Constantly Composing

I am plagued by an inner monologue of constant correspondence. When I was younger I spent alone time pretending to be doing television shows and giving instructions to large groups. I taught people to put on make-up, shave their legs, make toast, etc. Whatever I was doing became an instructional session. Today my thoughts are writing letters, emails, and blogs. Yesterday, in the shower, I wrote a letter to a high school friend, and today while I was sweeping our bedroom, I wrote a letter to Anara's birthmom. I have written numerous letters to our local grocery store, the city on behalf of our neighborhood, my daughters, the local library, my husband, parents, grandparents, friends, strangers, agencies, foreign countries, thank-you's to police officers, ..... The tragedy is that I never actually write anything. I have all these grand ideas and great words that never see paper or computer. I wonder how much impact some of these could have - maybe not as much as I imagine. I could never actually send as many emails/letters as are in my brain, but I certainly could send a few.

Lots of things keep me from writing these letters: time, energy, the fact that it never sounds as good on paper as it did in my head, and worrying about people's responses. Worrying over responses and how I will be interpreted is definitely prohibiting my letter writing. For example, would the cashier at the grocery store, whose line I always try to go to, think I was a freak for writing her a note? Would the company really make any changes to the store if I reported on good/bad things I observe? Would my high school friend forgive the fact that I never took the time to be a good friend and call regularly? I am not sure why these letters are in my head (some days my head fills with post ideas for the blog that never ever appear), and I am not sure what I should do with them. Maybe I don't need to do anything with them and this is how my brain processes, but where did the random high school friend come from? I think some should definitely be written and I am constantly making a goal for myself of letter writing - the real kind with postage.

The letter that I am most often writing and rewriting is a letter to Anara's birthmom. I write and write and write. I tell her all about Anara: how she is growing, what she likes to do, how well she speaks, how funny she is, the way she smiles, how she loves Violet, that she is better now, and that her mom made the right decision for her daughter. I know that if Anara had been born "perfect" she wouldn't be part of our family (we weren't the next family in line for a beautiful baby girl)? Would her mom have parented her or would she still not have had the resources available to keep her healthy and alive? In Anara's case she probably felt she didn't have a choice. Anara's birth defect was significant and there wasn't really a doctor or hospital specialized enough to care for her properly. It is incredible that Anara lived at all. Her urologist said that Anara must have the right "protoplasm". I would like to tell Anara's birthmom how clever she is and also of her stubbornness. It is probably her stubbornness and determination that kept her living (at least that is what I tell myself when I am frustrated).

We have a document that gives a name for the birthmother and birthfather. I have no idea whether it is correct, but at least they are names. Maybe someday Anara will be able to locate her birthparents with these names. Sometimes I wonder if I should try to do this for her, but then I think maybe it should be Anara's decision. I am not really sure how I feel. I think that if I were the birthmom I would love to know that my child was well and loved, but I don't know her circumstances and would not want to compromise the life she is living or cause pain. I think that someday I will write this letter - even if just to hold on to it.