When you’ve had no contact with someone for 30+ years, where exactly do you start if you want to try finding them?
My launching point was a simple on-line real estate search. This revealed Tracey’s family home – where I had spent hundreds of hours over the four-year period we were together – had remained unsold since 1981. That meant her parents, now approaching their 80’s, still lived in that house.
I wrote her parents a letter, providing some details of my life now and why I wished to contact Tracey. I didn’t request any contact details from Tracey.
Instead, I asked if they’d be willing to pass on my email address to her. This I regarded as the least intrusive approach to suddenly being contacted by a person they hadn’t heard from in three decades. I waited, but no reply came.
A year passed and I tried again. Pretty much the same letter, mentioning I was married, had a daughter and had been working as a schoolteacher for the last 20 years. I asked would they be willing to pass on my email address to Tracey. Again… no reply.
Another year passed. It was now 2024 and I resolved that I would give it one last go. This time, I sent the letter via registered post. This way I could be certain the parents received it. I checked the real estate history once more and saw the house still had not changed hands.
I included a family picture this time around of myself, my wife and our daughter as well as a picture of myself and my then current class of students. Again, the only request was they pass on my email address to their adult daughter. Nothing.
At this point, I was ready to draw a line through this endeavor and conclude it appeared likely it was not going to happen – and therefore was not meant to happen. I wondered if my email address had ever been passed onto Tracey. This was something I would never know one way or the other.
Then, last year, my family and I travelled to New Zealand on holiday. While there and without really trying, memories of the holiday I spent with Tracey back in ’88 came flooding back. I resolved, once I arrived back in Australia, to attempt for one VERY LAST TIME to make contact. There would be no more trying after this.
The letter I wrote this time – while all the time questioning myself for having what appeared to be misplaced tenacity for wanting to ‘know’ – spelt out more clearly what I knew to be my innocently intentioned reasons for inquiring about Tracey and anything about how she might be now.
A few days after sending that last letter, something quite interesting happened…
