A Broken Tree Read online

  When the results came back, I called Diane and asked if she was completely sure she wanted to know. At this point, she could still walk away and continue to live with her belief that Mark was her father, as she’d done for the past six decades. I just wanted to make sure she was ready to handle such a huge, life-changing event. She assured me she was ready; she had to know for sure, and it was now or never.

  I told her that Jack’s report indicated Mark was not her biological father. She was silent for a moment, taking it in. I’m sure it was just as much of a shock for her as it had been for most of us. I recalled the moment when Jack had told me Mark was not my biological father—like having the rug pulled out from under me; like everything around me was beginning to swirl at incredible speed; the nausea growing in my stomach, and the sense of rage building inside me. I couldn’t help but wonder if Diane was experiencing the same thing.

  The silence continued. I finally asked if she was okay. I knew it was a shock to her, but I didn’t know how it would affect her. Finally, she started to talk. Her first word was “Damn!” Then she started talking about Mom. She began sharing more stories of the abuse Mom had heaped on Diane when she was younger. Each story heightened Diane’s sense of injustice. She didn’t come right out and say it, but I could tell what her feelings were. She was saying, “After all you’ve done to me, Mom, now you’ve done this. Even after your death, you are still taking things away from me. Now you’ve taken my father away from me! How could you possibly be so cruel?” Her rage continued to build as the reality of what she had just learned set in. It was personal now.

  I knew there was nothing more I could say. I just needed to be there and listen as she vented her angry feelings. I needed to let Diane voice her feelings. Finally, she said, “Stevie, I’ve got to go.” She hung up the phone without waiting for a response, and that

  was it.

  I knew that over the next few days she would have to come to terms with things in her own way. I’m not sure how much she shared with her family or friends. I gave her a few days to see if she would call me back to talk about things some more. When I hadn’t heard from her after four days, I finally called her and asked if she needed someone to talk to.

  We talked several times after that, and each time, Diane vented more about how she felt about Mom. She shared stories with me that I had never heard before. It was not an easy thing to listen to, but I knew she needed to get all of this off her chest. I remember that it had taken me about two years to finally work through my feelings toward Mom after I’d learned the truth. Like Diane, I felt Mom had taken my real father away and left me with nothing but a man I didn’t even know. I understood some of the intense and painful feelings she was going through. I also knew it would be a very long and difficult road she would have to travel before she could let go of her hatred toward our mom. The abuses heaped on her were far more than anything I had ever experienced, which made me wonder if Diane was even interested in making the grueling effort to work through this, much less to forgive Mom.

  During one of our conversations, I made a comment about working toward forgiveness. Diane let me know in no uncertain terms that she was not interested in going that route—at least, not yet, and possibly never. I shared my thoughts with Diane—about how we knew so little about what had happened to Mom to have broken her so badly. Diane was not interested in allowing our mom to use any excuse to hide behind, including the possibility of being abused herself, or mental illness. It quickly became clear to me that now was not the time to talk about forgiveness.

  Now that we knew Mark Anderson was not Diane’s biological father, the next item on our agenda became identifying the man who was. I remember very well what it felt like to not know who my father was. I struggled with this for two months before I finally flew home to confront my mother. Even then, I wasn’t sure she would remember who had fathered me; after all, it had been nearly sixty years since they had had their tryst. Maybe she had been fooling around with so many men back then that she wouldn’t even know for sure herself. During those difficult two months, I’d look into the mirror each morning while shaving and wonder whose blood was running through my veins. What kind of man was he? Did I go to school with his children? Did we know each other? Would I make the effort to meet this man? What would happen if he refused to meet me? So many questions. Now, Diane was going through these same feelings that I had struggled with.

  When Mom finally told me who belonged to whom, she had made me promise not to tell Diane any of it until after her death. Two years had gone by after Mom’s death before I finally told Diane our family secret. Because of this, there was no way for Diane to talk to Mom face-to-face and get some answers about her biological father. The only way we could try to find out his identity would be to purchase a DNA kit from the AncestryDNA website.

  By this time, I was making full use of the AncestryDNA testing services. We had started by using Andergene Labs to determine who was, and was not, biologically related to Mark Anderson. We had then decided to access the AncestryDNA database to see who we might be related to. At the time, AncestryDNA had the biggest database of genealogies linked to DNA test results in the market. If you used one of their DNA tests, your information was automatically added to their genealogical database. It would then be compared to everyone else who had taken one of their DNA tests. If you matched someone from their database, it would show how you were related to them. You could see if someone matched you as a parent, a child, a sibling, a cousin, or some other relationship. Ancestry

  DNA had come through for me so many times before that I thought it might work one more time, with Diane.

  As soon as I got my hands on a kit, I mailed it to Diane with instructions on how to use it. After the necessary waiting period for processing, Diane and I went online to see if we had any matches. Much to our amazement, we found two, a man and a woman. Now I was nervous. This seemed too easy.

  Both matches were listed as first cousins, so I knew we were on to something. (Distant cousins are often too far removed to be of any use.) I knew that both of these people might have information that would help us locate a living relative of Diane’s biological father. With Diane’s permission, I sent an e-mail to both matches. Within two days, the man responded, saying he didn’t recognize any of the names I’d suggested to him, nor was he familiar with anyone living in the area where we had grown up. It was hard to tell if he was being honest, or if he simply didn’t want to make contact with an illegitimate relative. He clearly wasn’t willing to help us in any way. I decided to wait until we’d heard back from the second person before I pushed further on this first lead. If our second lead produced some results, then we wouldn’t need to bother following up with this man.

  The second lead didn’t respond to my first e-mail. I looked at her AncestryDNA account and saw that she had not logged on to her account for more than a year. This was not a good sign. It was impossible to know when she might log on again and see our message. I also knew that when someone uses the “respond” link to send a message, the other person is notified via their iPhone that a response was sent. So, I guessed that she may have seen my e-mail and simply did not want to make contact.

  I decided to see if I could locate her on Facebook. The ID she used on her AncestryDNA account was unique enough that I thought I had a pretty good chance of finding her on Facebook, assuming she even had a Facebook account. I tried it and found her within five minutes. I was getting excited again. I looked at her posting history and saw that she posted regular updates on a monthly basis. If I had to wait a month, I could handle that. I wrote a private message on her Facebook page and sat back to wait as long as it might take for her to respond. Fortunately, we didn’t have to wait long. I got an e-mail reply from this second contact attempt within four days.

  Our contact was a thirty-five-year-old woman named Maren. She said that she’d gotten my AncestryDNA message and had forwarded it to a cousin, to see if she thought she should respond. Maren wasn
’t sure if this was something she should get involved with or not. Fortunately for us, her cousin told her to go ahead and make contact. Maren called and asked me how she could help. I explained to Maren that my sister and I had discovered during the last years of our mom’s life that Diane was not the daughter of the father who had raised us, and we were hoping that she might be able to help us make contact with someone in her family line.

  We talked and compared notes. After about ten minutes, we were both convinced that we were close to finding answers to Diane’s question of who her father was. Maren said she had a cousin named Susan who had grown up in our hometown and might know our family. With Susan’s permission, Maren gave me Susan’s phone number and wished me luck, adding that I could call her back if Susan didn’t have the information I was looking for.

  I hung up with Maren and sat back to catch my breath. I was only a phone call or two away from finding out who Diane’s father was. It’s interesting to be in a position where you are about to cold-call someone and tell them that you think your sister is the (previously unknown) child of an immediate relative of theirs. Of course, I wouldn’t put it exactly like that. I knew that within a few minutes I would be talking to a woman who knew absolutely nothing about me or Diane. I would tell her that I was acting on behalf of my sister, and that we had some reliable proof that she is the daughter of this woman’s uncle, brother, or someone close to her.

  I had a million thoughts going through my head at the same time. My mouth was dry as I thought about making the call. This part of my research is never easy. The person on the other end of the line could have any number of reactions, including telling me to go away and never call her again. If that were the case, we might never know who Diane’s father was. Yes, I was nervous and on edge, but I couldn’t go back now. I had to make the call.

  When Susan answered the phone, I calmly explained who I was and why I was calling. I could tell from her voice that she was an older woman, maybe in her mid-seventies. She very politely introduced herself to me and said that she had been waiting for my call. So far, so good. She let me talk and never interrupted me during my initial explanation, nor did she hang up on me, which was another good sign. I knew now that we had a chance with this woman. Maybe she would tell us what we needed to know.

  I told her that my mother had lived in a small town in the suburbs of Chicago, and that she had had nine children. I also told Susan that before my mom died, she had revealed that the man who raised my sister was not really her father. (I didn’t bother trying to explain that this was true for all nine of us; I figured this would only complicate things, and might scare her enough that she might hang up on me.)

  After some discussion, I could tell that I had hit gold. This woman was going to lead me to Diane’s immediate family. As we continued our conversation, I explained that my mom had said Diane’s father was a man named John Davis, and that he had lived in our hometown, or possibly somewhere near Chicago. I told Susan that this was the man I was looking for; would she help me find his children, and possibly let them know ahead of time who I was? As soon as I said this, the line went quiet. I knew she was still there because I could hear her two dogs barking in the background.

  After about twenty seconds, I started wondering if something was wrong—that I might not find what I was looking for after all.

  Finally, she spoke.

  “You know what—John Davis was my father,” Susan said

  quietly.

  Oops! I was not expecting to hear that; an uncle, maybe—a cousin, even a brother, yes—but not her father. Now what should I say?

  This was getting uncomfortable very quickly. I’d known that chances were good I’d end up in this position sooner or later—that someday I would be trying to explain to someone on the other end of the line that their father had had an affair with my mother. In some cases, the men had been single, so their indiscretions could more easily be attributed to the foolishness of youth. But some of them were married men, with wives and children. To learn that their father had been cheating on their mother would surely be a difficult matter to deal with. On top of that, they would also be learning that they now had a half-sister or half-brother that they had never known about. That’s a lot of shocking news for anyone to hear from a stranger over the telephone.

  When I’d finally caught my breath, I apologized and told Susan that I hadn’t intended to break the news to her this way. She was very understanding, and seemed more concerned about my feelings than she was about learning that her father had had an affair. We compared dates and learned that Susan was already about six years old, with four older brothers and sisters, when her father had had the affair that resulted in the birth of my sister Diane. I was amazed at how kind she was, and how concerned she was for my feelings.

  I had so many questions I wanted to ask about her family. Maren had given me just enough information to allow me to do some research on Susan’s parents and grandparents. I was interested, but didn’t want to frighten her by asking too many questions about her family members. I decided to wait and see if she would allow me to call back after she and my sister Diane had had a chance to talk and exchange information. I asked Susan if it would be okay to share her phone number with Diane. Susan was not only okay with it, she was excited! She gave me her e-mail address as well, and asked me to tell Diane to contact her anytime; Susan was more than happy to talk with her. Wow! This was more than I had ever expected.

  At this point, I knew it was up to Diane and Susan to decide what kind of a relationship they would work out between them. I had done my part to find her; now it was up to Diane to follow through. When I called Diane and reported what I had learned, she was very excited. She had thought it would take weeks or longer to find anyone who might know who her father was. She never dreamed that I would find her half-sister in just about three days—and that she’d be willing to talk with her!

  Later that evening, I received a blind carbon copy of an e-mail Diane had sent to Susan, saying Diane was excited to hear from Susan, and see what the two of them could learn about each other. She had included a photo of herself so Susan could see what her half-sister looked like. I hope Susan does the same. I would love to see if there are any similarities.

  After everyone else had gone to sleep, I was still thinking about finding Diane’s half-sister. Diane was the last of my eight siblings to learn that the man who had raised her was not her biological father. Yet, she was the first to actually make contact with her biological father’s family. I had to laugh when I thought of the irony. We had been so concerned about what Diane would do when she found out about our family’s secret. We knew that her feelings for Dad would make this more difficult for her than for any of the other children. Yet, hers turned out to be one of the best success stories of any of us.

  This entire story about our family never ceases to amaze me. Just when I think I’ve got things figured out, a new twist happens, and things turn out quite differently than I expected. If I would have known six years ago what I know now, I doubt I would have believed it.

  1. Griffeth, Bill. The Stranger in My Genes: A Memoir. Boston: New England Historic Genealogical Society, 2016.

  Chapter 6

  Adding Clarity to the Picture

  This whole adventure of discovering our family’s true identity started in late 2007. It began with a few stories and the thought that we wanted to find out who we really are, as a family. The confession by my mother that Neil was not Mark’s son and the as yet unproven stories that Carlee and Holly also may not have been his daughters provided just enough information to convince me that there could very well be more to the story than any of us might have been aware of.

  When we first started, the only clue we had that any of us may not have been fathered by Mark Anderson was with Neil, at the time of his accident. The differences in their blood types raised the question of Neil’s paternity with my parents, which resulted in my mother admitting to my dad the real story. We feel that
there are enough details that corroborate Mom’s story to feel reasonably confident that he is not Mark’s son. Until Neil allows us to test his DNA, we will not have indisputable evidence; only genetic testing will provide that. For Carlee and Holly, we were going only on what our mother had told us, and we knew from experience that we could never consider Mom’s testimony an unquestionable fact.

  By May of 2016, we had done enough DNA testing to provide us with many valuable facts and some amazing stories. The puzzle was coming together to show us a picture we had no idea existed when we’d first started investigating our family’s history. Still, there were more questions we needed answers to. I wasn’t quite sure how we were going to move forward with this investigation, but with each DNA test we conducted, new windows of opportunity opened up, showing us how we might be able to find those answers that had been eluding us for so long.

  Brothers or Half-Brothers?

  In 2016, Tim and I were not sure if we were full brothers or half-brothers. Mom couldn’t remember if my father was Ray Jacobson or his brother, Timmy Jacobson. She was sure that Timmy Jacobson was the father of my brother Tim. In fact, that relationship had meant enough to my mom that she had named my brother after his biological father.

  When I learned that I could be either Ray’s or Timmy’s son, my wife and I started doing research online to see if we could find some additional information about the Jacobson family. We were hoping there might be some clues to provide us with enough proof to say, with complete confidence, that I belonged to either Ray or Timmy. We were especially hoping to find photos of the brothers to see if Tim or I resembled either of the Jacobsons.