This week feels like how I have imagined tectonic shifts will feel. Plates sliding into each other, deep underground, sending ripples that compound out into the ocean, until meter high waves crash on the shore or mountains appear where there were once plains.
This week’s shift has been years in the making. It started out as names in a document, sketchy information on birth history and data. Over the years, the file grew with pictures surreptiously added from public Facebook profiles and any available public information. Then, there was a lull. Nothing.
A chance DNA test uncovered loose ends, tugging on which lead to an unraveling. I sat with the information for over two years, hoping, praying for a moment when my children could see the person that makes up half of them, in person.
That moment may be nigh. I can only pray.
It has taken a lot of people, a whole lot of anguished prayers and the Universe to conspire.
How will the upcoming week play out? I don’t know. I am too vested to speculate. All I hope is that we walk away unsinged, whole and happy.
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