Truth is, you could’ve done better. Like significantly better. But you made it clear what your priorities were and equally evident that we weren’t apart of that world. You adapt, react and then readapt. Never staying in one place for too long in fear that your secrets would come tumbling down on you. The bones in your closet would resurrect themselves and take on a new life, that you’ve already chosen over us. It wasn’t premeditated, but your intentions were evident. We didn’t matter. None of us did.
Truth is, you could’ve tried harder. I don’t think it’s an unreasonable request coming from someone who shares half your DNA. You could’ve been more present. It didn’t always have to be an “us versus them” narrative that plagued our existence. But it was, because it was easier to create just enough of a divide to make it uncomfortable. In an instant, we faded into the background while your new life faded towards the foreground. Digitally forgotten about on Facebook. One non-biological unofficial “step” daughter unknowingly yet effortlessly replaced the four biological kids. It wasn’t her fault, she was young and was not doing it purposely or vindictively.
Truth is, we were yours. All four of us. Somehow in the transfer of power between background and foreground we became unimportant. Shamefully, instead of challenging it, I conditioned myself to tolerate it. I didn’t realize how destructive it was until it didn’t matter. Somehow, I let enough time pass while naively forgiving and disregarding the past. I fall into a consistent cycle of rationalizing behaviors that aren’t normal but if it keeps enough peace to have a weekly dinner or breakfast, it’s enough. Only to walk away feeling more empty then I did before. Truth is, we could’ve been yours the way it was meant to be.