This is True, I Swear

When I get to know someone and tell them what I’ve seen or about the things that have happened in my life, I sometimes wonder if they think I exaggerate or make up stories. Often, I will throw a “This is true, I swear” statement somewhere in the story as I tell it, especially if I notice a look of disbelief on someone’s face.

When telling the story of finding out that my dad wasn’t my biological father and that it turns out it was his friend (also our neighbor) who was half responsible for my existence, I make sure to include how I spent my whole childhood and much of my adolescence around my half-brothers, never knowing that they were much more than just neighbors and family friends.

If I move on to the story of the next familial discovery, I always feel like this is the time to add the “This is true, I swear,” sometimes even adding, “You can ask so-and-so.”  That being said, this next story I will tell you is true. I swear.

I had known of him for years, but he had no clue I existed. And although I’d never met him and knew nothing about him as a person, I knew more about his biological roots than he did. I knew of him because one day, when I was in my twenties, my mom’s sister told me a story that went something like this:

Our father sent your mom to live with us in Utica, New York. He wanted to get her away from a boy that he felt she was getting too “close” to. While living with us, she fell for a man and became pregnant. Our father had her come home, and eventually, she went to stay in a home for unwed mothers, where she had a baby boy who she gave up for adoption. So, you see, you have a half-brother somewhere.

When I heard this story, the internet was brand new, and like many others, I didn’t have a home computer. DNA testing was unavailable to the general public. So, there was no way to find my mother’s first child. For years, I could only imagine what he looked like, what kind of person he was, and if he even knew that he was adopted. It wasn’t until after I found out who my biological father was that I decided to purchase a 23andMe kit. I hoped to learn more about my roots, and hoped he would show up as a relative.

When I got the 23andMe results, I was disappointed when the closest relative that came up was a third cousin. Surely, if he were interested in finding anyone in his biological family, he would already be in the database, as it had been available for a while. I accepted that I’d never know him—at least not in this lifetime. Even so, when 23andMe partnered with a different company where you could upload your DNA and do family tree things, I quickly took advantage of the promotional offer. Once again, he was nowhere to be found.

I was sitting on my couch one Sunday (Mother’s Day morning–it’s true, I swear), doing the same thing I did every Sunday: drinking coffee and going through emails. The other DNA/family tree company emailed me every Sunday, saying, “You’ve got a new relative. Looks like this person is your 25th cousin, thrice removed.” Okay, that was an exaggeration, but you get my drift. By this time, I’d grown into the habit of barely looking at these emails before deleting them. And so, on this particular day, my finger automatically hit the little trash can icon. But before the email disappeared from the screen, something caught my eye: “half-brother or uncle.” I quickly went to my trash folder and reopened the email. I’d found him. After all these years, I’d found him.

As it turns out, he was the only child in his family. His mother and father hadn’t adopted any other children. So, when his parents passed away, he had no family in the sense of brothers or sisters left. By the time I found him, although he had his own family and many in-laws, I think he was on his own otherwise.

I remember when I found out that the man I’d always known as “dad” wasn’t my biological father. It shook me to my core. From first-hand experience, I knew that learning things like that would inevitably change your perception of self and may even bring on an existential crisis, so I understood what he might be feeling and tried not to be too pushy when I reached out to him. After all, I’d known of him for years, and he knew nothing about me or his biological mother and father.

Eventually, we met in person. I had feared that it would feel awkward, like trying to force a relationship with a stranger, and although he was a stranger, he wasn’t—he was my brother. Luckily, it wasn’t awkward at all. I find it difficult to explain, but even though I’d never met him, I was instantly comfortable around him. Next, when he was ready, it would only be natural for him to meet other family members.

The day he met Uncle Donny is a day I’ll never forget. So long ago, when my grandfather summoned my mom home, he called Uncle Donny and told him that his baby sister was “in trouble” and needed his help. Although he didn’t see the baby boy, now, more than fifty years later, they would finally meet. Once again, John was not a stranger. As he stood in the doorway watching John and his wife approach the house, Uncle Donny saw his family in his nephew’s face and was astonished at how much John favored Donny’s brother, Bill. The two immediately appeared to be at ease with one another, as if they’d always known each other.

Since then, we’ve all met up several times, and John has attended events where he’s met more of his family. He and his family are now a part of my mom’s family, and we are so blessed to have them. And although we had to wait this long to have him in our lives, I truly believe things happen when and how they’re supposed to.

I sometimes think about how it must feel to go from being an only child with few living relatives left to finding out that you have a sister and that your biological mother had eight siblings, so now you have a bunch of aunts and uncles and a bazillion cousins to boot. I imagine it must have been overwhelming initially, but when I see John with the family, I think he’s more than okay with it now, and I’d be willing to bet he feels blessed to have us, too.