To the Father of my Husband:
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My husband was conceived in San Francisco. His mother doesn't remember much more than that due to brain damage from epileptic seizures. He will be 28 years old this October.
I am not writing to try to find you.
I am writing to let you know that he is doing fantastic and has turned into a pretty amazing human being, no thanks to you.
His mother moved to Yuba City where she gave birth to him and then over the next few years gave him a little brother and two little sisters. All the while she raised them as a single mother. She taught him to be strong and take care of his family. When she became ill he stepped up to help care for her and his siblings, who as a result are also doing very well.
I met him in High School and we have been together ever since. He's my best friend and the love of my life.
We share a small apartment in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, with a few pets and lots and lots of books.
He loves to read and research. He wants to attend college to study technical sciences and has through his own study built the computer I'm typing this on. He works harder than anyone else I have ever met. His attitude is a thing of true beauty. He smiles, he makes corny jokes, he laughs, and loves everyone. Very rarely do I hear a negative word come from his mouth. He cares for nature with great magnitude and loves his family and friends (of which he has in abundance). He treats me with the love of a magnitude immeasurable and the care of his mother has crossed over through him.
He's magnificent, and no grand gesture could ever be made to measure him.
I'm writing just to let you know, that you really missed out.
Regardless of whatever reason you had to not follow through and be with your child, I pity you.
I pity you for not witnessing his smile, hearing his voice, and laughing with him.
We make day trips into SF to enjoy the city and spend time at the beaches and just watching the people. I sometimes find myself looking around wondering if you are in the crowd. I catch myself when I realize that it doesn't matter.
He's doing just fine.
You really missed out.