The Twenty-Third One.

 

Evening,

Subheading: I just took a DNA test, turns out...

As children, most of us look to our parents or caretakers for guidance. We study the way they move, think, interact, and survive. We begin life instinctually mimicking those behaviors. As we grow, we believe that by doing so, we will learn how to venture into the world successfully. It’s also a form of bonding with our parents, the nurture side of nature vs nurture. Our voice sometimes takes on their inflection, we pick up their mannerisms, and we learn how to communicate.

Of course, some of this is nature. One argument is that nature endows us with inborn abilities and traits, while nurture takes these traits and cultivates them as we learn and mature. For example, you may be born with musical inclinations, but you won’t become a skilled musician without practice. Perhaps it will take less effort and practice for you than others, though. It will feel easier, like having a cheat code.

It seems like it would be easier to decide if you believe any of this when you have both parents for comparison. However, I’ve never met- or known anything about- my biological Father. I grew up with one set of DNA I could use to look to for clues about myself. I didn’t have my Mother’s hair or eye color, laugh, or introverted personality. I don’t like heights or spicy food. I enjoy reading, performing in plays, creating artistically through crafts and writing- and no one in my immediate family enjoyed those things.

Where my Mother is indifferent and emotionally unavailable/uninterested, I am warm, empathetic, and endlessly curious. Did I grow to become this way because I was intent on avoiding emulating her, or because I am predisposed to love differently? How do you know when there’s no way to decipher?

I have often been asked if I ever thought about searching for my Father, and the answer was always a quick and easy, “No, not really.” Was I curious? Absolutely. Did it seem even remotely possible? No. Not until now.

In the beginning of September, my daughter’s Dad let me know that he had recently added his wife, their son, and our daughter Olivia to Ancestry.com. A match had popped up for my daughter for a half aunt, and it didn’t come from anyone on their side of the family. I do not have a sister on my Mom’s side, so this could only mean that she was from my Father’s side. Hearing this news, I honestly didn’t know what to think. A lot of thoughts happened simultaneously, but the loudest was, “It’s probably some kind of mistake.”

I asked Liv’s Step-Mom to send the woman a message through the website, offer her my contact information and a brief explanation of who I could be, and ask if she would be interested in speaking to me. She responded right away that she would be, and reached out to me on Facebook late that evening. She had also mentioned this conversation to her Father, my potential Father, and he reached out to me as well. They live in Portland, Oregon- so I did not see the messages until I went to work in the morning. I spent the day texting back and forth with him feeling like I was dreaming, or hallucinating. He asked if we could speak on the phone that night, which I enthusiastically agreed to.

All day until this phone call, I was low(high)key freaking out about it. When you imagine finding a parent, you probably imagine there being a search, a process, a lead up. For me, one day I had no idea this man was out there, and the next day we were going to talk on the phone. I never held out much hope that this was a conversation I’d have, and now that I was about to have it, I had no concept of what I should say to him. How would I feel; how would he feel? He seemed very open and welcoming to the idea of me, but maybe after the thought set in for a couple of hours he would realize the enormity of the situation and panic.

I have called two people in my life Dad- my Brother’s Dad (Glenn), and my Mom’s second husband (Rob). When my Mom and Glenn divorced, he kept coming around for my Brother, but I was left behind. When my Mom and Rob divorced, Rob and I continued to try to have a relationship, but my Mom eventually just made it too difficult. These are obviously stories with more to them than the little context I offered, but they aren’t the focus of this story. I’m merely offering this piece of insight, because… the word “Dad” for me has always meant a person who would abandon me the moment that his obligation to me ended. This new person, my potential biological Father, he has no obligation to me.

I am a fully grown adult who is also a parent, and I live on the other side of the country. It would have been very easy for him to get on the phone and say, “Hey, it’s a relief to finally know for sure that you exist, but my curiosity ends there. I am glad you aren’t totally fucked up. Take care.” I didn’t really expect that based on our texts, but I certainly didn’t expect what he did say, either.

“The first thing I want to tell you is that I’m sorry. If I had known that you were out there, known for sure, there’s nothing that would have prevented me from having a relationship with you. And I don’t know what you’re hoping for now, but I’d like to be in your life somehow, if you’re open to it.”

When he said that, vivid memories of my Mother started flashing in my mind, one after the other.

In the first memory I am very young, maybe 4 or 5, standing at the front door of my Grandparents house with my nose against the screen. I remember it so well that I can smell the screen, and the grass outside. I’m waiting for my Mom to come visit me, and I wait so long that I fall asleep by the door. My Mom never comes.

Then another- I’m older now, maybe 8, and I’m at home alone with my brother. I make him a bottle, change his diaper, and put him to bed. I don’t know where my Mom is, but I’m not scared. This happens a lot until my Grandparents find out and move me back to their house.

I’m older still- in 5th grade, and my best friend Karlyn is staying the night. My Mom cooks us dinner and plays with us, and it’s the first time I remember realizing that my Mom only acts like a Mom if someone else is around to see it.

Now I’m in high school, and it’s one of my award banquets for theatre. My Mom is there, but she’s on the phone or staring out the window every time I look for her in the audience.

Finally, I’m an adult with my baby daughter, and it’s Christmas morning. My Mom texts to cancel our plans. She didn’t have any money for gifts, so she doesn’t want us to come over. I try to tell her that we’re just excited to see her and my Grandma, but she doesn’t care. She hangs up on me. It’s not the last time she cancels Christmas.

All these memories, all in a few seconds, like rapid fire emotional assault.

All these years of waiting for her to truly care about me, for me to matter to her, but it never happens.

My Mom is a human being with a story all her own, and it’s a complicated and painful one at that. She’s not a monster that was incapable of warmth or joy, and I don’t wish for anything bad to happen to her. I know with certainty that in her own way, she did love me. However, I also believe she loved me like a reflex, with no real thought or feeling behind it. When she gave birth to me instinct set in, and she would do what she could to keep me alive, but she did little to help me thrive. I’m not sure how much of that is due to a lack of ability, and how much was because she just didn’t want to put in the extra effort. What I have learned is that, regardless of the answer to that question, I don’t have an obligation or desire to keep her in my life. I have a burning desire to protect my children, to surround them with love, and bombard them with the message that they deserve to matter to the people in their lives.

I sat my children down this year and asked them if they missed seeing their Grandma, and told them that if they did, I’d try harder to make sure we saw her. That I’d do whatever I could to make that relationship work. It was mostly my daughter that responded, and she said, “I don’t really want to see Grandma because every time we do, you are sad after, and I don’t like seeing you sad. She never calls us. She doesn’t really want to do anything with us when we see her. I don’t think we should see her anymore.”

My twelve year old was succinct, perceptive, and right. It was time to finally let go, and I cut my Mother completely out of our lives this summer for a myriad of reasons I can’t possibly sum up in a blog.

I am not a religious person, but I do believe (to a certain extent) in the power of karma, manifesting the things we need, and the law of attraction. Once I decided that I was done being the only one to reach, someone reached for me.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping for now, but I’d like to be in your life somehow, if you’re open to it.”

My Father and I spent hours on the phone that night, but it was mostly him that talked. I listened to him tell crazy stories about his youth, how he met my Mother/how I came to be, all about his family, his children, who he is at his core, etc. I listened to his boisterous laugh that sounds eerily like mine, and realized that it was sneaking into tiny cracks of my heart like some kind of emotional caulk. He teased me for being so quiet, but there were no words to capture what I was feeling when he told me that my Grandma was an artist, and a poet, and how much she would have loved to make crafts with me if she were still alive.

Without hesitation or condition this man opened himself to me, and told me how happy he was that we had found each other, and he welcomed me to his family. Over the last month we have had numerous text conversations, a couple more phone chats, and one very special video chat on the night of my birthday. With all the people that matter most to me gathered around the table we both held a drink, and he joined my birthday toast. He also sent me a lovely bouquet and card, and signed it, “Love, Dad.”

Love, Dad- not out of guilt or obligation, but a genuine desire to be a family.

We both created accounts on ancestry.com and sent in our DNA, just to be sure that the connection between Olivia and my sister wasn’t somehow an error, and we have patiently waited for weeks for the results to come back before telling many people.

Lizzo will be proud to know that the results are in and that I am, in fact, 100% that bitch.

I would like to finally introduce everyone to my Dad, Ron. I can’t wait for you all to meet him someday- you know, after I do.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this stuff, and come back for more things.