I, on the other hand do. It was way back in the archaic days when the popularity battle was still strong between MySpace and Facebook. Yes, there was a thing called MySpace -true story.
Growing up my Mother would be busy hitting the bottle and on a good day, she’d talk about my siblings. These illusive beings that she would let me know that my Father wanted unlike me, because I was not only the reason she drank, but also the reason he left her.
I was little and without doing the math of age and dates, I was sitting there with the TV on. The news had a report of a firefighter who had died. I only remember the town and fragments of it, not the details surrounding the fire, person or cause of death.
In my kid brain it was as she planted in my head. That was my Grandfather and he died in a fire. As an adult, I did learn the more accurate side of it, but the story line is, for the most part, accurate. It was my Grandfather, he did die and there was a fire.
That was my Dads Father.
Growing up the only time information of my Father was given, came on the coat tails of an angry drunken spell. I would grab on to any fragment she spat out because I wanted to be like everyone else who got to have a ‘Dad’.
Even the kids who didn’t have a Dad live with them, they still had a Dad. I didn’t. I literally didn’t.
I had (have) a birth certificate from the City of Boston with a blank line – no Father.
I grew up first wanting Dad, somewhere in that my “Uncle Joe” was met by my Mom during one of her many court ordered stints in Longwood Rehab. “Uncle Joe” took a parental place holder in life during my pre-teen, teen and adult years. He was a drunk, stereotypical Southie kind of drunk. With an often times over the top violent temper but also a heart so big, real and genuine.
Uncle Joe drank himself to death too 😊 Not before he put himself in wheelchair and lost use of both of his legs after drinking and driving and wrapping his truck around a tree. It wasn’t enough to stop drinking and if you’re wondering if any cause and effect lesson was learned about not drinking and driving…it wasn’t. I miss my Uncle Joe. (He wasn’t really my uncle but he shacked up with my mom’s sister for years, she is also on the list of persons I loved who drank themselves to death, you should know that in case you’re keeping a spread sheet of them)
Fast forward, I’m a mom of 3 kids myself, all who not only know their dad but have that bonus of having his name listed on their birth certificates. Go me!
However, I’m still sporting the no Dad, everyone is dead or almost dead in my family and the lingering notion that I just may or may not have siblings that exist per my intoxicated (now dead) Mother.
My dreams of being on Maury where still strong at this point, living in rural PA does that to you. I spent my life ‘looking’ for my Father, looking for some tangible confirmation that the pieces of me that were not of my mother, came from some real person.
That happened one day years ago when I was ‘searching’, only knowing I had 3 siblings out in the world. My Mother told me I had 2 sisters and 1 brother, so I looked for them, often.
Social media, science and timing came together one morning as I was drinking my coffee, my young children playing downstairs – aka making massive messes or killing each other. 😉
A search on MySpace revealed this woman, with the last name of my Father, in a profile picture, I sat there looking at with awe because I saw me in her. The more digging of her profile I did, the more the pieces of the story my Mother gave me, feel into place.
There were 3 of them, though it was 3 ‘sisters’ and no brother. They were from where my Mother said they were and the impetus to act on contacting them came when I saw the picture of my ‘maybe’ sister. She was the middle of the 3 of them, and looking at her…it was so much of me that it was scary.
They didn’t know they had an older sister, a role I rather do enjoy. They saw it too, and I love hearing their stories of what it was like when I reached out to them and we met.
My ‘maybe’ sister I found on MySpace agreed to a DNA test. I was so close to having that blank line of who my Father was, finally having a real answer. You could just look at us and see we were related but there was that lingering bit of doubt that when the DNA test came back, the resemblance was more of something I desperately needed to see in them.
If it the DNA came back they were not my sisters, I would lose the false, but at least comforting feeling of having some story to chase in hopes of getting to know who my Father was.
I had nothing but the story my now dead Mother gave me, if it came back a non-match. I would never get another chance to get that answer. I had nothing else to go on.
The envelope came back. I got that answer.
I got a shit ton more than that answer as well. I’d have made Maury proud 😊
The story really is cool, the beginning of “knowing” who my Father was, wasn’t the end it could have been. It became a story I couldn’t have foreseen and a story I never thought I wanted, maybe I was too afraid to want anything else other than to just know who my Dad was.
Many years later I’m still working on how to embrace a life I was folded into. When you go from being an only child with most of your family dead or almost dead… well..
It was my birthday when I “officially” met my sisters. Since that day, they have put me in their life as though I had always been there. They treat me like I’m their sister, like they treat each other.
I was looking for an answer and what I got, years later is still surreal. I not only have real legit sisters, but I have nieces and aunts, uncles, cousins…
But I have the best sisters in the world. I really do. They took me in as their own, they owed me nothing. Their Mother took me in as hers and loves me and my offspring too.
What makes them and their Mom who raised these amazing women so fucking past awesome…these woman are my children’s aunts and their Nana.
My children only know them as their Auntie, M, K, & S, my sisters love them. They love them so bigand real as though I was always there and didn’t show up from some social media search.
There isn’t a divide that could be there when some lady sends you a message on social media saying “hey, I think you’re my sister”. There isn’t a distinction of my children and the children of my sisters. There is an equality of being a family member, of being part of a family that doesn’t have to be there, but it is.
I love my sisters, more than they know, more than I know how to express or I’ve ever been able to show them. But I want to world to know how much I love them.
And how that I have the best fucking sisters in the world.