June 14, 2009

Dear Mother Mom,

I know that I haven't written we haven't talked in recent years, and I'm sorry. Things have been bad There have been circumstances beyond my control that have made it difficult to stay in contact with you. I hope that you are well.

Guess what? You're a grandmother! I'm writing because I think you should know that you're a grandmother. The entire situation has been really screwed up gone from strange to incredible, and I can't count the number of times I've wished I lived closer so that I could ask you for advice. Given our relationship in recent years, that should tell you something.

I know you were pissed upset when I took a permanent position in Antarctica, but it was the chance of a lifetime for me. It was something I had to do, and I hope you can understand that. Work has always been my life important to me, and the project I agreed to run has been not unlike my own child. It was certainly as close to having children as I ever expected to come. I'm awful not good with kids, and I know it. I don't like the noise or the mess or the lack of rational discussion. I was never sure if you understood my decisions or not. You certainly never accepted them.

Here in Antarctica, I've been forced to change - Hell, half the people I supervise act like really big kids and show no intention of growing up anytime soon. I'm not good with kids, now, but I can tolerate them. I don't have a choice. They're certainly not the worst thing that the universe world has thrown at me in recent years.

All of that is avoiding the issue, though. We're good at that, aren't we? The reason I wrote this letter. Her name is Christine, and she's a little over two years old. I didn't... This is going to sound unbelievable, but I didn't know she was mine until recently, even though I've known her since she was decanted a baby. Well, she's still a baby, just not a baby. She's growing so fast, though. I know that one day I'm going to turn around and she's going to be walking and talking and getting into all kinds of mischief. She gets that from her father.

About her father, because I know you're going to ask. He's a good man. Career military, a pilot. He has sole custody of Chris, and it's better that way, for any number of reasons. He knows that I never wanted kids, and he also knows what it would do my position on the project if anyone found out she was mine. I wasn't happy, to say the least, when I found out about her, but I understand why he made the choices he did. He was trying to protect me, and that's his job.

I don't have any pictures, and since this is never getting sent I'm not sure this will ever be sent, I'm not going to spend the time trying to find any. I'm sorry if that sounds cold, but I have a lot on my plate, and more now that I'm trying to figure out where I fit in my daughter's life. God, it still feels weird to write that. For so long she was just his.

I'm still not good with kids, but I'm trying. Maybe someday, she can come and visit you. Her father's parents are dead, so you're the only biological grandparent she has. Not to say that she's lacking for family; a friend of ours who's a native local ally subcontractor out of New Zealand was kind enough to agree to be Secondary godfather for her. She spends a lot of time with him and his teenage son. By tradition, his people are village is now tied to her, so if anything ever happens I know she'll be well cared for.

I'm sorry that this letter isn't longer, and that I haven't written sooner. Things have been crazy for the last few years, the breaks non-existent few and far between. Give my love to my cousins if you're still speaking with them, and take care of Sedge. I know he's better off happier with you than at Simon's.

Love,                      
Elizabeth