All in the Family

Yesterday, June 24, was a special anniversary for me. Not my wedding anniversary (though that is special too, of course) but one of a different sort.

Three years ago yesterday I received an email that would change my life. It was from a woman, and she gave me a brief history of her growing up in the same area I did, and graduating from the same school I did, but five years later than me. She’d been adopted as a baby and over the years she followed up on different leads and finally thought she knew where her family on her father’s side was. “That’s right,” she ended the email, “I think you’re my brother.”

To say I was shocked is an understatement. The wife was sitting beside me doing something baseball related, but even she noticed something was wrong. I told her about the email, but I couldn’t sit still. My initial reaction was to think it was some kind of joke, or a scam, and it couldn’t possibly be true. But I remembered how irresponsible my father was, and how bad a husband and father he was, and something deep down started to think this might be real. I paced and muttered for 20 minutes before finally answering her email.

I responded to the email the way I typically do when I don’t know what else to do: with a joke. “I’ll say this,” I opened, “you certainly have the [family name] flair for dropping bombshells!” The long and short of my reply was that I could tell she was sincere in her belief, and in her desire to find her missing family, and I would do everything I could to help her. I told her that even if it turns out we aren’t related, at least that would possibly give her some other clues. Okay, I was babbling at that point, but come on, I was still in shock!

Over the next few days she and I talked, and the more she told me about what she knew of her “real” father (which she learned years ago from her “real” mother), the more I was convinced that we were related. We finally decided to have a DNA test done to see if it’s the case, and by this time we both admitted that we’d be sad if it turned out we weren’t related. My father had been dead since 1982, so it would have to be just us, with no confirmation from him.

I have two older sisters who I considered calling immediately, but decided to wait until the DNA test came back before saying anything. There didn’t seem any point in introducing a lot of drama before we knew for certain. I didn’t want to say anything to my mother at all, no matter what, because the timing of her birth would have been when she and my father were still married. She had no illusions as to what kind of man he was, but she didn’t need proof thrust in her face.

July 9th, Friday, is the second anniversary related to this event, because that evening is when we got the DNA test back: 93% chance that we are half-siblings. My concern was that there would be some ambiguity in the results, especially after spending over $500 for the test. But in the world of DNA, 93% is as close to dead certainty as you can expect (in terms of determining being related.) I actually passed out a few “It’s a girl!” cigars to some close friends. What can I say; I’m a goofball.

The next day I told both of my sisters in a conference call. They didn’t take it well. The oldest sister was excited about it at first, but then changed her mind. The middle sister was cool to the idea from the beginning and, as far as I know, has not changed her mind at all. I’m very sad, and disappointed, by their reaction. The oldest sister gave up a baby girl for adoption when she was 17, and still has regrets about it. The middle sister’s husband was adopted and has often said he wishes he could find out about his biological family, whatever there is of it. It’s astounding to me that the two of them, under the circumstances, can’t find it in their hearts to at least meet their half-sister before deciding to keep her out of their lives. If for nothing else, they should consider the possibility of her being a source of a kidney should they ever need one, for fuck’s sake.

And damned if the both of them didn’t almost immediately tell our mother about it! When she told me she knew, she said they each did it independently, and both of them sounded like they were doing it as much to get me in trouble as anything else. It's really driven a wedge between us

Imagine being 45 years old, and finding out you have a sister who is 40 that you had no clue whatsoever about! My sister (I no longer consider her a half-sister, and only use that phrase when I’m being precise) and her husband became really close with the wife and I. We went to dinner together a few times, got drunk together, and had a lot of fun. Some things have changed over the past three years, but we’re still close and I love her dearly.

I’ve started this post a number of times over the past month or so, only to discard it. I’ve been concerned about what it will mean to some of you, and how you’ll react. This blog is for me, of course, and for my own healing, but I’ve grown close to many of you who have interacted with me either on the blog or via email. I’d hate to think that I might lose some of you as internet friends, or lose your respect. But ultimately, I have to continue to write about the things I have to work through or this blog is just meaningless rambling, and I’m wasting my time. That’s why I’m posting this, and telling you:

My sister is L.