I Went Home. Sort of.

Last week, we made the impossible trip. 

When we left Dallas almost 9 years ago, I was glad.  9/11 had just happened and I was nervous about living in such a big city.  We were on our way to East Texas with our first child who was 3 months old.  Toward the end of our one year in East Texas, we planned on going back to Dallas to start a church with one of my husband's friends.  We temporarily moved in with my inlaws for what we thought would be 2 months until we could go back to Dallas.  During those 2 months, we made a couple of trips back to Big D.

And then we realized that we should not be part of that church plant.  The circumstances changed and we bowed out.  So then we were stuck in Louisiana with no job for my husband and I was pregnant with our second child.

The thought of Dallas was the thought of home.  I missed it like a child misses her mother.  I still can't even tell you why that place had such a place in my heart.  Perhaps it was because I lived there until I was 7 and had fond memories of it, or because it was where I married my sweetheart, or miscarried our first baby, or where I gave birth to our oldest son.  Maybe it was the friends we had, maybe it was the materialism and the lights.  Maybe it was the wide open sky view that wasn't obstructed by those stupidly tall pine trees that grew in East Texas.  Dallas was in my blood.  I wanted to go back.

I didn't go back for 8 years. 

When we hit north Texas last week, driving in on I-30, it was wonderful.  The sky was full of clouds, but it was a huge sky, nevertheless.  We got to our friends' home, ate dinner with them, and while they went to bed, we went driving.  We drove for a good 2 hours that night, after being in the car for 9 hours that day.  We went downtown and saw just how much it had grown.  We saw First Dallas, where my husband was on staff for a short while and looked at the new building.  We enjoyed I-75 because it's got to be one of the prettiest interstates in the country between downtown and 635 going north.

The next day, we loaded up and went to see our last apartment before we moved away.  We got to see friends unexpectedly.  And then we went to see it.  The place where I was conceived.  It wasn't the home my parents lived it.  It was a University.

I cried from the time I saw it until we drove away.  My dear husband pulled over in the middle of the campus and prayed for me as tears streamed down my cheeks.  I looked at the sidewalks and the doors and windows and wondered where he walked and what windows he looked out of.  I wondered where his classes were.  I wonder if he parked his car where we were parked. 

It was a weak connection to the man who sold his sperm to help create me, but it was all I had. 

A Year and a Day

I get tired of saying that learning I was conceived via sperm donor was the most shocking episode of my life, but it's true.  There is nothing like having the rug that your entire life was built upon pulled out from under you.  But it's been a year, as of yesterday, and I'm functioning, which is WAY more than I can say regarding my mental status this time last year. 

A year ago today, I was sitting on a church member's couch, trying to hid my tears and wondering why in the world I didn't have the sense to tell my husband I needed to stay home.  I think that I realized that life was going on and I figured I needed to go on with it, not knowing that shock really can be debilitating.  I was in a complete fog.  My husband had to tell me what to do throughout the day.  I just could not make myself function.  I hope that was the hardest part of all of this, because if it is, then it's over with.  I can't imagine it being that difficult in the future. 

A year later, I can say that God has been so gracious to sustain me.  I can see how this could have easily sent me off the deep end, never to return.  A friend asked me a while back what this has done for my faith.  It truly strengthened it.  It made me run to Christ even faster than usual for comfort. 

"...Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess.  For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are - yet was without sin.  Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need." (Hebrews 4.14-16)

I've had verses of Scripture that were especially comforting to me in various situations in my life, but I've not really identified a verse (or passage) that so well illustrates this year of dealing with my new (but old) reality.  But this passage would do it.  It sums it up well.

Today is my birthday

I found out about my conception almost two weeks after my 32nd birthday last year, so this is the first birthday I've experienced knowing the truth. 

Rather than being discouraged that this is just one more in a long line of birthdays spent without knowing my biological father, I'm rejoicing in the fact that the Lord has given me another year.  I'm so thankful for all of the wonderful gifts God has given me - a wonderful husband, five beautiful children, and a real Father who I never have to search for.  Thank You, Lord, for your goodness to me!!

Sufficiency

I finally mailed a three month old letter to a doctor whose picture I saw in a yearbook.  This particular man looks just like my oldest son (and both of my daughters!) and a lot like me.  It took three months to send that letter because I wasn't sure that I wanted to know for sure if he could be my biological father.  I mailed it and I prayed.  A little more than a week later, I got a response.  The answer was no, no way he could be my father. 

I have to admit that it was hard to read that.  I think because I spent three months debating and thinking and praying, it was harder than it had to be if I had just gotten up the courage to send it much sooner.  It was a hard thing to accept for three reasons: 1) he looked like a really nice gentleman from his current website picture (and his note to me only cemented that thought) and 2) it mean that I am starting back at square one, and this time, there are really no men who jump off the page at me.  It means having to revisit all those questions that were seemingly answered when there was a possibility of a match.  And third - it means that I still don't know my genetic father.

Did I not pray enough?  Did I not look diligently enough?  Did I do something to deserve this?  What do I need to do?

The apostle Paul was "caught up to paradise" where he heard "inexpressible things, things that man is not permitted to tell."  Then he says, "To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.  Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.  But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weakness, so that Christ's power may rest on me..." (Found in 2 Cor. 12:4-10)

I haven't seen inexpressible things, and I'm not sure that I can say that being donor conceived is a messenger of Satan, however, like Paul, I am weak.  Like Paul, I've prayed for God to give me a conclusion to this.  I've prayed to discover who my father is.  I'm looking as diligently as I know how.  And I feel depressed when I look through pages of men and wonder how in the world I'll find him.  But through this all, I know the Lord's answer to Paul is His answer to me: His grace is sufficient for me, and His power is made perfect in my weakness.  So I will boast about my helplessness if it means that Christ's power may rest on me. 

I think that ultimately, this isn't about finding my father and then being satisfied.  I believe that it's about being satisfied in Christ, whether I ever find this man or not.  It's about hanging my hope on the eternal God, and not on a mortal man. 

I love this quote by John Calvin: “Whoever is not satisfied with Christ alone, strives after something beyond absolute perfection.”  I would add that when I am satisfied with anything less than Christ, I am too easily satisfied.

Just Talked With My Dad

My mom and dad make a surprise trip here today.  They were only here a couple of hours, but I had the opportunity to talk with my dad.  This was only the second time I've talked with him, and I thought in the beginning that I would NEVER get to talk with him about this situation.

Because of the Parkinson's and other health issues, it wasn't the conversation that I would have normally had, but it was still good all the same.  He was having a good day, mentally speaking, and was able to understand the things I told him and I got to ask a few questions, too.  I did ask him if he wanted me to keep him informed on whether I found "the med student" - I couldn't bring myself to say "my biological father" to my dad in the precarious mental state he is in.  He said he'd like to know if I find anything out.  I didn't mention that I have an idea of who he might be...no need to bring it up until I know something more concrete.

So thank you, Lord, for arranging the opportunity to talk with my dad!

New news

I mentioned a couple of posts ago that I now have a yearbook that I've been looking through.  I found a couple of men who were possibilities, but one in particular stands out. 

Since seeing this one particular picture, and just how much I think I look like him, its been pretty emotional for me.  I think that I've exchanged one frustration (not knowing) for another frustration (could it be him? and what do I do now?). 

I want to contact this man, yet I know that I've got to wait and just process all of this.  But I'm not sure if I should contact him or not.  At this moment, I can look at the picture and assume that he is probably my bio-father, and maybe be satisfied for a while.  It isn't definite, it isn't a bullet-proof theory, but it is somewhat satisfactory. 

If I contact him, though, I open myself up to varying degrees of rejection, and then I'm back at square one.  But on the other hand, maybe he would want to hear from me.  There is a world of possibilities.  And frankly, having a half-baked lead is better than a complete rejection.  But complete rejection is still better than wondering what might have been.

So between the emotional roller coaster and not knowing whether I should contact him or not, I've been doing a lot of praying.  Maybe "praying" isn't the right word.  This is more like one of my little children who cries to be held when they don't feel good.  I'm sitting in the floor, crying, with my arms outstretched, waiting for God to pick me up.  And He does, and its so good to know that He is ordering each step, even when I'm unsure about which step to take.

What is my identity?

Identity can be a tricky thing to nail down, and I'm not talking about social security numbers, either.  Who am I?  I am a daughter.  I am a wife.  I'm a mother.  But what is my identity? 

It's funny how God prepared me to find out about my dad.  I spent 9 months prior to finding out about this situation thinking about how my identity must be in Christ.  Here is something I wrote on April 23, a month before my mother's conversation with me:

Maybe He (God) does this for you, too: for several months at a time, He seems to impress on me certain themes, usually through preaching and life in general. One of the things that He has been teaching me over the last 8 months has been that my position is in Christ.

I am a mother. But my children will grow up and I will no longer "mother" them as I do now. I am a wife. But my husband could die before me. I will no longer be a wife. But I am forever Christ's. As the song goes, "no power of hell, no scheme of man can ever pluck me from His hand." Paul puts it this way: "For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8. 38, 39)

God was preparing me for the identity crisis that was headed my way.  He was so good to get me ready spiritually for what could have been a life shattering revelation.  His grace blows me away.  I don't deserve it yet he gives it anyway.

What This Has Done In My Life

Finding out that my dad isn't my biological father was pretty devastating. I felt as though who I am somehow cracked, like an old sidewalk that has worn with age. It was all I could think about. It seemed as though my entire childhood was based on a lie - my dad, who was such an important part of my childhood, was raising another man's child. When he looked at me, what did he think?

The fact is, though something in me broke, it wasn't a permanent broken-ness. It was cracked, but not unfixable. My dad does love me, and did love me and I know in my heart that he couldn't have loved me any more than if I were his biological child. Any questions that would arise in my mind as to whether he ever regretted having me are chased away by the knowledge that I am loved by my dad, even as the Parkinson's strips away his faculties.

As for my father whom I do not know, every waking moment was filled with thoughts of him. What does he look like? Would he like me? How am I like him? Do I have any of his personality? Did he marry and have children? How many times did he 'donate' - are there other siblings? I would look at my children and wonder who their grandfather is. I would look at myself and wonder who I was seeing in the mirror. Washing dishes and wondering about my grandparents. Grocery shopping and checking the faces of the tall men who have dark hair. It seemed to never end. There were days that I couldn't carry on conversations without struggling to focus. He is still in my thoughts, though not like he was.

All of this has caused me to be even more thankful to God because He has made me His child, which makes Him my Father. I have no doubt that I know who my true Father is, and that knowledge is more valuable to me than anything else. He will never hide His identity from me, never make me wonder who He is. He created me with the purpose of bringing Him glory, and I hope that my life does that. The Bible says that God works all things for good for those who love Him and who are called according to His purpose, which means that even in this situation, God is working things out for my good. That "good" may not look the way I expect it to look, but that is where I trust Him and learn that "good" is all in perspective. When Jesus died on the cross, those who had followed Him for three years and those who had loved Him didn't see any good at all. But once they understood that Jesus had to die but then rise again, their perspective changed. Suddenly, the cross was good because it made a way for us to be redeemed.

I may not fully see on this side of death what the good is in this situation, but I know that I can trust Christ.

The Hard Days

When I first found out that my Dad isn't my biological father, I had no idea who I could talk to about it. I didn't know anyone who has advertised the fact that they are donor conceived. I couldn't afford a therapist. My pastor has never dealt with this before, but since my pastor is also my husband, he learned as we went. He was a comfort to me by holding me and loving me and letting me just talk, but he couldn't offer that "been there, done that" experience.

I needed someone to minister to me in a deep way. Telling me that I should be thankful for the dad that I have and that I'm selfish to want to know my biological father doesn't meet that need.  I needed someone to point me to the Father that I do know.  Fortunately I know how to pick up my Bible and read, because that's all I had as far as "therapy" - God Himself who knows exactly what I was feeling. 

There were four really hard, difficult, how-am-I-going-to-get-on-with-life kind of days.  The first day that I found out, followed by the next day, which was harder than the first.  "Shock" is a funny thing.  I think the second day was harder because the news was becoming reality.  Yet I was still in shock.  I think it was at least 2 months, maybe closer to 3 before I felt as though I wasn't in shock anymore.  How do you deal with the reality that your entire life (for me, 32 years) was spent believing that one man is your father, only to find out that he isn't?  My dad has had such a huge influence on me, good, bad, and ugly, but mostly for the good!  I felt that I was stuck in a nightmare and could not wake up.  I was helpless to do anything to change my situation.  So I prayed.

God really did answer in an incredible way.  He hasn't brought my biological father to my door-step (I have prayed that, though!) but He has given me the peace to know that He is not in shock, but has planned this for my good and His glory.  Sounds crazy, I know.  How does not knowing who my father is good for me?  Frankly, I don't know.  But I do know that the Bible says that He works all things for the good for those who love Him and who are called according to His purpose, so either the Bible is lying, or I just cannot yet understand how God is working this situation for my good.  I know Scripture doesn't lie, so that leaves me with waiting to see how it is worked out for my good.  I only know that God is good and as His child, He knows how to take care of me.  So even when it hurts, I trust Him.

The other two really hard days were the days that I found out there were no records left from my mother's visits to Dr. Aiman's offices and the first day that my house was quiet and I had time to think in silence.  That may have been the hardest day of all. 

My older children where gone to their grandparent's home, and my babies were napping.  The entire day was much less noisy than normal, and once the little ones were sleeping, it was really quiet.  No noise was intruding on my thoughts.  I had 6 weeks to settle in to this new reality, and it really hit me hard that afternoon: somewhere out there is a man who is my father.  How do I live not knowing who he is?  How do I go on not knowing where I came from?  Who my grandparents are/were?  Do I have half sisters and/or brothers?  How could I NOT know??

My emotions had my mind spinning out of control.  The weight of the whole situation was pushing my soul down into this darkness that I'd never experienced before.  When I first found out that I wasn't my dad's, I felt darkness trying to push into my heart, but it didn't get too far.  This time, the darkness wasn't pushing in on me, but I was slipping down into it.  I've never dealt with depression before, and thankfully, I haven't had any major traumas in my life that I had to experience on my own.  My husband and I lost our first baby to miscarriage, he has been unemployed, we've lived with both sets of our parents, but these were things that we went through together.  This situation, this having my heart ripped out...this was mine to deal with.  My husband was with me, for sure, but I felt alone. 

I could feel myself being pulled down into a pit of dispair and I was desperate to get out of it before it enveloped all of me.  But how do you get out of that if you can't change anything? 

My husband came home to find me crying over the sink in the kitchen.  He knew what I was going through, but neither of us knew that THIS was coming.  He sat on the couch with me while I blew up at him.  He didn't know how to help, but listening was what I needed from him and he did a great job of that. 

His best friend had also come home with him, so the two of them listened to me and then talked to me, and I don't remember any great fantastic things that they said, but they were there and that really helped.

After they left again, I got my Bible and read.  I don't remember what.  Somewhere in the Psalms.  God used His Word as a salve on my heart.  He plucked me out of the darkness.  He gave me peace.  Just as Jesus calmed the storm when He was on the boat with the disciples, He calmed the storm in my heart. 

My Story

I want it known from the beginning that I love both of my parents. And both of them love me. The Lord gave me the parents that He wanted me to have, and I am thankful to Him for them. I'm so glad that I grew up in their home.

I'd always wondered why my nose didn't look like my parent's noses. I have dark hair like my dad and when I was a kid and actually played outside, I had a dark complection like my dad. But my dad has a rather large nose and while mine isn't small, it definitely isn't his. Nor is it my mom's nose. My sister's baby pictures looked just like my mom's baby pictures. I just sort of came out of nowhere with my look. But I'd heard stories about Mom's pregnancy with me and there are even some pictures of us at the hospital, so I knew I wasn't adopted. I never imagined what the truth was!

My mom told me one time that they would jokingly tell people that I was my dad's child from his first marriage, and my sister was my mom's from her first marriage. Of course, they were never married to anyone else - they just said it because I was dark like Dad and my sister is fair like Mom.

My parents married when Mom was 17. She had me, the oldest of the two of us girls, when she was 31. That's a long time to be married with no children. I had always known that it took them a long time to get pregnant with me, but somewhere along the way, I remember being told that Dad had some kind of surgery to fix something and yada, yada, yada, Mom was pregnant soon afterward. That was rather vague, but honestly, I didn't care to know too many details of that topic! When you are a teenager, you don't really want to know too much about your parents and their, um, life together. So I never remember asking many probing questions.

Over the last few years, my dad has developed some health issues that have affected him both mentally and physically. Since they moved away from us, it seems as though he got worse each time I saw him. It was difficult to see him become less and less like himself.

Each time I would see him, I would wonder, "Will this be me in 30 years? Will Keith be caring for me the way Mom cares for Dad? Will I forget who people are?" Those thoughts have been swirling around in my mind for the last few years. Instead of googling what he has and checking out for myself to see if they are genetic, I just put it out of my mind. There are some things about your future that you just don't want to know.

This past May, my second son graduated from Kindergarten. My mom and her sister were able to come be here for it. On the way to the graduation, with only babies in the van with us, I asked Mom if anything Dad has is genetic. She said something like this: "I never told you all the details about your conception. We tried for several years to get pregnant and we decided to go to a fertility doctor. I only had a cycle a few times a year and Dad had a low sperm count. He put me on fertility drugs and got my cycle regular and he suggested we use a sperm donor. But your dad and I kept trying while I was on the fertility drugs. We never told anyone."

My first reaction was something like, "Are you telling me that Dad isn't my real father?" As soon as she said it, though, it all made since where my nose came from. It came from my biological father!

Keep in mind that I was driving! It was a crazy conversation that just sort of happened. There was no plan to it, and I'm sure Mom didn't wake up that morning knowing that she was going to spill the beans on a 33 year old secret. Also, because Dad really did get Mom pregnant with my sister when I was 4, I think that Mom was convinced that because they kept trying while she was on the fertility drugs that he really did get her pregnant with me. I think the use of artificial insemination may have just become a non-issue in her mind. I can't speak for her, but this is what I'm guessing.

So this conversation only lasted about 15 minutes before we got out of the van to go watch my son graduate. Then we all went out to eat. I'm not sure how I went through the evening looking relatively normal.

Once we got home that night, I asked Keith to google the possibility of green and blue eyed parents having a very brown-eyed daughter. What he found was that it was virtually impossible. I cried. Really hard. Keith just held me. But I didn't really need the eye color to confirm what I already knew. When Mom said they used a sperm donor, everything just made sense.

I've read what some other people have said about their "social fathers" and how they never felt close to him or something to that effect. That was not me and my dad. I was a Daddy's girl. I probably had my dad twisted around every finger I had when I was younger. There was no divide or disconnect or anything between us. He loved me and I loved him. Let me correct that - he loves me and I love him.

Keith and I spent a good deal of time talking with Mom about the whole situation that night after everyone went to bed. When they left the next day, I immediately sat down at my computer and started my search.

My mother remembered the name of the doctor that she saw, but she couldn't remember what kind of doctor he was and she also didn't remember where she saw him. The first thing I did was call an OB friend who told me that Mom would have seen a reproductive endocrinologist. A what? I had a hard time saying that. What job title in the world has 10 syllables? A reproductive endocrinologist does.

Google was my best friend when it came to research. Since I was completely clueless about how to even search for this doctor, I spent the first day or two trying to figure out how to look. Once I got a handle on that, I found her doctor easily.  I found a brief "resume" online that told me where he was in 1976. Finally, I had something substantial.

When I first talked with my OB friend, she told me that all records would have been destroyed after several years. I was hoping that she was wrong. After a couple of weeks of talking with the records department and sending in paperwork to release Mom's records, they let me know that the records had indeed been destroyed 10 years after Mom was a patient. That was a let down, even though I tried not to get my hopes up that they were still intact and just waiting for me with the name of my father written in neat penmanship.

I spent every night for a couple of weeks searching on google for anything I could find that might be of use to me. I found several blogs and emailed a couple of people. I discovered that in the 70's, med students were mainly used, especially at medical schools. There were no sperm banks at the time, so everything seemed to be kept "in house" and sperm was not frozen at that time, so I knew that my father was still a student in the late summer of 1976, and not some random student who could have been long gone before my parents ever saw the doctor.

Since the good doctor told my parents that he would pick a donor who looked like my father, I *know* that he was tall, dark complected, and I suspect that he wore glasses. My Dad wears glasses and my eyesight is horrible. That's about all I'm able to discern about him.

My next hope was to find a year book from 1976. I was saddened again to discover that there were NO yearbooks published in the years of '76 - '80 (if he had been in his first year in '76, he could have graduated in 1980) BUT the university did put together a book about the history of the school that included class pictures and names of the graduates. I am currently hoping to be able to purchase this book as soon as possible.

It may be naive, but I'm hoping that since I don't look like my mother, I look like my father. If that is the case, I hope that his face will be easily discernable. I'm pretty sure that I'll be able to cross out blondes, Asians, and African-American men, though I'm not sure how many of the last two categories there would be at this school in the 70's. But it's something to work with.

I am also listed on the Donor Sibling Registry and amfor.net. I hope that someone will contact me...