Finding My Roots

I’m a big fan of shows like Finding Your Roots or We’ll Meet Again.  I guess I’m a sucker for people discovering their heritage, finding stories of their family’s past, or reconnecting with someone that impacted their life significantly, yet lost touch with for many years. 

I also love watching videos from the program Momondo – the DNA Journey – giving folks an opportunity to discover their ancestry through DNA – many discovering their roots to various countries and people groups that they never imagined.

While I was enjoying these shows and videos as pure entertainment, I was actually contacted by someone, claiming to be my sister.  Backtracking a bit – In my late teens, I discovered that my biological father was not the man that I remembered raising me and growing up with (until the age of 7, when he suddenly passed away from a heart attack).  This information was only discovered as I was attempting to get working papers – back in the days when you had to physically trek down to the Board of Health to verify your birth certificate and then apply for this privilege to start earning an income.

Without going into all the details, I learned that my biological father left my mother when I was very young, and she later began a new life, with the man I had thought was my Daddy.  I have vivid memories of my time with Daddy, times of running to the store together, other times hanging out under the Triborough Bridge in Astoria, on warm summer nights, as he hung out with his buddies and chatted about life.  He took me everywhere and we were always together.

I also remember many Sundays when my Mom would stay home with my two younger sisters and he and I would head over to visit his sister (who was the matriarch of the family). We would always find her in the kitchen, surrounded by massive pots of sauce with meat, cooking her regular Sunday Italian dinner for the huge family that would be spending the day. Since these were special visits, when it was only the two of us popping in for a short hello – we would arrive before everyone came by.  But that didn’t mean I didn’t get to enjoy a dish of pasta with some meatballs and some delightful Italian bread before we left to go back home to my Mom and sisters.  It was a special “secret” between me, Daddy and my Aunt – since my mother would always say, “Don’t go eating all sorts of stuff, because I’m making a nice dinner for us when you get back.”

So when I found out that he wasn’t actually my biological father – I really didn’t care.  I guess I figured my biological father left my mother when I was very young, never attempted to see me again and this man loved me, loved my mother, and loved my sisters.  So in my heart – he was my father.

So now back to the present - I am contacted by someone claiming to be my sister. She had been adopted at birth, and raised by wonderful parents, who also had three other daughters.  She knew she was adopted, and was definitely raised and loved as one of their own daughters. Sometime in her teens, she sat with her parents and asked tons of questions about her biological mother. They shared many stories and answered anything she asked.  Eventually she decided to search for her mother.  After many, many years of searching through records, she finally did a DNA search that led to a first cousin. That discovery lead her to information about her biological father – which also led her to me – her sister – and my two sisters I’ve grown up with – who are also her half-sisters.

We emailed each other, sent text messages back and forth, and shared tons of info, pictures, and stories. Then we arranged a time to have a telephone conversation.  I was amazed at how nervous and excited I was about this call.  I called her on a Saturday afternoon, and we spoke for over three hours.  Speaking with her came so naturally and was super easy, as if we had known each other for our entire lives.  Since then, we have been in touch constantly.  She then planned a trip to come up to NY (where her son lives). We are counting down the days until we will actually meet each other and continue on our journey as sisters.  Our only regret is that she was unable to connect with me while our mother was still alive. 

We’ve been sending tons of pictures of each other back and forth, comparing how we looked at different stages of our lives; 

. . . when we were kids (with our sisters),

. . . when we were young moms, 

. . . pictures of our sons and our grandchildren, 

. . . and any other picture we think would be fun to share with each other.

I sometimes feel as though I am watching one of the episodes on one of those programs I enjoy so much – and then see myself and my sister on the screen.  There’s such an array of emotions – dealing with betrayal and abandonment, discovering secrets, and then new discoveries.  But as we move forward on this journey, I am excited where this will lead in our future – as sisters.

I am confident that this very time was known by my Lord, from the moment each of us was formed in our mother’s womb, and our future is in his hands as well.  I am thankful for this discovery in my life, and to be on this journey . . . along with my sister.

"For you formed my inward parts;
    you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
    my soul knows it very well.
 My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
 Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
    the days that were formed for me,

    when as yet there was none of them.

How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
    How vast is the sum of them!
 If I would count them, they are more than the sand.
    I awake, and I am still with you."

- Psalm 139:13-18