My Daddy Issues || Adoption Chronicle Nightmares

Of all the ways I imagined I might feel when or if I discovered more about my biological family, I didn't expect to feel further away and consequently much more isolated than I did before. And yet, this is where I've been stranded. An island between two giant continents of "Mother" and "Father".
I'm not sure which feels more foreign.

My daughter did a DNA test a month or so ago and received her results last week. She sent me screenshots of an unknown relative that had far more shared DNA with her than anyone else in the list of folks who had also done the test and then she sent the family tree it came from. It included my side AND her fathers side of the family. Weird doesn't quite cover it.

"Mom, you and Dad are probably related. If I'm looking at this family tree, this woman shares DNA with both you and dad because your father is quite clearly her Uncle and daddy's too."

This is like, my worst nightmare.

And thus began her odyssey of determining just how "inbred" she and her brothers were. Evidently not much, due to divorces and children from previous marriages. He's my cousin twice removed or something, but there's still that dangling "where did all this DNA" come from.

I'm not a scientist, and my brain is still swimming through the lime jello of it all. I've looked at the family tree a few times. I even tried to make sense of it by blocking out the names and focusing on the pertinent details. Here, have a peek.

My daughter reached out to the woman who shares the largest segment of the genetic puddle and I followed up with a message to her when we found her on Facebook. She then connected me to her daughter, who was the genealogist in the family, and she was adamant about keeping my biological father's privacy with a statement that he had moved to Australia. And that was that. I had already dealt with my biological mother's family telling me to f*ck off ten years ago and as such, I'm relatively accustomed to the "so you're the reason everyone is so hush hush and why don't you just go away and forget about us the way we've forgotten about you" music.

Speaking of music, the metaphorical clock ticked with the Jeopardy theme running in the background and there was an occasional interlude of crickets. Something was definitely brewing. Within a few days of what I presumed was The End (but it wasn't) my daughter received another Facebook message from another family member (of the family member who flung my part of the scene into Australia) with the link to my biological father's sister's obituary.
The sender of said obit remarked, "I felt that you should have this, because you would have eventually discovered all of this anyway. I'm saving you some trouble. You deserve to know who your people are. Follow the trail of names, you'll figure it out."

And kaboom. The flood gates opened.
Not for me, but for my daughter and her father. Especially her father. And my father's family? COME ON!!! It's true, though. That's what happened.

Pictures were being shared back and forth of my husband's mother, father and family gatherings, everyone seems to remember everyone until my ex's father had a stroke in the 80's, his mom's sister died from cancer and then his Grandmother passed. Nearly 40 years of silence, until the great DNA explosion of 2024.

Photo courtesy of newest family archive

Meanwhile, I'm sitting in the middle, watching the reminiscing. Clearly, by now, they know that I know my biological father is not in Australia any longer and most definitely state side, but they're dancing around the "Daddy Issues".
My daddy issues.

My oldest son called me this morning before I began really considering just how upset I am, to tell me that he was truly concerned about how I was doing. His wife doesn't know her father, and they live in the same general area. She was basically "the one left out of the mix" and she has a half sister who she crosses paths with from time to time, they don't know each other at all. They don't even greet each other, because of "bad blood". It's really left a huge mark on her and he feels it. Now he feels the same thing with me, but he's always been aware of my desire to know "where I come from" so he's watching it all happen again.

As I pondered this earlier, eventually determining that it's not easy for any of us, but especially me, I realized if I didn't begin to admit just how difficult this is, nothing would move forward. Many of us would be held hostage to bitterness, yours truly included. We're all dancing different dances to our own internal violins, and no-one could have fathomed this kind of connection. My biological mother's family are firmly East Coast snobs. What I know of them. My biological father's family are firmly MidWest born and bred. Miles and miles apart in upbringing, not just location and yet, it happened. Thanks to a military connection and who knows what else. It's the "who knows what else" portion of my stake in this claim where the peace will have to lay for me and for what it's worth, I can help my son help his wife and his children too.

And that's the difference between me and where I came from, isn't it? I do care where others couldn't, won't, or cannot. That's all me, because even the people who adopted me had a tough time with that.

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