My biological dad looked eerily similar to the way he looked in a dream I had as a child. He was tall with whispy strawberry blonde hair. His skin had a pink tint to it. He wore dark wash jeans that fit him well, with a light blue button down shirt and flip-flops.
The woman who gave me life was finally in my childhood home, and I was at a loss of words and gutted of my tears. Where do we even begin? How do I try to recount the years of my life, and how do I respectfully ask the questions that haunted me so? 19 years of separation, basically a lifetime, stood between us and the foundation of our relationship.