Mar
17
I forgot. I can’t believe I forgot, even after all this time. The anniversary of The Call came and went, and I meant to write about it – and I forgot. Damn. I think it was sometime this past week, while my parents were here; which means I wouldn’t be writing about it just then, but still.
It was such a beautiful day, too. One of those supernaturally beautiful days. The kind where everything is in hyper-focus, almost glowing. Completely without any chemical aids at all, I might add. I remember I was happy, too. Truth to tell, I don’t have a lot of happy days in my life. I’ve always been drawn to the “Goth thing” not just because of my endless fascination with the morbid side of things, but because I’m not a happy, upbeat person by nature. There are three or four events that stand out – the day I met my now-ex girlfriend, the day I met my now-husband, the day my elementary school almost burned to the ground (true), and the day we got The Call.
I walked around that morning, grinning like the village idiot to everybody I met. Hung out at some of my favorite haunts downtown. Drove back home with that same stupid-assed smile plastered to my face.
When I got home, there was a message on the voicemail. It was from our social worker, calling with yet another referral (in total, we had 5, including our failed adoption). She was cheerful, but hesitant at the same time. I listened as she read off the facts, which I won’t bore you with here. We talked later, and we agreed to meet her birthfamily at another time. We had no idea what would happen next – but it was such a beautiful day.
