So this year marked the year, my middle-aged ass found out that not only do I have one half-sibling I never knew about, but possibly two.
I will back up. Spawn is college scouting. I am not of the means to be able to fork out the dough for four years of college in this shithole of a country. Grants and such are given for all sorts of reasons, and our genetic heritage has only been passed through word of mouth. Since “Cherokee” was discovered to mean “Jewish” when a friend went through their family history and I had heard the same Native American roots about my sperm donor, I figured it was time to find out.
“Cherokee” meant “black” by the way. Congo and West Africa. I wish my grand was alive so I could give them the good news. We are also apparently not Scottish, but French.
But an anomaly occurred.
A first cousin showed up to Spawn. Or rather, someone with enough of a genetic match that first cousin was the best guess. I didn’t think much about it. Spawn’s other parent is absent, as is their dad and mine as well. Unknown kids cropping up by the immature who only know how to sow oats did not shock me or give me much pause. But it kept niggling in the back of my mind when I couldn’t math it out right. This person would be in my generation, not Spawn’s and there wasn’t much indication it was on Spawn’s other parent’s side.
So I took the same test and waited…
25+% DNA match to this person. Congratulations, I am NOT an only child.
It was also not on my sperm donor’s side either. Their other genetic ties were all to individuals carrying the last names on my mother’s side.
What. the. ever-living. fuck.
I remember grand suggesting that my mother had possibly had another child when I was little. But grand liked to trash talk anyone she was angry with, or if she wanted to manipulate say, my emotions, towards the person she was trashing.
Despite the fact that I was taken away from my mother, and grand filed a restraining order out of spite… this didn’t stop my mom from coming home when she was homeless, jobless, and could find no where else to turn.
I vaguely remember a time when my mother was at home for a long period, she slept a lot and I really didn’t notice any size difference because who cares about trivial shit like that when your only parent who gives you even a bare minimum of attention is actually around for an extended period. But I also do not remember how old I was when this happened. I remember her telling me her boyfriend of the moment was going to be coming one night and when I asked what he was like, she made him out to be some disgustingly looking fairy tale level troll with squishy cysts and nonstop stench because she had a twisted sense of humor that way. He arrived, looking boringly normal and I didn’t see my mother again for months.
With some level of trepidation, I reached out to this stranger with whom I shared a quarter of my genes.
The response was fast. They had apparently been on the gene site for almost ten years, pretty much giving up the idea they would ever know about their birth parents. They managed to get some paperwork at the unwed women’s center about the adoption. From the notes, my mother was not well thought of and they were just short of using the phrase “gutter slut.” But it was the sign of the times, there was nothing more shameful than being unwed and pregnant. My adopted sibling was told that my mom had refused to hold them or acknowledge them, then promptly sashayed out in her “designer jeans.”
Mom was many things: immature, selfish, self-centered, dick-chasing and quite possibly manic. But she was not vicious, unkind, or cold. I explained that likely, if my mom had even touched them, I doubt she could have given them up. And as for designer jeans, I think she had a pair of jordache she scored from a thrift store and had to get on while laying down on the bed with a wire hanger. Pretentious or haughty, mom was not.
I also explained that around the time they were born was right around the time I was suicidal and deeply, deeply wanted to not exist. It was the first year being “unwanted”, a “mistake” and an “orphan” really hit me as identifying descriptors of my existence. That was the only thing that stood out to me THAT year since it was also the first time I’d ever been sent to a therapist.
Children in therapy are NEVER the way they are portrayed on TV. There is no inner sense that you can divulge information to THIST adult because there is some gut instinct they will help. Children who had been repeatedly betrayed by adults only see them as enemies. Divulging weaknesses is just giving them something they can use against you. Always, without exception. We spent an hour talking about her potato clock, when I did talk at all. All grand got out of whatever feedback given, was that it was all my mom’s fault and no amount of therapy was going to help until “she fixed herself.” Since that was also the last time I saw a therapist, I can guess she said something grand did not want to hear about themselves.
How could anyone want to bring another child into that family, and that environment?
It cut me that I had to tell this newfound sibling their mom had been dead over twenty years. That they would never get to ask the questions they probably really wanted to ask. They would not have been satisfying answers (I certainly never got any), but at least they would be possible to ask. I was their only link, and I was still just educationally guessing based on what I knew of her. What a jype.
Another thing that was in my new sibling’s paperwork was there were FOUR PRIOR PREGNANCIES, aside from their birth. Only I was mentioned and apparently my mother lied and vaguely dodged a lot of other questions about the father and prior history.
I mentioned this to my cousin and the same uncle who took me away, them being older and potentially remembering more than I would. The first was stunned and knew nothing, the other flat denied it could be possible. So the cousin asked his mother, the eldest of them all, the grand jr. She casually said sure, there were two abortions and two adoptions and me.
This bitch…
Even my cousin asked why she’d never said a thing, and she remarks it wasn’t her secret to tell. The problem with that is, if she knew, grand did. Grand was the mastermind behind all manipulations, with friends in law enforcement, the court… if there was anything to find by invading her kid’s privacy, she would have known and been the jr. bitch’s source since they were a rabid gossip.
So, its entirely possible I have yet another unknown sibling out there. A sibling who just possibly used a different gene service than I and my new sibling did, if they sought us out as all.
It also means my dumb fucking mother got knocked up five times over eight years. It was one thing to fall down a self-destructive spiral and hurt yourself, but its another thing entirely when you leave innocent lives in the wake of your bullshit, and no lack of ill intention will redeem that.
It explains why she finally started to try growing the fuck up around thirty-five, coincidentally around the time she had a hysterectomy. Bitches in heat calm the fuck down when they get spayed, maybe it was just that simple.
I wish she was alive, just so I could crush her fucking face in.
What goal was she seeking fucking every trash bag she could get her hands on and hoping they would suddenly turn into knights in shining armor? Isn’t the very definition of insanity repeating the same action and hoping for a different outcome?
My only consolation is that my sibling(s) got out. The only thing mom did right by them was getting them the fuck away from her and her family.
My sibling has a phenomenal family and an incredible support system and an amazing adopted sibling who is… if I’d had to pick one, they’d blow any choice I made out of the water. They are nosey, fiercely protective and have no filter, so my adoration of them was immediate.
I will gladly take and give as much to this new facet of family as I am allowed, as I could not help but love them immediately and unconditionally. I hope I do right by them. I hope I at least do a lot better than our mother did for any of us.
Of course, in spite of the tagline of having something “for all occasions,” Hallmark does NOT have a card nor ornament for “Sorry you reached middle age and found out your mom’s a whore, but Congratulations on the new addition(s) to your family!”
idioglossia: the blog 