Help a sistah out - should I tell my now 22 year old daughter that I am not her biological mother?
I know this question blows you away. I know it does. Imagine how I feel. First of all there aren't many African American women in my situation to bounce all of this off of. I don't believe I know anyone of any race. Usually these are the stories of men not women. Secondly, you would think at some point while my child was growing up, someone would have said (even if I hadn't), "That's not your momma any way!" Maybe I was really kind of hoping that would be the case but no one ever did. So, I never did.
Before I go any further, I believe you and your readers might want to know a bit of the background. I'm hoping you'll get some idea as to why I chose to remain silent all these years. Well, here goes...
In 1996 I married the man of my dreams. We met during Desert Shield/Desert Storm at Ft Hood, TX. In 1991 my unit had returned from the war and did our transition out of our deployment in Killeen. I remembered walking right into him as I came out of the women's restroom. It was like in the movies. As we collided, my paperwork fell to the ground. Of course the man of my dreams immediately stooped down to carefully retrieve all of my documents neatly one by one. I was mesmerized...hypnotized. He apologized over and over while asking to take me to dinner all in the same breath. Of course I said yes while trying not to sound as eager as he had but I wanted him to know I was very interested too.
That night we went out to eat. We left the restaurant not wanting the night to end and headed to one of his friends house, who was having a little get together. The people were young but very mature. I was thoroughly impressed by the man of my dreams and his friends. This dude was too good to be true. From the conversations throughout the night, I could tell they all were headed in the right direction professionally.
From that night on until we all got our tickets home, the man of my dreams and I found it extremely hard to depart. In fact, he asked me to allow him to drive me home so that we could spend more time together. We had already agreed we were a couple with big plans to one day make our relationship official before God. Of course I was so infatuated that any thought of this man having other women before I came into his life or when he dropped me off at home didn't cross my mind one bit. Someone probably should have slapped some sense into me. Maybe I wouldn't be in this situation today. Who knows?
Any way, we were married in 1996 about five years after we met. I chose to wait for marriage in order to finish college and truly decide if marriage was what I truly wanted. Well, my dad insisted I wait. I probably would have married him a few hours after almost being knocked to the ground when we met. During our early years, even prior to or marriage on up til about 2009, I had about six miscarriages. We were devastated each time. Again, even then I never thought the man of my dreams had other women...ever. He seemed so committed to us. Well, the walls of my illusion came tumbling down some time around the spring of 1998.
I'll never forget seeing the man of my dreams, as white as a ghost, holding the telephone beckoning for me to take it. I did. There was a woman on the other end saying she was going to kill herself if he didn't come get his damn baby. What???? What baby? I told her that she had the wrong number. The man of my dreams shook his head emphatically "no" letting me know that the deranged woman on the other end most definitely had the right number. The man of my dreams was a father. He had fathered a baby girl by a woman I had never known existed until this devastating call.
From that day on, our marriage was never the same. I remained married to him though...I don't know why. I suppose love does conquer all. I took the baby girl as mine because she needed me...I needed her. Like the man of my dreams, meeting my baby girl was love at first sight. Not one day has she not been my baby. She's still my baby. However, there is so much to her life's story. I believe it is only right that I tell her. Then, I think I've allowed way too much time to go by. She might end up hating us...hating me.
Please help a sistah out.
