silentlylost's Diaryland Diary

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The Little Princess

Lately things have been so hard to keep track of. Like the world is trying to secretly plot against me. And although coming to Maine was meant more so as a way to stop facing reality-- I've had to face it in my place of sanctuary even moreso. And that's a terrible feeling.
For those of you who know me, my biological father has always been a hidden and shadowed part of my life. In all reality, he was nothing more than a sperm donor. But for the most part, I've always had a secret curiosity that lingered from within. I wanted see the man that made me into the flesh & bone I am today. It's natural under all circumstances, I think. Despite that the man he was when I was born, was not really a man at all.
I had spoken with my mother about it on the drive to Maine. How I was honestly curious and I wanted to know more about him. [ There had been an agreement in my family that I would not know anything about him and his whereabouts until I was eighteen. ] That I felt I was mature enough to handle whatever had happened and whatever future that this curiosity pushed me into. My mother agreed with me and shortly after our discussion-- I turned sixteen. Therefore legal enough in my mother's eyes at that time to inquire about my fathers whereabouts.
It started with a modest phone call to my biological grandmother [ who I used to only have correspondence through written letter with. ] and I filled in the normal grand daughter things. School. Life. Birthday. What not. Then I handed the phone to my mother and had her speak to my grandmother. Tell her I was ready. [ My mom knows nothing about my father's whereabouts either. It was my grandmother who kept intouch with him and was our connection. ] My mother and her spoke for quite sometime. And I knew it wasn't going to be good.
The outcome was worse than what I was prepared for.
Thirteen years ago, my step father wanted to adopt me. But in order to do that, my biological father [ Craig Dumont ] would have to reliquish whatever parental rights of his that were legal at the time. He refused-- and was prepared to fight for it. My biological grandmother finally convinced him that it was for the better. That he wasn't prepared to raise a child-- let alone even get himself out of jail completely yet. [ He was out on bail at the time. ] So he agreed, angrily. And furiously told my grandmother, that if he did it-- he never wanted to speak about it again. He never wanted to see me again. He wanted nothing more to do with it.
So this was the other half of the story I heard today.
It hurts me so much, on so many levels.
I was only three. What choice did I have to make?
Or even further, why did he or my mother make any decisions for me.
MY DECISIONS! THEY WERE MINE.
I spent a lot of today in bed crying. I haven't quite figured out what I'm going to do. Or when the world is going to stop trying to drop the floor from under me.
When I was younger, I used to dream that my biological father was some rich man [ Ever watch `the little princess` ? ] who had forgotten me. I was the little orphan who was left without a daddy. I was waiting for him to just remember me one day. Sweep me into his arms and apologize. Let me cry on his shoulder and assure him that it was alright. Papa still had his little angel. And all would be well.
I believed that foolish dream well past my childhood into my sixteenth birthday. My imagination kept it living. I realized today. My imagination died the moment I heard my mother tell me, my father never wanted to hear from me again. A harsh set of words that were uttered thirteen years ago-- killed my imagination and ability to dream.
Papa isn't coming home.
He wants nothing to do with his little princess.
How my heart aches.
Courtney

9:22 p.m. - Thursday, Jul. 07, 2005

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