Never knew I had a sister
Ancestry.com has its advantages. Like finding out you have a long-lost sibling you never knew you had.
Last month, I was fortunate enough to meet mine when I took some days off to drive to Louisiana. The meeting validated what I already thought, thanks to countless phone conversations — she is smarter than me — but at least we look and act somewhat alike, thanks to our mutual DNA.
On top of that, I got to reconnect with four first cousins who I haven’t seen in decades. (Where does the time go?)
This family reunion took place in south Louisiana from which my paternal Cajun/Spanish roots derive. I counted it as a success that I returned home weighing no more than when I started this adventure. If any food can compare to Mexican, it’s Cajun.
My bio dad was only 16 when my half-sister was born during the Depression Era.
He then served in the U.S. Navy in WWII, opened a sawmill business near Seattle, and in late 1954, with the help of my RN mom, planted the seed that would turn into me.
Here’s an odd thing — my sister and I are exactly 20 years and one day apart. Her birthday is Aug. 7; mine is Aug. 8th.
(Note: If you missed my birthday this year, you can still send belated presents. Thanks.)
In my photo albums, I have several photos of my dad, Wilson Doré, holding me in his lap, but he sure isn’t smiling, so already at the age of about 1.5 or 2, he and my mom were apparently having problems.
He split the scene just shy of my 4th birthday. I have one memory of him. Just one. I don’t judge him for taking off. Don’t judge him for never paying any child support. Don’t judge him for drinking so much he died of liver failure at the age of only 53 when I was 17.
One big reason I don’t judge my bio dad’s behavior is because without him, I wouldn’t exist. Nor would I have a sister.
Call me a fatalist, but I believe that life plays out the way it’s meant to play out.
Whatever that really, actually means, who knows, but it sounds somewhat profound, so let’s go with that.
Life is odd, though. We think about our lives and how changing one little thing in our past — where we went on one particular day, who we met, bumped into, etc. — would have changed everything. We’d be living somewhere else. Married to someone else. Working a different career choice.
Of course, that may just be a life based on chance outcomes, but it doesn’t seem that way. It seems like some other, larger, force is at play as we move from cradle to grave. Almost as if our life has been mapped out for us.
I can’t exactly remember how many years ago that my long-lost sister first got in touch with me. Five or six, I think. She had run her DNA through Ancestry.com, got a hit from another first cousin in Louisiana, and they started talking, and I think one of the other cousins mentioned me, and we were off to the races. At least by phone until our personal meet last month.
My dad had five siblings, all of whom had children. One aunt had five kids, so the first-cousin list is long.
Having thought of myself as an only child most of my life, actually meeting someone who shares half of my DNA was a mindblower in a way. I mean, I look at my sister who is perfectly normal, and I wonder, what happened to me?
My sister, Shirley, lives in Orlando, but I’m bound and determined to meet with her again. I think having a sibling is a blessing. So thanks, dad, because even though you led your life in a, shall we say, somewhat irresponsible way, you left behind two people who thank you dearly for this thing we call life.
Talk to you later, sis.