Finding my father

Life is painful and messed up. It gets complicated at the worst of times, and sometimes you have no idea where to go or what to do. Lots of times people just let themselves get lost, dropping into a wide open, huge abyss. But that's why we have to keep trying. We have to push through all that hurts us, work past all our memories that are haunting us. Sometimes the things that hurt us are the things that make us strongest. A life without experience, in my opinion, is no life at all. And that's why I tell everyone that, even when it hurts, never stop yourself from living.” 
― Alysha Speer

He visited and held me. Then he left and never came back.

He didn’t visit again. He didn’t tuck me in at night, take me to ballet lessons, see me graduate, walk me down the aisle. He didn’t look for me at all. He held me as a baby, and then he simply left.

I found my biological father almost a year after he had died.

My Grandparents told me his name, that he was in the air force and that he had since married and had two daughters. I was told he had visited after I was born and that he had held me. That’s all the information I was given.

Sure I had toyed with the idea of hunting him down earlier, like some angry scorned woman demanding why he left me. I fluctuated between curiosity, anger, rejection, and sadness all of my life.  I had fantasised that he would come and find me and say “hey I’m your Dad”. I looked, I googled, and then googled some more. Even if I had found him while he was alive I doubt I would have acted. My fear of rejection was too big. I figured he had left me, so he clearly wasn’t that keen on calling me his own.

Here is how it happened. My husband began working on my family tree- all one side of it. It is so interesting learning facts about my ancestors. For example, my great, great, great grandmother stole some food, was jailed and then traveled across the sea as a convict. I was enthralled when my husband found old ship passenger logs containing my grandparents names, and photos of distant relatives. He then bought me a DNA test as part of my Christmas gift so I could learn more about my ethnicity and genealogy. I didn’t really think about why I was doing the test, but was curious as to what we would find. Was I part Italian or Greek (a question often asked of me- to which I had no answer)? The results came in and my DNA matched up with several people registered on the website.

And then it happened. Some DNA matches were not on my mothers side which could only mean one thing… links to my biological father at last.

My husband contacted someone who was apparently a second or third cousin enquiring if he knew of anyone in his family with the name of my missing father. The answer was yes! This new relative who I had never met told us that my biological father had spent his life in the air force, had 2 daughters and died the year before.

It was him; and now he was gone.

“If you want to find the trail, if you want to find yourself, you must explore your dreams alone. You must grow at a slow pace in a dark cocoon of loneliness so you can fly like wind, like wings, when you awaken.” 
― Francesca Lia Block, Dangerous Angels

The news of his death was a mixture of sadness, disappointment and relief. I say relief but only relief that he couldn’t reject me. There was potential to learn about him (without fear of ruining his life). Through the helpful relative we learned he had four brothers- two of whom are still alive. On searching for the brothers we found a grave plaque listing the son of one of the brothers. And this son- my cousin, was registered on the ancestry website as well. My husband contacted him and asked the relevant questions; to which he replied yes. Yes his uncle was, who I believed to be my biological father.

Next I wrote a message. The message to my cousin included everything- every little skerrick of information I had been told about my father. No reply. I waited 3 days and still no reply. I then took my head out of my backside and realised that this man; a man that I had just lumped with such big news, may have been close to his uncle. The scandalous accusation that his uncle had fathered me while married to someone else (I forgot to mention we learned he was married at the time of my conception!!). I then panicked and wrote an apology message that went something like this ‘I am so sorry for spilling all of that out etc. etc.’ ‘I don’t want anything… well, perhaps I would like a photo.’ He replied immediately and told me that he had a lot of information about my father and his family and if I lived in Melbourne perhaps we could meet. He told me the town he lived in. I lived just around the corner. Weird!

I was in for another surprise that same day. My cousin had told one of the daughters ( my half-sister), my ‘story’. She then messaged me and politely asked why on earth I would think I am related to her father. I sat down and wrote a very long message. I started the message with ‘this is a very long message’. I told her that I didn’t want to hurt anyone and that I was simply sharing what I had believed my whole life. I included my phone number at the bottom and within 5 minutes she called me; fortunately I had already had a glass of red. That phone conversation was the start of my journey to learn about the man who had contributed to my existence. Still struggling with the anger and rejection that had plagued me since I was a kid I was nervous, but eager to learn more. It turns out the woman on the phone- my half-sister was conceived only a few weeks before me. I can not even imagine the sleepless nights that my father must have had. Two babies on the way- one to his wife, the other to my Mum.

My sister and I talked for a long time. She told her sister- also my sister, and over the next couple of weeks we messaged and talked and messaged some more. Both women were generous and welcoming, something I was not expecting. I had known for many years that I shared a father with two girls, but I was never prepared to meet them. We sent away for a paternal DNA test just to confirm and we all sent it off on the same afternoon.

Then the wait.

It took longer than any of us had expected and the wait was excruciating. I felt like I was on trial- waiting to found guilty or not through my DNA. I imagined that it had all been a mistake. That my Mum had been confused and perhaps slept with his brother. Maybe they all (my Mum, Grandparents), had told me it was him because the truth was ugly (rape, prostitution…). What if the DNA analysis was inaccurate? What if we had to do it all over again? I was climbing the walls- it was all I could think about. I was a mess.

I knew what I had been told as a kid, but during that wait I had imagined it was all a lie.

The results came back and I am definitely their half sibling ( a probability of 99.98%). Then sadness came. Their family was informed- uncles, cousins, their Mum. No one knew about me. I hadn’t existed in the life that he had created for himself. I learnt more about him, what he was like as a father, as a person. Desperately searching for similarities and answers to why I am who I am.

“Just remember when you are ignoring her, you are teaching her to live without you.”

—Unknown

The information started flowing in. He was a married man, whom to our knowledge had not confided in anyone about his illegitimate child. He had developed dementia a decade ago and gradually progressed down the curve of Alzheimer’s Disease. He liked to be busy, and I cheered at the realisation that I may have inherited my inability to keep still from him. Always on the go, cleaning, running around, working-“ I am busy” is my catch cry. Perhaps it was his also. I poured over photos that my new sisters sent me, examining them in detail for similarities. There is one photo where I saw a strong resemblance to my son- the excitement and the urgency in which I messaged my handsome boy with this news was intense.

My biological father ate too many sweets- that’s where my sweet tooth comes from! He was always ready to move to a new posting with the air force- that’s where my inability to settle comes from (22 moves in 20 years). I was obsessed with the task of finding similarities to explain the quirks that those around me find ‘weird’. I have bipolar disorder which has a genetic component. Did it come from him and was he just undiagnosed? I am reckless and impulsive- I learned that he too exhibited some of these traits which again imparted a feeling of comfort. So much to take in, to learn and process.

During this time I found a kind of catharsis. My eyes opened to how I approached relationships. I had always felt rejected by the first man in my life. Then, my first love had dumped me for an older woman when I was just 14. I ended up falling pregnant and marrying him at 17, but I was never going to let him reject me again. I was going to get in first. And so, this is how I conducted all of my relationships. If I sensed rejection coming (this may have just been an unreturned phone call, or a sigh of frustration), walls would be speedily erected. That person would never have my whole heart again. When fighting with my ex, and now my current husband, I often claim “that’s it, I’m done, I can’t do this anymore”, wanting to get in and end it first.  I am now committed to working on this as I can see that my father left me because he had a wife and child on the way, not because I wasn’t enough.

 One of my favourite authors is John Irving. Perhaps, the thing that attracts me to the characters he has brought to life is they are fatherless; always looking, searching, imagining what their missing father is like.

I came across John Irving’s biography seven years ago and was excited. This man, this wonderful author, shared my story. I read that John Irving had grown up knowing nothing of his biological father- other than he was a pilot in the air force and that his plane had been shot down over Burma! Another parallel is that Irving was raised by his mother and grandmother, until his mother married his stepfather- then he was given his stepfathers name. Well what do you know- me too! I lived with my mother and grandparents until mum married my stepfather, then I also had my name changed. Irving grew up with undiagnosed dyslexia (I have always believed I have some kind of learning difficulty). He was sexually abused by an older woman when he was 11 years old- I too have had a history of sexual abuse. Irving was found by his half-brother, finding out he had two half-brothers and a half-sister- well I have two half-sisters! He learned that his father suffered from bipolar disorder and didn’t meet his biological father because he had passed away. Same story- see?

In all seriousness, reading John Irving’s story years ago did give me some peace. I’m sure many others understand the pain, rejection and sadness. The strange feeling of never really knowing their roots.

I will never get that visit from my father when will find me and say “Hello, I’m your dad. I’m sorry for leaving you”. Regardless, I now know who my father was, and that in itself opens the door for much healing. I am blessed through this man who contributed to my existence; and now I have a few new people in it. Good people. My sisters and I are finally getting to know each other. I may not have been there for birthdays, Christmas, weddings, births; but that’s okay, I’ll be there in the future.

My husband laughs as he gave me a very unique Christmas gift the year he gave me the DNA test. Two sisters!

“He was supposed to be the first male love of your life you still search for him everywhere.”

—Unknown