To Papa, with Love.

I have a paper to write, but I can’t seem to find focus on statistics and APA formats.My heart has so much to say. For people like me. People who are different, or a term I heard today that rang true, “irregular family.”
I am irregular family. I come with an explanation. This is for those of us with irregular stories. Some one has to say the hard things. I’ll do it…. for your sake. For healing hearts sake. 

Today I went to the funeral of my biological grandfather. I was just at this same church for another funeral several months prior for a biological grandmother. 
She was the one who told us, (well not me. I was a fetus) that we would all be ok. And we are. We are ok. That’s why I am OK with sharing this because irregular is OK too. We live in a world full of irregular. 
All parents are faced with hard choices. I’m a parent now. My every day is over analyzing my choices as a parent. Most choices I make are shots in the dark. Vaccinate or not vaccinate? Homeschool, public school or private? What type of discipline to use? Organic or boxed Mac & Cheese? Am I failing my children!?
If you are a parent you get this. We don’t know what we are doing. Our parents lied to us and were exceptional fakers. They made it look easy. 
My Papa was faced with hard choices as a parent and I am one of them. I am one of the “Andreas”. 
Yes. There are two of us. Same name. I am one of of two irregular family members. 
As my sister Teague coined, when she was a wee lass full of child honesty, to her nurse as she was about to get her tonsils out, “This is my big sister. She was adopted out.”
Adopted out.
We find JOY and CeLEBRATION to being adopted in, but to my little sister, and to my biological families, I was adopted out. 
There is pain on the other side of adoption and it deserves to be noticed, talked about and processed. It’s valid.
My Papa had to make a hard choice that would affect the direction my life,among others, would go. 
I have faced the reality of his own pain for three years now.
From the moment he didn’t remember who I was and I saw it. I saw the pain of a parent who didn’t know what to do and knew that he was wading in an area of grey that had no easy outcome.
I knew that would be the last time I saw him.
(I didn’t disappear. I walked away on purpose. )
I could be mad. I have every right to be. To get angry. To shout. To blame him. To take this to my own grave.
But there has been enough anger. There have been enough lies. There has been enough negative.
The buck stops here. With me.
I think the last word this world will hear will be the voice of the Lord shouting across the nations saying, “Enough.” Then the peace we all have been searching for will come.
Enough.
I will choose peace. My faith asks me to.
I will choose to forgive him. It’s easier now that I am a parent.
I will choose to love him. He made it easy.
I will choose to remember his hugs, which always seemed to last just a second longer than they normally should. As if to say, “I love you. I’m sorry.”
It probably hurt a little to see me now and then… as older parents tend to do, he probably reflected on his wins and losses as a parent. I am watching my adoptive parents do this too as they age.
Papa, I want you to know that I am a win. I always was in the win category. No matter where I would have ended up, I was a product of love, including yours.
And I am sure, when she saw you for the first time last Sunday, Mary Lou gave you a little nudge and said, “I told you they would be OK.”
We are OK.
We are OK because of you.
I miss you Papa.
*Photo is from our wedding taken by Grandson Casper.

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