synthaetic synapse

…the more changed by them I become. Or more properly, the more a certain level abstraction becomes more prevalent in my life.

The Elder and Unknown is no longer Unknown to me. “Elder and Unknown” was always a bit of a misnomer anyway, because I have been very aware of who she was and how she’s been doing, through her contact with my mother, and over the past year, with the Spouse Unit and even #1 Son. But, she contacted me directly yesterday, and so now I need to think of another way to refer to her without saying her name.

{I can’t refer to her as the Prodigal Daughter (although it oddly came to mind), because I don’t like the biblical reference, and it would be a misattribution because she never left me (it was the other way around). Other appellations that immediately came to mind are identifiable as unkind towards her mother, and while the typical male tendency to think of things that way is irrefutable, I don’t actually harbor such ill will.

Then of course, I went and called the two kids I’ve had the honor of raising “#1 Son” and “#1 Daughter”. I realized even back then that this would create some confusion later on when “she” finally contacted me, but those appellations are very much correct. For all the obvious reasons, they do and must come first in my life. Not only do I owe them that, but somewhat ironically, i owe “her” and her brother that as well. So….what to do. Ah…

“Daughter Prime”…no, that sounds like something out of Star Trek. “Elder and…” No, let’s drop the “elder” thing. I read that in older writings (and, uh, yes I do that sometimes) and I sometimes feel like I’m writing about my grandmother or an aunt. “Daughter The First”. There we go. #1 Daughter gets to keep her functional ranking, and “she” gets to keep her order of precedence.}

Anyway, my first contact with Daughter the First was relatively brief. Of course, when I responded, I couldn’t resist saying more than was strictly necessary. Gawd, I hate my lack of self-control in that regard. Ann has been letting me read some of her emails her over her shoulder, but there was something very special about that email being written directly to me that I cannot really describe. Of course, given the distance, it’s not “She’s here now!”, but it’s something very similar, and I’m not sure I have the words for it. Her conversations with the Spouse Unit and Mom have always been polite and often quite entertaining, and through those messages, I have seen glimpses of a young lady who is going to make a phenomenal adult. To have that engaging personality…that intelligence…that level of insight…that will…turned towards me was wonderfully intriguing, and I’ll admit: even a bit intimidating. She was very forthright with me in telling me that she’s never regretted her childhood and is proud of what it has helped form within her, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to ignore the facts that I wanted it to be different—so very different—and that I only left when it became obvious that such options were not going to be afforded me in a respectable way.

There were seven or eight times over the past decade-plus when I sat down and tried to compose what I thought should be my first words to her. I have kept most of them over the years, but one I wrote back in February, I may actually share with her. The rest, especially the oldest ones, were still too caught up in the typical acrimony that comes from a relatively biased reminiscence and the added angst of self-denial that comes from attempting to keep it all “objective”. The fact that I entirely changed my life for her and her brother, and ultimately for no functional recompense, doesn’t mean it should all be dumped on the shoulders of an eighteen-year-old young woman who has had enough troubles of her own.

Yesterday was a mixture of many emotions, many of them being inherently conflictive. By the end of the afternoon, I was elatedly melancholy: Elated because I had finally, after “all this time” (which ultimately isn’t very long at all, but still which constitutes just slightly less than half my life) been afforded the opportunity to speak directly with my daughter, and melancholy because I still haven’t heard her voice, and because it will be quite some time before I can finally see her and truly get to know her as the person she is becoming.

But it was certainly a good beginning, and I need to quit thinking too much.

I have several important things to do today, but when I woke up this morning and realized it’s the fifteenth of October, my stomach lurched a bit. That was a surprisingly fast eighteen days since I last noted the date on the calendar in relation to tomorrow’s date and the importance of it, so here I am the day before the Elder and Unknown’s eighteenth birthday and I am, in several ways, unprepared for it. The story of my life, I suppose. I have this wondrous capacity for being able to WAY overthink a situation for days, weeks, months or years on end, only to be frightfully unprepared for it when it finally happens.

Except I’m really not unprepared. I just wish I could legitimately spend the day in some level of focused concentration on it. I’ll have to put that off until tonight, though. Today, I have to straighten out an issue with my driver’s license (referred to in the previous post) and I have a doctor’s appointment early this afternoon to see if we can figure out what is going on with this insidiously pervasive tinnitus in my right ear that I can’t seem to get rid of. I would say something vapid like, “It’s driving me crazy,” but we all know that is a) a rather short drive, and b) redundant, because I’m already there. Atop that, I have a wedding to finish up, now that I have the computers and processing space back in working order so that my workflow is back on track. #1 Son and I are both supposed to referee tonight, but the seemingly incessant rain down here (most of which I missed while up in Aberdeen) will likely have the fields so soggy as to be unplayable. I have to admit that with the High School season being over, I’m about two shakes from being ready for the rec league schedule to be over as well. I very much enjoy refereeing the younger kids, but I’m tired.

Wow, how was that for a long-ass paragraph with virtually no cohesion? Sorry, Bing. I was well educated, but I get lazy.

So, tomorrow is her eighteenth birthday. A funny thing: I honestly cannot remember what I did to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, and at the time, in Texas, that was full, legal adulthood like 21 is now. But I really don’t remember doing anything special. I hope the Elder and Unknown gets to do something special and memorable on her eighteenth birthday, and I hope it’s basically meaningful for her. But I could say a hundred million other things like that, and they would be basically as personally frustrating for me. For in truth, all I really want is to be able to let her know, personally, how much she will always be such a fundamental part of me.

But, I will wait. I’ve waited this long, after all. So, what, really is the difference?

She begins her nineteenth year tomorrow, and nineteen is the number of the Sun. I wonder what her radiant light shall be, and what she shall become. Whatever the answers to those questions, I hope she knows that she is loved beyond imagining, and not just by the ones whom she currently knows.