Sins of Sevin(99)

Anyway, you’re probably wondering how your mother and I could have given you up. It’s a very long story, one I’m not sure you’re ready for. I have no way of knowing how old you are as you read this. What I can tell you is that at the time, your mother, Evangeline, felt she had no choice. She believed that your parents would give you a better life than she ever could. I promise to explain everything to you honestly someday and answer every question you have about the circumstances that led to that decision.

Unfortunately, I didn’t find out about you until several years later – shortly before we first met at the baseball field. By that time, you were already happy and settled with your adoptive family. Your parents weren’t ready to tell you the truth, and I couldn’t in good conscience rip your world apart. That was the only reason I didn’t fight them for you, Rose. Please believe that. It had nothing to do with not wanting you. I fought long and hard with my decision.

I need you to know that from the first moment I discovered your existence, I fell hopelessly in love with you. Not a day has gone by or will go by when I’m not thinking about you and wishing we could be together. I will pray every day that you come back to me when you’re old enough to decide whether that’s what you want. Please don’t be mad at Evangeline for deciding to give you up. She loves you very much, too.

I gave your mother, Genia, a ring to go along with this letter. It was my mother’s wedding ring. You were named after her—your grandmother Rose. Actually, you look exactly like her because, well, you look just like me. Every time I was supposed to give the ring to someone, something happened to prevent it. That’s probably because it was never meant for anyone but you. I hope you get to wear it and that it reminds you of how much you are loved.

I’m so proud of you, Rose. If I never accomplished another thing in this life, that would be good enough for me. Because you are my greatest accomplishment. Your existence is enough to make me glad that I was born. I spent a lot of my early life wondering about my purpose for being alive. That’s a story for another day, too. I hope we get that day, but the choice is yours, my precious girl.

This letter was not meant to upset you. And you certainly don’t have to see me or Evangeline if you don’t want to. (Your mother and I got back together around the time you moved away.) Just know that we love you and always will. Our address is: 11 Briar Road in Dodge City, Kansas. I don’t plan to ever move, because I want you to always be able to find me. Till that day comes…I love you.



--Dad (or Sevin…whatever you prefer.)



Wiping my eyes, I refolded the letter for the umpteenth time and placed it back inside the envelope. Reading it never got easier. The most telling part was the fact that the blue ballpoint ink over the last few sentences was smeared. It looked like it had been hit by water and made me wonder if a teardrop had fallen from his eye toward the end, landing on those words.

I’d had a lot of time to rehash everything in the letter over the past few months. He was probably right. If my parents had told me that I wasn’t really their biological child back when I was five, it would have devastated me. My sisters, Janelle, Cassie and Trinity, were my entire world. Even though we were inseparable, I’d always felt different as it was, because of my darker features. So, to have found out back then that I truly wasn’t related to them would have wrecked me. I might not have been emotionally mature enough to really understand or accept it.

That’s not to say that finding out at sixteen was all that much easier. It wasn’t entirely clear to me why sixteen was the magic number for them. My parents sat me down alone one night after my softball game and told me everything. I hadn’t even changed out of my uniform.

My sisters had later entered the room together as if on cue and joined in on the conversation after the shock wore off a bit. It had all seemed so surreal. At the same time, the inexplicable feeling of incompleteness that I’d carried around my entire life now made total sense.

There was no doubt about the fact that my childhood was blessed. After my father took the job in Oregon, things got easier for our family. We moved into a bigger house, into a great neighborhood. It was the perfect all-American upbringing. Yet, something unidentifiable always seemed to be missing. Maybe, I couldn’t identify it because it was coming from deep within my soul.

The night of my parents’ revelation, my mother walked into my bedroom holding an envelope and a small blue box. She explained that the items were from my birth father and asked if I wanted her to stay in the room while I read the letter. I preferred to process it alone, so she left.