As I continue my search for the strangers who gave me life, I am forced to make assumptions. I feel that I’m close to understanding their connection, but certainly don’t want to interfere with people that don’t yet trust my intentions. I honestly don’t want anything but answers, and so my quest for closure goes on.

DNA testing has brought me together with biological half-sisters and the man I believe to be my birth father. Unfortunately, he took his life on this day eight years ago. He was a war veteran, lost a son, experienced heart problems, and found his body to be ravaged with disease. He must have felt that he was destined to be a burden on his family. To be candid, I just witnessed a life that went on a few years too long. My wife’s 97-year old mother became such a tragic victim of old age with severely limited sight, mobility, and hearing. She relied on her daughters, assisted living, and round-the-clock nursing to get through her last days. I wouldn’t want to live like that. It made me sick to even think that such a celebrated life could deteriorate into a pitiful existence. The end was a relief for all of us, and I mourn her loss the week before the commemoration of this man I write about today. 

I am fortunate to have heard some first-hand stories of my assumed birth father. He was born in the small Indiana town of Alert, with a current estimated population of 90. Her grew up an athlete, fought as a Marine, retired from Cummins Engine after 35 years of service, and built an eight-sided cabin for his wife of 60 years. She was unaware of my existence that happened before they were married, but showed me gracious hospitality on their amazing, creek-side property. It was an experience that I will never forget, and she followed up my visit with a candid thank-you call. She knew my suspected birth mother in high school.

Unfortunately, the birth mother has not been so forthcoming. The closest genetic connection I have is with one her sister’s children, but adoption paperwork documents her identity. She is still alive at 86 but has allegedly commented to a close relative, “don’t you think I would remember something like that.” Apparently, she doesn’t! My guess is that she’s denied it so much that she probably believes it.  An unmarried pregnancy was controversial enough, but she also might have been embarrassed to admit that the father was a distant cousin with the same last name. Any way you look at it, I was a traumatic experience. I also feel that her partner never knew of my birth since he immediately went into the service after high school and married shortly after. 

Today, I say thank you to a man I never knew and who  likely never knew me. He would have been 88 this year, with a July 2nd birthday. Perhaps in another month, I will have more information on both of them and maybe even the truth. In the meantime, I’m writing tributes to their lives for giving me mine.