Mom’s secret is revealed

Looking back on my journal

I called Mom to let her know I’d be stopping by. I knew my sister, who she was living with, would be working all day and wouldn’t be home to overhear anything. It was President’s Day, and I had the day off. Mom had just turned 89 a few weeks earlier. She was thrilled to hear I was stopping by and always enjoyed a visit.

Mom greets me at the door with big furry gloves and her winter jacket on. She and my sister are in a war about the thermostat. My sister was menopausal and liked the apartment cool. Mom’s health issues caused her to be always cold. Mom liked the place roasting hot. My sister means well, but she is stubborn and thinks she can sneak that heat down low when Mom isn’t looking.

I hugged Mom hello, and after some small talk and me boosting the thermostat to 80, we sat in the living room to chat. Mom asked about my recent trip to Utah (for the RootsTech conference). She always worries when I fly somewhere and is not a big fan of women traveling alone in particular.

My recent genealogy conference seems like a pretty good opening to bring THE subject up.

Mom sat with her coat and gloves finally off and the cup of hot tea I made her in her hands, holding it up close to her face. I sat diagonally across from her on the couch. I grabbed a pillow to put on my lap. I have no idea why. It’s just a shield or comfort of some sort, I guess.

“Mom.” I started, “I came here to talk to you for a specific reason. And I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a heads up about why, but since your hearing isn’t that good on the phone, I didn’t want to try to explain that way.”

Mom looked at me, concerned. She held her tea cup tighter to her chest.

“Are you sick?” she asked

I shook my head. “No, Mom, I’m fine. I wanted to tell you about something I discovered recently.”

Mom looked suddenly shaken and afraid. I panicked for a moment and wondered if this was a good idea after all. I moved closer to the edge of the coach so that I was touching her knee. “Mom, it’s fine. I’m OK. Things are OK. But I need to share something with you.”

“I don’t want to know,” she said. I noticed a look on her face I had never seen before. She was scared. Now what, I thought? Is it fair to do this to her? I already know the truth. Will I be pushing her too much?

“You don’t want me to tell you?” I said.

“Well…maybe you better.” She finally said, still holding her tea close. She closed her eyes as if she was bracing for me to punch her.

This was not typical Mom behavior. She is the strongest woman I know. All I can think of is she must have had some inkling as to what I was about to say.

“Mom. Mom. Open your eyes. It’s OK. Really. No worries about anything, OK?” I said, rubbing her knee.

She opened her eyes. I started in. “When I was doing all that DNA testing, I found out something really surprising.” I watched for her reaction. There was none. She was frozen, and her eyes were fixed on me.

“I found out that Dad is not my biological Dad,” I said gently.

“And I found that *Joe Callaghan is.”

Mom took a moment to respond. She closed her eyes. Then opened them.

“I wasn’t ever going to tell you.” She finally said.

I nodded, but I was annoyed by that answer. She was planning on taking this with her. I had no doubts about that.

A few moments passed.

“How did you know it was Joe?” She asked, genuinely interested in the answer. She seemed floored that I had figured it out. 

I explained to her the process of comparing the results with my brothers and sisters, not matching Dad’s 1st cousin at all, and finally, the contact from the Callaghan DNA cousin that linked us through Joe’s grandmother. 

I told her this wasn’t a conversation about judgment and that her relationship with Dad and Joe was not my business. I wasn’t going to ask her about any of that. But I did have at least two questions for her.

I asked her about whether she ever doubted Joe was my bio father. “Did you know for sure?”

“How could I not know? Yes. I knew.” She answered.

I see Mom is still stiff and unmoving, and I say to her, “Mom….listen. I’m OK. If it had to be anyone, I’m glad it was Joe. I know he was a good man.” She immediately relaxed and seemed to take a breath for the first time I started speaking.

I heard myself tell her things I knew she needed to hear, but honestly, I knew in my heart I wasn’t accepting even to myself.

“Nothing has changed.” “They are still my brothers and sisters.” “Dad is still my Dad.” “I don’t think of him any differently.” “I’ve accepted it.” “I’m OK.” “I don’t judge you.” “I still love you.” “I’m not planning on telling any of the other kids or my own kids any time soon.” “I have no intention to contact the Callaghan family and disrupt their lives.” 

Each sentence I said brought my mother further and further down from the ledge. I saw that she needed to hear them desperately. I can deal with my stuff later, I thought. She needs this forgiveness, and I am the only one who can give it to her. She seemed completely and utterly relieved at my words.

“I do have another question, though,” I say. Mom looks nervous, but I see her strength come through. She sits up straight like she is ready for the blow.

“Did Joe know?” I ask

She wavers for a moment and gestures with her hand dismissively.  “It was 50 years ago.” She pretends not to remember. But she sees I’m not buying that. I just look at her. Then she scrunches up her face and reaches back into her memory.

“I did tell him, yes.” She chooses her words carefully. “He denied it at first.”

I asked her what happened next.

“Well, I just said, noooo… it’s you.” 

She seemed not to want to talk about this. I could see her mood had switched to embarrassment. 

I’m sure there is more to this conversation and “understanding” between them. I let it go. I will dig deeper next time if she lets me.

*psuedonym

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.