· I missed my mother and father, Steve, who was the only father I felt any connection to. I wanted to see Sloan and tell him that after everything, he was, and still would be, a pain in the ass.
. Is that what it’s about? Me being Jewish? Seriously? I was so confused. What would she do if she knew my mother was from Israel and that my biological father lives there now?
. I wondered if that man in the CCU bed would ever open his eyes and see me again. Would he answer my questions and take responsibility for the sperm he’d deposited in my mother’s womb?
. I was mesmerized by the history that was buried here—and more so by the idea of being so close to it.
. Would I ever call him Dad or would he remain a stranger for the rest of my life? Would he ask me for forgiveness or would he justify his selfish actions of the past?
. Blood can be many things, bad things or good things. It can be surgery or injury, or even the birth of a child.
. The media brought dramatic images—rockets, fire, smoke, blood, injured people, dead bodies, destruction—but mostly pain, fear, and hate.
. The rays of morning sunshine stabbed at my eyes, interrupting my sleep early the next day.
. While my mother’s willingness and heartfelt attitude offered me a tiny ray of hope, it didn’t change my opinion of her choices, nor did it ease the confusion and fear I felt.
. We passed through a massive, built-in gateway and stepped into the Armenian Quarter of the old city in Jerusalem. In seconds I was drawn in like Alice and the rabbit hole. The colors, the aroma of food cooking, the bouquets of different spices, the variety of people all speaking different languages swirled around me. It was action-packed.
. Minutes before sunset, I followed Dankner into a narrow alley filled with greenery and flowers over the typical Jerusalem stone that characterized the city. The aroma of the jasmine shrubs wafted through the air.
. You don’t judge people by their sexual preferences, but by their kindness and wisdom, their integrity and morals.
. At that moment forgiveness was no longer an option—I had no mercy left. I was hurt and angry—willing to fight for what I wasn’t
sure was mine.
. What if Sloan is not my father? Will I be angrier with my mother, or will I feel sorry for her for not knowing who the father of her child is? And maybe she didn’t unveil the entire truth. Maybe there are more secrets buried in her heart.
. The heavy gate of the Dankner residence was wide open, and a weak stream of water trickled from the property into the street. Atifa was watering the bright red geraniums as she rinsed off the entrance to the house.
. My mother’s voice bounced off the plane window and ricocheted back to me over her shoulder, muffled and indistinct.
. It was only yesterday when I noticed that Sloan’s eyes were also green. Was my eye color part of his genetic trait?
. And while some checklists might be longer than others, it’s these lists that define us.
. “Let me see.” She reached for my cup and raised it to eye level. She tilted her head a bit, took a sneak peek at the cup, and looked at me “I’d say you will be here tomorrow,” she said with a sly smile.
. I burst into the street and ran in the direction of the scream. A second gunshot from my left paralyzed me.
. I walked into the bedroom and rummaged through the drawers. I pulled out one of Dankner’s shirts and inhaled its scent.
. Life is a dynamic journey. You meet people, you interact with them, you build different relationships with each one of them, and you move on. Some people you take with you for your tomorrow and some people you leave behind with your yesterday. No one relationship is the same.