When I sat down to write about my sibling journey it felt wrong to say it started a few months ago. It began when I was a kid hounding my mom with questions about my absentee father whom I had never met. The details were vague, which was frustrating to a young girl who was trying to figure out where the missing part of her had gone? And why was she the only one in the family with red hair? My grandfather’s explanation, that great, great…great(?) Aunt Hildegard was a strawberry blond was sus at best. I asked so many questions: what did my dad look like? did I look like him? was he tall? did he like to read like me? An unknown part of me was missing, and therefore I wasn’t quite whole. As I got older and my imagination grew like a muscle, I imagined scenarios where my father and I were reunited, and the great mystery of my life would be solved.

At some point, I set all the questions aside. I wasn’t satisfied with the answers, but I suspected I was causing pain, or discomfort, if not a great amount of exasperation. Through the years, when I was asked why I didn’t have a dad, I would say I never knew him. Which always caused a sinking feeling, as if his absence was proof I wasn’t worth knowing.

Then adulthood sprung and I realized people were complicated. I accepted I would never know the other half of my parents’ story and that was okay. The disappointment that I had carried withered away. The discomfort of having to explain the whole one parent thing never did.

Through the years there were times I dug my birth certificate out and studied my father’s name and wondered. Did he think about me? Sometimes late at night I would Google his name or stalk men with similar names on Facebook. But the curiosity would come and go. I never had the courage to start a serious search.

Years later my best friend’s dad was diagnosed with ALS. He passed away not long after and it made me look at genetics in a different way. Suddenly the unknown was scary, and I thought of that other half of my genetic code and all the what ifs came crashing down. All the countless medical forms I had filled out over the years and the accompanying empty feeling of not knowing haunted me. More time passed and then my kiddos, specifically the middle child, started asking the same questions I asked as a kid about my father.

You know those moments when you feel like the universe is listening to your question and it answers back in the most bizarre way? Like an email from ancestry.com advertising 60% off their DNA kit. Alexa probably has something to do with it…

I jumped on that deal, but when I dropped the completed DNA kit off at the post office, I instantly regretted it. The “what if” thoughts were overwhelming. When the results came in and I perused the list of strangers I was genetically linked to one thing was clear: there had been a mistake. My father’s last name on my birth certificate had been spelled incorrectly. No wonder I hadn’t found any info on Google or Facebook. I had no idea where to begin or where I fit in. Then the most wondrous thing happened. One of my dad’s cousins, the family historian who also happened to have a plethora of medical info, reached out to me. I call her my kindred cousin and she was my guiding light. Together we figured out my place in the family tree. I learned my father had passed a few years ago, but I had a big sister and brother. Kindred cousin offered to reach out to them to see if they would be interested in meeting me. I took a few days to think about it because…well, what if?? What if knowledge of my existence caused pain? What if they thought of our dad differently? Would I be damaging relationships? Uffda!

My husband reminded me whenever our children fall into the “what if” spiral I’m quick to ask “What if a herd of elephants barges into our house? What if we’re out of peanuts?” My point to them is that we can play the “what if” game forever, it doesn’t change the fact that most things we have no control over.

I asked kindred cousin to reach out to my siblings and less than a week later I met them via video chat. That was a few months ago and getting to know them and their families has been one of the best experiences of my life. The greatest gift they have given me is sharing memories of our dad. I have a good sense of who he was, the good, the great, and the not so great (we’re all human after all.) I’m proud that he overcame struggles and found faith and a love that lasted decades. He lived a good life, and isn’t that what we all want for ourselves and for the people we care about?

The second gift they have given me is letting me and my family be a part of their lives. Texting and talking and learning how amazing their lives are and about their journeys and adventures through this crazy life makes me incredibly grateful.

At times, I fall into the rabbit hole of “what could have been,” but then I realize what is happening now may be better than what could have been. My siblings and I are lucky, I think, that we never had to deal with the squabbles of childhood, we get to skip all that and get to the good stuff, the gravy, the friendship of adulthood.

So courage, my friends. Be courageous because you never know what guiding light you might encounter, and the acceptance and love that awaits you if you have the courage to find it.