Today is the day… Or rather, today is supposed to be the day.

We’re supposed to have our results by today… I am hoping and hoping they come in. I don’t know how I’ll handle it if I’m forced to wait until Monday.

Honestly, I don’t think I’m prepared for either answer. Positive or negative. Both of them are monumental, and as such, both have the ability to create a tremendous impact on my life. Of course, one is obviously preferable, but life-changing nonetheless.

I don’t know what I’ll do with either answer… Except know.

I’ll finally know.

I feel like a hurricane of emotion and anxiety right now… Today is supposed to be the crescendo, and I’m still holding that note until we get word.

DNA Day: Monday

Things in my life are awfully complicated lately. I suppose complicated isn’t the word I’m looking for. Confusing? Conflicting? Complication? Anxiety-inducing? Terrifying? Exciting? Dread-inducing? All of the above and maybe a few more?

I wanted to clear something up in my previous two posts. Re-reading, I may have given an unfair impression of my mother. Although what I said was factual, I didn’t present it in the best light. My mom did the best she could given the situation, and even despite the fact that my father was absent, she still made the choice to keep me and give me an opportunity at life. I had a lot of problems in my teen years, and in a way, she may have thought she was protecting me by not telling me who my father may be. Although I disagree with that choice, and it hurt me greatly, she made the choice she felt was best at the time. Maybe in retrospect she’d have told me then. Maybe she wouldn’t have. Regardless, we can’t change it now and I didn’t mean to make it sound as bad as it came out. There is no checklist of how-to-make-all-the-right-choices-as-a-parent, and just as I’m learning as I go with my own children, she was too. I can’t fault her for that. Thankfully, I’m not in a position to ever have to make that kind of choice with my own children… But I can only imagine how difficult of a situation that must have been for her. We all do things we aren’t proud of, and admitting and owning up to those things, especially to have to do it to such an intense level, can’t be easy and for that, she deserves respect. It takes a big person to own up to something of that caliber. Although I will never understand why she made the choices she made, and it will probably always sting a little, I don’t believe she made them out of ill-intent.

Now that’s cleared up, I did my DNA test. We drove to Anchorage, my grandma, myself and the three kids. I enjoyed the ride. I like it much better when someone else is driving, rather than myself. It was nice just to talk and relax a bit. On the way up, we pulled over before AJ’s roadside memorial. I can’t believe it was two years ago in August…. I fixed it up some while I was there, but I didn’t have much time.

I knew someone had put up a second cross a while ago, but I didn’t know who. When I got up close to it, I realized it was probably Rodney’s mom or dad because they had chiseled “Rest in peace son” into the wood of the cross. I didn’t know Rodney, but I can’t imagine the pain his parents feel, even now, two years later.

We made it to Anchorage and had lunch with Dan’s grandmother who was up from Texas. She had asked me a while ago to make her some diapers for a friend, and even though it took me quite a bit (finals, school, life, etc) I got them done and she absolutely loved them.

So after we had lunch, Grandma and I headed off to find the place where my appointment was. It took us a little bit of searching, but we found it. We went in about half an hour early though because my phone and camera were both dead and I needed to find an outlet. We let the kids walk up the stairs rather than take the elevator. After all, they’d been cooped up in the car all day… Might as well let them stretch out while they can, right?

We waited a little while and they called me back. I had Ava in the moby wrap, and she was being a little fuss bucket. She was her usual self… Angry at the world and screaming her head off. She wouldn’t even calm down long enough for me to fill out my papers even though I had just fed her and just burped her. Sometimes I think she just hates me or something.

Anyways, I popped a boob in her mouth to keep her calm while I was trying to fill everything out. They had to do an identification photo, and there was no way I was taking her out and pissing her off even more… So this is what my ID photo looked like…

I thought it was hilarious, so I had to have the woman take a photo of it.

The actual DNA test was simple. I filled out a form with my information, name, birthday, social security number, address, etc. Then they took my thumbprint, a photo then they had me sign the form and the picture. Then, they took swabs and I had to sign the envelope those were placed into as well. The form, picture and swabs were all then put into a plastic baggie sealed with tamper tape, which was then put into a FedEx envelope and shipped.

It was easy. Almost felt too easy, like “That’s it?” I remember being strapped to a board when I was a little girl, kicking, screaming, hyperventilating while they drew blood from my ankle. I know it was only a cheek swab, but I expected those kind of feelings.

After, we went to Fred Meyer and Wal-Mart, then headed home.

Now all we can do is wait.


Unexpected Emotions

I was 17 when I was told the names of the two men who could be my father.

The last few days have been a whirlwind. Actually, the last two weeks have been… Between my little sister going missing (and her subsequent recovery) to finding the man who may be my biological father.

It seems as if I’ve been standing in the center of a hurricane. I can’t feel the wind,  but I can see what it’s doing and it’s overwhelming.

I’ve spent so long thinking that I would never find my father, and that this part of me would always be void. I’ve spent so long thinking that it was always going to be this way and nothing would change, no matter how much I searched. I’ve been searching so long, that I didn’t stop to think, “What happens when I find him?”

The answer seems like it’s simple. We get a DNA test and go from there. That’s what we did last time. I never talked to the guy. My mom orchestrated it all. I got the cheek swab, we waited for the results and that was it. They were negative, and it hurt, but part of it was a relief. The guy in question wasn’t the most savory character, so even though it stung like nothing before to get a negative result, there was at least some silver lining to it. I wouldn’t have to meet my father for the first time in a jail cell.This time, it’s even scarier.


Because this man, his wife, their family and their friends… They all seem so amazing. Just from the limited interactions I’ve had with them, I can tell they’re such positive people. They didn’t react the way I expected when I approached them. They were open, accepted and excited. They still are. These people are really nice, and I like them. I want to be part of that.

So why is it scary?

There’s still a chance I’m not. There’s still a chance that this amazing family isn’t connected to me at all and that I might be putting them through this all for nothing. I hate the thought of getting them excited, and getting their hopes up just for the test to turn out negative.

There’s a chance that all of those similarities I’m seeing between us aren’t real and that maybe I’m just trying too hard to see what I want to see. There’s a chance that all of the silly little coincidences that have to mean something that I keep stumbling over, really are just that. Coincidences.

That is what scares me.

The problem with this fear, is that there is no solution to it either way. Had I not approached them, I’d have spared them the excitement and possible letdown, but I’d still be dealing with the inner turmoil I’ve always dealt with. The only option, is to continue on, and find out the truth.

So for now, I’m stuck here, in limbo,  in the eye of this emotional hurricane, and even though I can’t see it on the outside, I can feel it on the inside.

22 years, 7 months & 9 days


I’ve spent my entire life feeling like half of my self was missing. I was lied to, deceived, and put off. My paternity wasn’t something I was allowed to bring up… Not unless I wanted to start a fight. Yes, I had two step-dads, yes they were great. But no matter how amazing or wonderful a step-parent can be… It can’t fill that emptiness, longing or desire to know where you really come from.

The last DNA test was done when I was fourteen. I remember asking, very sincerely, if he was it. Is this the one? I was assured, it was the only possibility. When the DNA test came back negative, I was devastated. The man who had orchestrated my abduction when I was only five, wasn’t even my father. Part of me was relieved… The other part of me was devastated.

I tried to find out who else it could be, but my mother refused to tell me. It wasn’t any of my business. I moved away to live with my grandparents and we hardly spoke about it until later. When I was seventeen, my mother used the two names as a bargaining chip to make sure I wouldn’t dart off in the airport on my way to a treatment facility for my eating disorder. I couldn’t do anything with those names. Not yet. We made a bakery and make it glow by using local market strategies that I acquire from

When I got out, I started searching. And searching. And searching. And searching some more. I searched every profile I could find on Facebook and Myspace with either of the names. Nothing but a lot of dead ends. I used google. I signed up for military websites, hoping for something… anything. But it was all done in vain.

I sent a letter to the National Personal Records Center and the U.S. Army Enlisted Records & Evaluation Center, hoping they could help me, but they couldn’t. They send the letter back telling me there was no way they could help me. I still have that letter, along with the letter I enclosed that I had hoped they would send to him. They are sitting in my filing cabinet.

The last few months, I’ve felt like giving up. I’ve felt like it was pointless, useless, a wasted effort. Maybe these men didn’t want to be found. Maybe there was a reason I couldn’t find them.

I started searching death records. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been afraid that these two men would die before I got the chance to find them and to find my answers. It’s always been a real and nagging fear of mine.

Yesterday, a couple friends helped me search. We pulled up some interesting things, but nothing useful. Nothing that led anywhere. I posted on a website I use every so often about the situation, and some amazing women on there helped me. One of them pointed me at a website called Veromi. From there, I was able to find past cities the man lived in, along with the name of a possible relative.

Instead of paying to get other information, I started cross checking the information on google. After about three or four hours, I found his facebook page. He hadn’t updated his facebook in a while… So I looked at his wife.

I’ll admit, I was a little stalker-ish. I read almost two years worth of her Facebook posts. By the time I was done, I felt like I almost knew her. It’s amazing how much we put of ourselves on the web. I wonder if the people who read my blog feel that way about me. In the wife’s posts, she mentioned the name of the relative.

I knew this was it.

I sat there, in the dark, late at nigh, my three-month-old baby sitting on my lap, and I cried. I’ve been searching for so long, and I’ve never even come close, and here it is, right in front of me.

I didn’t really think it through. I sent him and his wife a message. I didn’t tell them who I was, just said that I may know him and asked if he was in the military. The wife added me.

I saw her login and panicked. I wanted to talk to her but didn’t know what to say. I struck up a conversation and within a few minutes, I just told her everything. I expected her to be angry, apprehensive, disbelieving…

But she was sweet, kind, and dare I say, excited?

I’ve played out so many different situations and reactions in my head over the years. The good, the bad, the neutral, the insane…. But never had I pictured it going this well. There is no easy way to tell someone you might be their daughter… But there is no easy way to tell them you might be their husband’s daughter either.

I learned a little bit about them, and now, I really hope this is it. I’ve been waiting for so long and this means so much to me, and it’s finally within reach. I started feeling panicked, in the back of my mind. What if it’s not him? I’m back to square one. I told the wife this and she asked the other man’s name. Turns out her husband was best friends with him.


The answers are neatly gift-wrapped, sitting under the tree just waiting to be opened. Before, that box was nowhere in sight. I’ve been waiting anxiously for Christmas to come. I started to feel like it’d never be here, and now I see that box. Waiting for me. Within reach. Looking for baby shower gift inspiration? Check out Little Chickie here

I’m finally going to know.

It feels so surreal.

Finding My Father…

A lot of people don’t know this, and a lot of people do, but my paternity has been a mystery to me since I was born. They thought I was one man’s child for two years until a test proved them wrong… And then they thought I was another man’s child for twelve years until yet another test proved them wrong. After the second test, my mom refused to tell me who my dad was. Eventually she told me, but not until I had turned eighteen and spent six months in bible bootcamp being forcefed religion and damnation.

When I got back, I looked for the two names she gave me. But there was so many people listed in the white pages by those names… People all over the country. I even went as far as to call some of them. I thought about mailing them all a letter, but postage would have been a few hundred dollars! I gave up for a while.

My husband and I didn’t really agree on the issue. I still think we don’t. He thinks that by searching for my father I’m being inconsiderate to any wife or kids he may have now, and I’m not thinking about how this will affect his life. I know it will affect him, but even if he has other kids, I have just as much of a right know my father as they do. For sure, when time comes I will give my father a trimmer for his beard with some beard trimming guide.

So, I’ve decided to find him. I’m going through the military to do it this time though. Sometimes the military is able to help locate active duty personnel or former personnel. I found the address to the National Personal Records Center and the U.S. Army Enlisted Records & Evaluation Center. I wrote them both a letter requesting information on the two men, and enclosed a stamped envelope containing a letter for each man in the event that they are able to find them but unable to legally release the information to me. That way, they can address the letter and send it to them.

Now it’s just a matter of waiting. Four to six weeks of waiting.

I’m nervous. I’ve always wanted to find my father… But I’ve always been afraid to. It’s one of those things where you want to do it, however, you’re too afraid to do it. You keep putting it off.

But, I’ve made up my mind this time.

I’m going to do it.