The Stranger who Became a Friend

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It was September 15, 2016. Eighteen months since I discovered my Dad wasn’t my Dad. I still hadn’t told anyone my secret, not even my husband. I know that sounds crazy. I hadn’t confronted my mother with my discovery yet, either. Looking back, I know there’s a term for how I wasn’t dealing with it. It’s called trauma denial. A Google description explains, “Trauma denial often occurs when the reality of the trauma is so great that it is psychologically safer to bury, deny, suppress, or avoid what happened.” Totally accurate description of me during those eighteen months.

But on that particular night of September 15, the dam was about to break. I was scrolling mindlessly on Facebook, trying to escape. Something from the New England Historic Genealogical Society caught my eye. They just released a new book, “The Stranger in My Genes,” by Bill Griffeth. The words “DNA test” and “father, not his biological father” jumped out at me, and I stopped dead in my tracks to read the entire post. I bought the book and downloaded it immediately on my Kindle. I had an almost desperate feeling as I started reading it. It was a life-changing moment for me.

For the very first time since this whole nightmare began, I felt seen and validated. I felt the gamut of emotions reading Bill’s book, which was heartfelt, honest, vulnerable, and so moving I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I reread it the next night and stayed up all night again. Then I went back and read specific paragraphs and sentences, underlining the most meaningful ones that spoke to me. I had exclamation points in the margins. There was someone else out there who felt what I felt.

Bill was a well-respected financial news anchor on CNBC at the time. He was also an avid genealogist. Like me, he wasn’t especially interested in DNA either, but he took a test in 2012 at his cousin’s urging, who was also a genealogist. Weeks later, Bill was at work when his cousin emailed him and told him that Bill’s Dad couldn’t possibly be his biological father based on the DNA results. After retaking the test (”Obviously, there was a mistake”) and having his brother test, the reality hit him hard that it was true. He struggled with the same feelings of loss of identity that I did. Bill writes about his journey in such detail, the highs and lows of his grief process, his conversation with his mother, and trying his best to move forward, living his new truth.

I became obsessed with contacting Bill and communicating with him. I finally found him on Twitter. But I couldn’t tweet anything to him publicly because I was afraid that family and friends who followed me on Twitter would discover my secret. So I tried to message him. But I discovered we had to be following each other to DM. So, I followed him, and then I tweeted to him:

Thankfully, he didn’t think it was too weird, and he followed me almost immediately, messaged me, and said, “What can I do for you, Jenny?”

It all came pouring out of me like a fountain. The poor guy probably didn’t know what hit him. I think he could sense that if I was reaching out to a stranger, I must be really distraught. Over the next several days, I couldn’t stop writing to him about what I had discovered, what I had been through, and how heartbroken and grief-stricken I was at this discovery. I wrote until I felt emotionally drained.

They say people come into your life for a reason. Bill and I are good friends to this day. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and I credit Bill’s calm and steady reassurance as helping me through it all. He encouraged me to feel whatever I felt and not apologize for it. He encouraged me to journal. He shared his struggles, even though it had been over four years for him. He made me realize that there was no blueprint for this. There was no right or wrong way to feel. There was no “getting over” this, but I could “get through” this. I could live with this. Even if it still hurt.

I told my husband shortly after I read Bill’s book. And, of course…it was a tremendous, tremendous relief to be able to talk about it with him. My husband felt terrible that I kept it to myself for so long. But, after being married to me for over 25 years, he knew how I needed to do things in my own time. And it took a stranger to kick-start this part of my journey.

MY next hurdle to face was gearing up to talk to Mom. I couldn’t wait much longer because of her declining health.

This is my NPE story of discovering in 2015 that my Dad was not my biological Dad. If you’d like to follow along, I encourage you start at my first post of the series HERE.

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