in town for an early dinner, opting usually for a tasty sandwich from my favorite shop but this Wednesday I headed straight home, the daily obsession of checking my e-mail tugging at my thoughts. I turned on my computer and logged into Hotmail, expecting the normal box full of junk and daily questions about club soccer that usually flood my account. I was wrong.
The first e-mail in my inbox was from a Laura Fiske. Simple as that. Opening it was a surreal experience to be sure, I found out quickly that no matter how much intellectual understanding I possessed, the simple task of reading an e-mail suddenly lost all simplicity. The message was short and sweet, "I don't know where to start... really wanted to call first but thought this better...." Then I noticed the area code on the phone number included...
They live in Portland, OR. Actually in Tigard... Little town no more than an hour north of where I live....
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