That sense of waiting is something that had just always been there. I have never had a real point of comparison so my cause may be different from someone else's, yet I know "waiting" isn't rare. I've seen it in several other people: it seems there comes a time, perhaps with the realization that time's no longer our friend, when we begin to see that the miracle just isn't coming and we'd better get off our asses and start looking for answers ourselves.
Perhaps these judgments are unfair? Who can tell? I have no way of knowing and after everything that's happened over the last year-and-a-half, I'm defiantly invoking my observationalist right to draw conclusions based on what limited information I have. Spanning two visits, I've spent a total of 3-hours with my father in 40-years. That's resulted in exactly 3-pictures and a slideshow presentation.
In the meantime, I made it clear that I'd like to get to know him better via a letter and email, and even volunteered for unbelievable anxiety by agreeing to go to their family gathering before I had even met anyone in '09. He replied by saying that it would "make people too uncomfortable." Translation: "it would be too uncomfortable for me to acknowledge him in front of the family"; a family that already knew everything.
It's important to know where you come from, and my patriarchal genetic goo is not from the most noble of stock, and keeping the door cracked open is becoming tedious. Irrational, unanswered hope inevitably leads to anger. Whatever anger is left likely stems from extending the benefit of the doubt, exercising empathy, yet being constantly disappointed and unable to reconcile how someone in his situation could be so devoid of a sense of honor and possess such a staggering immunity to shame. Maybe there's more work to do here? Remind me to go into "identity" one of these days!