This year I turn 48, the age my father was when he died of pancreatic cancer. So I had a genetic test. I wanted to know if there was a reason to worry I might get—or have—cancer. I already know I have risk factors: an immediate family member who died before the age of 50, and I have Ashkenazi Jewish heritage on both sides.

A desire to foresee my fate, to know my destiny, opened a Pandora’s box. In order to get a genetic test, I was required to receive counseling first, to understand how genes work, what risk factors I may have, to decide whether I really want to know if something deleterious is waiting for me.

In our session, the counselor talked me through genes and inheritance. On a piece of paper, she drew a genogram, a family tree with symbols depicting gender and relationships, known cancers, and deaths.

“In anthropology, we call that a kinship chart,” I told her. As an anthropologist, I was familiar with these models. Kinship diagrams show relationships. For anthropologists who go to live in foreign cultures, it’s a tool to reduce confusion between common names in the community of study. It’s a way to map a community, as relationships between people impart more meaning and contextual information than does an individual.

My genogram only had ten symbols on it. Ten known family members, five of whom were deceased. The genetic counselor wrote the words “limited info” on the paper depicting my family. “That was quick,” she said. “You don’t have a lot to go over because you don’t have a lot of family.”

A 2019 PEW Research Center survey found that 27% of home DNA test users discover unknown close relatives, meaning a person could accidentally learn they are not biologically linked to those to whom they thought they were related. DNA tests can have devastating emotional consequences when people learn they have no genetic connection to their kin.

But I was in the inverse situation: my genetic test results impacted biological relatives to whom I had no actual connection.

My father had estranged himself from his family of origin when he was in his early thirties. He cut off all contact with his mother and two younger brothers by the time I was eight. (His father had died by then, due to heart-related issues, as far as I know.) I don’t know why he did it, but as an adult reflecting back, I think disconnecting was what my father felt he had to do to survive.

Forty years later and 26 years after my father’s death, I had the test and learned one copy of my ATM gene has a pathogenic mutation, an alteration with sufficient evidence to be classified as capable of causing disease.

The abbreviation ATM stands for “ataxia-telangiectasia mutated.” The ATM gene is located on chromosome 11. It helps control cell growth and repair and replace damaged DNA. Research suggests that people who carry one mutated copy of the ATM gene may have an increased risk of developing several types of cancer. Those who carry ATM mutations experience more frequent cancers of the breast, stomach, bladder, pancreas, lung, and ovaries than do others, but studies are neither definitive nor conclusive. Research is ongoing, and guidelines and testing protocols are updated every year as new information is learned. The gene wasn’t even discovered until 1994, the same year my father died.

There is justification for worry. In 2020, pancreatic cancer was the third leading cause of cancer deaths in the US—surpassing breast cancer—and is on the rise. Pancreatic cancer has a very low survival rate. Symptoms are generally not detectable in early stages; by the time it’s found, it’s usually so advanced that treatment and surgery have little benefit. Some research shows chemotherapy may extend life only by days or weeks, and the quality of that extra time is not good. The median survival rate is three to six months.

It’s a short distance from pancreatic cancer diagnosis to death. Recently we mourned the losses of “Jeopardy” host Alex Trebek, civil rights legend John Lewis, Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and, not that long ago, actor Patrick Swayze, to pancreatic cancer.

My father lived 16 months past his diagnosis. He endured surgeries, radiation, and chemotherapy and suffered their ravages. I saw him lose his ability to walk, see, eat, speak. He exceeded expectations, but it was a long, slow slide to the inevitable, and we had that much more time to watch him suffer with helpless dread. I was with him as he died. The grief from that loss is still with me today.

I assumed, as did my genetic counselor, that my mutation was inherited, not caused by something in the environment, even though only 3% to 10% of diagnosed cancers are heritable.

The only way to know for sure would be to fill in my genogram, my kinship chart, with more information from living family members: my father’s brothers—my uncles, who were, in effect, strangers.

Genetic testing for pathogenic mutations in family members can be helpful in identifying at-risk individuals. What was my obligation to my biological relatives? If not to my father’s estranged brothers, what about their adult daughters? There’s a 50% chance they inherited a mutated gene that increases their risk for cancers, and if they have it, their children have a 50% chance of inheriting the mutation as well.

These women are strangers. I never met them. I don’t know if they know I exist or if they knew they had an uncle who died. But the genetic information is important; I would want to know if there was something in the biology of a stranger that affected me.

I searched for my cousins’ addresses on the Internet so the genetic counselor could send a letter: “A member of your family has been identified as having a mutation in the ATM gene….”

I asked the genetic counselor to include my contact information and how we are related in the letter so my cousins could reach out to me if they wanted. She informed me it’s against policy.

Robert Kolker, author of “Hidden Valley Road,” suggests genetic ties are but one aspect of how we connect to others: “We are more than just our genes; we are in some way a product of the people who surround us, the people we’re forced to grow up with and the people we choose to be with later. Our relationships can destroy us, but they can change us too and restore us, and without us ever seeing it happen, they define us. We are human because the people around us make us human.”

I wanted to do a good thing, the right thing. But maybe I can’t make a familial connection out of a biological one.Amy Goldmacher is an anthropologist, book coach, and author in Michigan. Visit her website and find her on Twitter and Instagram @solidgoldmacher.BEFORE YOU GO…

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Recognizing the challenges facing individuals who experience DNA surprises, Adoption Network Cleveland (ANC) has launched the DNA Discoveries Peer Support Group, a virtual peer support program focused on the emotional impacts of the journey. It kicks off with a special panel on February 2 facilitated by ANC’s search specialist, Traci Onders, that will feature an individual who’s discovered misattributed parentage, a donor-conceived person, and adoptees who have found birth family. Onders spoke with us about the program and the personal journey that led her to working with ANC.

How did you come to Adoption Network Cleveland and how did you become interested in this work?

I started as program coordinator for adult adoptees and birthparents in 2016. I’d begun volunteering at Adoption Network Cleveland (ANC) prior to that because its mission was personally important to me. Adoption Network Cleveland advocated for adoptee access to records in Ohio for more than 25 years, and finally in 2013 Ohio passed legislation that opened up original birth certificates to adult adoptees. It’s hard to imagine this would have happened without the steadfast determination of ANC, and as an adoptee, I wanted to give back to the organization that made it possible for me to request and receive my original birth certificate. ANC is a nonprofit organization and has a reputation for advocacy rooted in understanding, support, and education—a meaningful mission to me.

I was born to a woman who had been sent to a home for unwed mothers to hide the shame of pregnancy from the small town in which her family lived. There was no counseling available for the grief of relinquishing a child, and she was told to go on with her life and forget about it. These homes no longer exist; we know now how awful and hurtful this practice, rooted in shame, is.

My birthfather died a year later in a tragic accident. He was also an adoptee, raised as a son by his maternal grandparents. I will never know if he knew who his father was, but thanks to DNA, I do.

I first searched for my birthmother more than 20 years ago after my children were born. Pregnancy and childbirth made me want to know more about the woman who carried me and gave me a deep understanding that she made decisions that had to be extremely difficult and painful in a way that I had not previously appreciated. I had complicated pregnancies and no medical history for myself or my children. As a mother, I felt compelled to know and understand more about both my history and my beginning. At that time, I discovered that the agency that handled my adoption, Ohio Children’s Society, had destroyed its records. I had no information at all to work with, and my search hit a brick wall. It was important to me that I connect with my birthmother in a way that was respectful. I didn’t know if she had told anyone she’d relinquished me, and I was concerned that if I hired a private investigator, the PI might use tactics that I wasn’t comfortable with or make a possible secret known to others, and that this somehow might hurt my birthmother or her family. Until I could request my original birth certificate in 2015, I didn’t have many options. In 2015, adoptees were finally able to access their original birth certificates in Ohio, and when I did this, it named my birthmother. I also discovered that I have a maternal half-sister. My birthmother and I reunited very shortly after that. I was finally able to learn her story and to gain a more complete and ongoing medical history. Knowing these things and my relationship with her have been blessings in my life that for many years I did not imagine would be possible. A few months later I met the extended family, and their warm welcome touched my heart.

My search for my birthfather led me to test my DNA at Ancestry and 23andMe. I‘d been told who he was, but since he died very young, I did not have the opportunity to connect with him or understand his story. Using DNA, I was able to confirm what I’d been told, which allowed resolution that I might not have been able to find in such ambiguous circumstances. He was a kinship adoptee, and I was able to determine his parentage.

I learned that although he died when he was twenty-three years old, he’d had three children with 3 different women—that I have two paternal half-brothers, both born to different woman. The first died as an infant. The second brother took a DNA test to learn his ethnicity. He discovered misattributed parentage—that the man who raised him and is on his birth certificate is not his biological father and that I am his paternal half-sister. We don’t know if his father knows, or even if his mother knows for sure. He doesn’t want to discuss this with them, and that’s his decision.

At ANC, we use DNA to help adoptees solve for unknown parentage, and my own search made me acutely aware of how much in recent years DNA was tearing down brick walls and helping connect people who might otherwise never find each other. It also made me particularly sensitive to the fact that some of these discoveries can be quite earth-shifting for people.

As my work in this area grew, I was promoted to search specialist to greater focus on assisting those in search, utilizing both traditional methods and DNA. ANC provides support and guidance throughout the journey of search—before, during and after—and has for more than 30 years. I came to appreciate how many people outside the adoption community were also  touched by DNA discoveries.

My own personal history of search and reunion give me an important connection with the people I work with because I can truly understand how these questions can consume one’s thoughts and time. I can relate to the frustrations, the joys, the sadness, the loss, the quest for knowledge when one doesn’t know their “chapter one,” the feeling of having to write “medical history unknown—adopted” every time one fills out medical forms or sees a new healthcare provider. Having reunited with my birthmother, I know the roller coaster of emotions that reunions can bring. I have a deep respect and understanding of the birthparent’s experience because of my work with many birth families and also my connections to my birth family.

Through my own journey, I have come to realize many things about adoption. It’s a lifelong journey, and not a one-time transaction. My work helping others separated by adoption to find each other—whether it is adoptees searching for birth family, birth family searching for adoptees, or more recently people that have DNA surprise discoveries—has revealed many complexities and similarities. When we shine a light on these discoveries, we find the impacts of secrets, shame, infertility, racism, money, power, privilege, mental health, abuse, neglect, domestic violence, trauma, addiction, grief, loss, religion, social class—to name a few. For me, it’s important to advocate for progressive practices and reform in adoption and child welfare.

The DNA Discovery Peer Support February 2 panel discussion is a joint endeavor by Adoption Network Cleveland and Adoption Knowledge Affiliates. Can you describe the nature of the collaboration?

Adoption Network Cleveland founded in 1988 and Adoption Knowledge Affiliates founded in 1991 have a lot in common. Both organizations were founded by adoptees with a vision to bring together adoptees, birthparents, adoptive parents, and professionals in an effort to increase knowledge, service, and understanding. Both have been impactful organizations over the years. With the pandemic and our world going virtual, ANC and AKA partnered to host a joint virtual conference in October 2020, combining conferences each organization had planned and been forced to cancel in the spring.

At ANC, we had been discussing how to better meet the needs of people who were coming to us with DNA discoveries—not only adoptees but those with misattributed parentage, individuals who are donor conceived, and others. Adoption Knowledge Affiliates started its DNA Discovery Peer Support Group in Sept. 2020, and ANC planned to start one in 2021. Adoption Network Cleveland and AKA are collaborating for the panel discussion on Feb. 2, and from there each will individually hold its own DNA Discovery Peer Support groups. People who might find more than one meeting a month helpful might like to have options.

How was ANC’s DNA Discoveries Peer Support group developed and conceived and why it was felt to be necessary?

At this point the majority of searches we assist with have a DNA component. In addition, we’d like to increase engagement of people with DNA discoveries beyond adoption-based situations. We have expertise in this area and would like to be a resource in a broad variety of situations. People are finding biological family or are being found; and they’re finding new information about their core identity, such as ethnicity, birth order, unexpected relatives, and more. There can be a wide range of reactions by those being found and those searching.

Many of the issues that folks are working through with a DNA discovery are the very same core issues experienced by the adoption community, such as loss, rejection, guilt and shame, grief, identity, intimacy, and control.

We felt uniquely positioned to offer support and guidance in a manner similar to what we have been doing through our General Discussion Meetings, which are open to anyone touched by adoption and/or foster care. Adoption Network Cleveland started holding these meetings more than 30 years ago, so we bring deep knowledge and the meetings evolve to meet current needs. More information about those meetings can be found here.

Adoptees who are using DNA to make these discoveries are excited to find new information and new relatives. It can be important to remember that we don’t know what this discovery might mean for the person on the other side, such as in the case of misattributed parentage for example, where someone might be learning that the man that raised them isn’t their biological father.

We wanted to create a safe place for people to speak about the emotional impact of these discoveries, in a confidential environment with people who have walked a similar journey and truly understand.

Are the groups being held via Zoom? Are they virtual as a consequence of COVID-19 or will they remain open to people from any location when virus restrictions lift?

We will be using Google Meet, which is a lot like Zoom. The DNA Discovery Peer Support Group and our General Discussion Meetings are free, but advance registration is required so that one can receive the link for the meeting. The meetings are the second Tuesday each month, 8-10 PM Eastern Time. Registration can be found on our calendar. We plan to assess and see once it’s off the ground if the meetings will remain structured virtually. Personally, I see this continuing as a virtual group if there is a demand.

How do you envision how these groups will go? Will each group meeting be facilitated? By you? What’s the goal and desired outcome?

Our group will be focusing on the emotional impact of DNA discoveries. This is something that all discoveries have in common, and this will be a place where people can really connect and provide understanding, another perspective, and support. Our DNA Discovery Peer Support Group and our General Discussion Meetings are facilitated by experienced volunteers who are supported and overseen by our staff. I will be assisting with the DNA Discovery Peer Support Group as needed, and, as a search specialist, I am available for individualized guidance, one-on-one search assistance, and support. The experienced volunteer facilitation team members chosen for the DNA Discovery group are both adoptees with their own personal DNA discoveries. The group they lead is shifting from being one of ANC’s six monthly General Discussion Meetings to meet this specific need.

Our goal with the DNA Discovery Peer Support Group is to provide a safe and supportive environment where people feel open to discuss a major life event—finding out new information about themselves and their identities. One does not need a connection to adoption to attend these meetings. We will be focused on supporting people throughout their journey and helping them to connect with others who truly understand how earth-shifting this can feel, how others have worked through their own discoveries, and the accompanying emotions. We understand these types of discoveries are not a one-time event, they are lifelong journeys. Connecting with others who have walked a similar path can help to normalize what can be an overwhelming experience.

What do you believe are the most significant issues, the most pressing concerns, for which people need support after a DNA Discovery?

Every situation is individual and unique, so it’s hard to generalize. However, the core issues that arise are very much the same that we know from adoption and permanency: loss, rejection, guilt and shame, grief, identity, intimacy, and control.

DNA testing has the power to unravel decades old secrets and can make individuals question their ideas of family, or religion, or even morality. I am a firm believer that everyone has a right to know their genetic heritage, but that does not mean anyone has a right to a relationship, as that is something for both parties to determine. Many people who take a DNA test do not think they will receive a result that might include a surprise such as a different ethnicity, or a new sibling, a different parent, an unknown child, a niece or cousin. Discoveries can also include learning one is adopted (late-discovery adoptees) or donor conceived. These can be a very powerful experiences and can upend long held beliefs.

In what ways do you believe peer support makes a difference? How does it help?

Connecting with others who have been there and understand can be normalizing and healing.

We have followed a peer support model for our General Discussion Meetings for more than 30 years with great success. We’ve welcomed those with DNA discoveries to these meetings as technology has evolved. It can be extremely valuable to hear the perspectives of other individuals who have walked a similar journey and truly understand. I’ve seen people make wonderful connections with each other and learn insights that might not have happened anywhere else. Peer support offers a place to work through some of the core issues such as loss, rejection, grief, identity, shame and guilt. Hearing how other’s work through their journeys provides a variety of options as we consider connecting with relatives and offers a chance to see how people have gained a sense of control over the experience of discovery, and not have it control them. Peer support also offers an opportunity for people who are farther along in their journey to give back.

What limitations are there, if any, to peer support? 

Peer support is not meant to take the place of therapy, and individual therapy can be a very powerful and healing experience. Accessibility can be a limitation for some.

In addition to the peer support group, ANC also offers a Monday evening speakers group. Can you tell us more about that?

Adoption Network Cleveland is a leader in bringing the adoption community together to create a network of support and advocacy. In this critical and uncertain time for all of us, we are pleased to offer a Monday Evening Speaker Series full of topics that are of interest to a broad audience impacted by adoption, kinship, and foster care. More information and recordings of past presentations can be found here.

Learn more about the DNA Discovery Peer Support special February 2 panel and the ongoing group here. And for information about other programs and events, click here.

Look for Adoption Network Cleveland on Facebook and Instagram and Twitter @adoptionnetcle. Look for Adoption Knowledge Affiliates on Facebook and onInstagram @aadoptionknowledgeaffiliates.Traci Onders is a search specialist at Adoption Network Cleveland (ANC). An adoptee herself, she’s facilitating ANC’s new DNA Discovery Peer Support Group special panel on February 2. 

By Aimee Rose-HaynesDirect-to-consumer DNA testing via Ancestry, 23andMe, and other companies has rapidly replaced the arduous tasks of hands-on library research, grave searching, and contacting strangers for the purposes of finding long-lost relatives—a tremendous advance since just a decade ago, when locating biological family or records to validate family lineage was a near impossible feat.

While these tests—which rely on saliva samples—are simple, quick, and affordable, interpreting the results is often a confusing and time-intensive process.

An International Case

In November 2019, I took on a special challenge that illustrated the tenacity needed to solve cases. The case involved a search for records from Panama and Columbia to help determine the client’s origins. Bob called on DNAngels to help him find his mother’s biological father. Ann, his mother, was born in New York in 1961 and raised by an Italian-American mother and stepfather. Her mother refused to tell her who her biological father was and took his name to the grave. Ann thought that was it—that she’d never know her paternal family—and gave up on the thought of trying to find him.

Bob, wanting to help his mother in any way possible, ordered Ancestry DNA tests for her, himself, his sister, and a few other relatives. Once he received the kits, he mailed them back immediately in hopes of finding the man Ann had spent decades wondering about and answering her questions. Was he tall? Was he a nice man? Where was he raised? What were his parents like? What did he look like?

Bob found the results that arrived a few weeks later both exciting and confusing. Ann’s ethnicity report had significant amounts of Spanish, Panamanian, and Columbian heritage. This gave them their first clue about where her biological father could be from. For Bob, looking at the numbers and trying to figure what it all meant was like trying to read a foreign language. He needed help.

The Search
Bob contacted DNAngels in the autumn of 2019 for help solving his mother’s DNA parentage puzzle. I requested access to his family tree and his mother’s DNA and went to work. I started by sorting his matches and separating Ann’s maternal and paternal lines. This was very easy to do since Bob had gotten tests for so many people in the family.

I looked at Ann’s matches and anticipated that the matching process would be difficult. Ann had six matches in the range of 108 centimorgans (cM) to 184 cM. A cM is a unit of measurement representing the length of DNA shared by two DNA matches. Testing companies use an approximate range of roughly 8 cM to  3,700 cM to determine relationships. The higher the cM, the more closely one is related to a match, with 3,700 indicating a parent/child relationship. I began by looking at the trees of all of Ann’s matches to try to isolate a most recent common ancestor (MRCA). Unable to get very far, I updated Bob, with whom I was in daily contact at this point in the process.

Bob informed me that some additional family members had also taken a 23andMe DNA test, and with their login information in hand, I hoped to locate a missing puzzle piece. I had handwritten charts, sticky notes, and highlighted names all over the living room table and floor for nearly two months for this case!

I was able to build a tree based on Ann’s 186 cM match and discovered that Ann’s great grandparents and second great grandparents were the same couple. This indicated that Ann’s 186 cM match was inflated due to endogamy—the custom of marrying only within the limits of a local community, clan, or tribe. So that became another puzzle to work through. Complicating things still further was that two matches on 23andMe were uninterested in helping.

Nonetheless, I persisted, finally finding an MRCA and building the family tree, which included 9 children. I then began linking Ann’s DNA matches to the familial lines that were slowly coming together and soon was able to eliminate three lines, leaving five lines left to trace.

I began researching, reading through US, Columbian, and Panamanian newspaper clippings—obituaries and public records including port arrivals and departures—as well as social media, searching for anything that might help expand this family tree. Bob was also relentless in helping to track and contact anyone in these family lines.

I never imagined I would ever use what I’d learned in Mr. Flores’ high school Spanish class; if I had, I’d have paid more attention back then. Bob sent me messages and voice recordings from potential family members, most of which were in Spanish. Using Google Translate much more than I’d like to admit, I learned a few important things necessary to solve this case.

Bob had discovered that the MRCAs had taken in and adopted two sons. A week later, I discovered that another son had never left Panama. This narrowed the search from five family lines to two and the details finally started to come together.

Now left with two brothers as potential candidates for Ann’s grandfather, Bob and I were excited as we got closer to solving the case. By this point, I’d worked on this daily for about 10 weeks and refused to give up. I continued digging even deeper into these two men, John and William, trying to place either man from Columbia in New York, where he might have met Ann’s grandmother.

William was born in Columbia, and I located a record of him having lived in New York. He actually married someone who was related to Ann’s maternal line. This union proved he had been in the same area as Ann around the time she was born. William had 2 daughters and a special needs son who was eliminated as a suspected biological father. Bob, who had been in contact with one of William’s daughters at this time, had William’s granddaughter tested, which revealed that she shared 236 cM with Ann. This excluded William, because if he’d been Ann’s paternal grandfather, his granddaughter would be expected to match Ann at a half niece relationship (Ann and the granddaughter’s mother would be half-sisters), or about 600 cM to 1,300 cM.

John, the other potential grandfather to Ann, was a soldier in the U.S. Army who was killed in action in Korea. I found a port arrival record showing he came to New York in 1928. I also found a record indicating he married in New York a year later. He would go on to have daughters as well as three sons—Manny, Greg, and Jake.

Manny died in infancy, and Greg couldn’t be located, so Jake was the only possible relative to search for. If Jake were still living, he’d have been roughly 90 years old. Fortunately, one of the cousins Bob had contacted knew that Jake was still living and was in New York. That cousin helped Bob get in touch with Sam, one of Jake’s sons, who was shocked when Bob told him DNAngels had discovered his father might have been Ann’s biological father. He was intrigued and willing to help. Bob sent him a DNA test in late January 2020 to confirm the suspicion.

While Bob waited on pins and needles for Sam’s test to come back, I stayed busy and continued to research and build the family tree. Sam’s test came back on March 6, 2020, revealing that Ann and Sam matched at 1,455 cM, confirming a half sibling relationship. Jake was her biological father. Bob sent a DNA test to Jake, the results of which showed a 3,299 cM—an amount signifying a parent-child relationship. I’d solved Ann’s case after nearly five months.

Ann went from knowing nothing about her paternal line to not only knowing her father’s name but also being able to meet him. She now has 9 half-siblings as well as several aunts, uncles, and cousins. Jake’s family has welcomed her and her family into their lives with open hearts.

Never give up!If you have a question you’d like to see answered in a future column, send it to bkjax@icloud.com.Aimee Rose-Haynes is a lead genetic genealogist for DNAngels and a member of the International Society of Genetic Genealogy and the National Genealogical Society. She has 20 years of traditional genealogy and 6 years of genetic genealogy experience.

Stephanie Leslie and Margaret Renner also contributed to this article.DNAngels, an organization dedicated to DNA results interpretation and more, was founded by Laura Leslie-Olmsted in February 2019 with the goal of helping not parent expected (NPE), adopted, and donor-conceived clients find their biological families. Seven months after being founded, it became a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. In 2019, the team solved approximately 550 cases; in 2020, it solved 697 cases, and it expects to continue to increase those numbers in 2021. DNAngels has a 92% case solve rate, which means the majority of its clients find the answers to their parentage mysteries. In 2021, it is dedicating every month to a specific theme. The theme for January is “Never Give Up” to highlight DNAngels’ dedication to finding answers for the 8% unsolved or “on hold” cases. Learn more about DNAngels at its website, and find it on Twitter @Dnangels4 and on Instagram @Dnangelsorg.

By Andromeda Romano-LaxThe gossip reaches me on New Year’s Eve, two days after my birthday—worth mentioning only because birthdays often put me in a reflective state that can easily turn to melancholy, and this year is no different. I’m in Mexico City, on vacation, about to go to dinner with my husband, mood beginning to lift. Then I receive the email from my sister.

It reads: “Considering that Mom could pass any day, I thought I should tell you a.s.a.p. in case you don’t know about it, which I assume you don’t.”

The news she shares is second-hand gossip from an old family “friend” who showed up to visit my mother—then dying of brain cancer—to reminisce, burn private letters and relive the good old days. The friend, who played little part in any of our lives for decades, revealed to another family member that my father wasn’t really my father. That person told the sister who emailed me. Now I’m the last in the four-person chain to find out.

As for my mom: she’s not talking, and never will, which isn’t surprising given her love of secrets and lifelong fear of being judged for parenting errors. Her fears are valid. I do judge her, most of all for not keeping my sisters safe when we were all younger.

Before leaving our hotel room to go to dinner, I reply to my sister: “That’s a big surprise! How lucky I don’t feel especially attached to ‘Dad’ or his side of the family or it could be upsetting.”

I take pride in my stoic response and the fact that I severed relations years ago with our late father—an undeniably “bad man.” But that stoicism is really only disorientation. I have no idea, at this time, that my identity and much of what I’d thought about both my parents will have to be recalibrated.

I never would have imagined that my mom, a self-identified, non-practicing Catholic with an affinity for the Virgin Mary, probably had multiple affairs when she was still married to her first husband, who came from a large Sicilian-Polish family. But there was a lot about our family I never suspected until each bomb dropped: for example, when, at age 14, I learned that my two older sisters, then 16 and 19, had been molested for years by the sweet-tempered, funny and charming man we called “Dad.”

The truth came out in jarring bursts. I remember a confusing scene in our living room when my sisters, in some argument with my mother, summoned the courage or rage to tell her what had happened to them. I can’t recall any words from my mom’s side, only my oldest sister’s repeating howls: “Oh no, oh no, oh no.” Until that point, she’d thought she was the only one. The knowledge that she hadn’t managed to stop the predator she knew well from seeking a second, even weaker prey—our middle sister—shattered her.

I remember a second confusing scene later that year, when our middle sister was locked in a downstairs bathroom. Her boyfriend called to tell me I needed to break down the door. Inside, she was trying to take her life. The boyfriend—bless his bravery and candor—told me why. It was Dad, again. I don’t know who made the 911 call. I do know I found my sister’s unconscious body. While everyone else converged at the hospital, I was left home alone to clean up the blood.

My parents divorced when I was three. The last time I saw my dad I was fourteen. I have no memory of him ever touching me. I find it incredible, even now, to think about the lengths he went to abuse my sisters—using not only emotional manipulation but also drugs and travel across international borders to conceal what he was doing. In other words, he was not only giving in briefly to unhealthy urges—as if that isn’t bad enough. He planned his molestation. He took steps to avoid prosecution.

After connecting the dots between his strategic, predatory behavior and my sisters’ exceptionally difficult teen years, I refused to see our father again, and he made no effort to ask why I’d stopped calling or hadn’t attended his father’s funeral. I think he felt a cold wind blowing. I think he knew there was at least one person—and maybe more—who had seen under his mask. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he retired to Mexico not too many years later. He died when I was in my late thirties.

And now, in my mid-forties, I’m being told that he wasn’t my biological father after all.

***

After the surprise settles and the DNA swab test results are returned, I look for the silver lining. He was a sick, morally bankrupt person. Isn’t it better to think I share no genes with him or any of his ancestors? Not that I believe pedophilia or an inclination to abuse is passed along genetically. No doubt his actions were a result of his environment. I have every reason to suspect my grandfather sexually abused his own daughters (my father’s sisters) as well. It’s even possible that my father was himself abused. Perhaps—the thought evolves in my mind as time passes—it was even condoned.

“Better to keep it in the family,” is the horrible phrase that comes to mind.

For a long time, I’m tempted to blame heritage, poverty, or lack of education for the practices that seemed accepted—though never openly talked about—in my father’s family. Even now I can cite recent news from Italy, where in some parts of the country, incest and sexual abuse are condoned. (In Italy, incest is illegal only if it “provokes scandal,” which sounds terrible, until you consider that in Spain, France and Portugal, it isn’t illegal, period.)

But any quick survey, like easy finger-pointing at priests or coaches or other groups, overlooks the fact that sexual abuse is discouragingly common everywhere. Writes Mia Fontaine in a story called “America has an incest problem” in The Atlantic, “One in three-to-four girls, and one in five-to-seven boys are sexually abused before they turn 18, an overwhelming incidence of which happens within the family.” Those figures are underestimates, due to underreporting.

If incest was preferable in my father’s family to affairs with grown women or molestation of children outside the family, then I have one answer to the question of why a non-biological child would be left alone. But did my father know I wasn’t his child? He never deprived me of appropriate affection. I felt loved, even when, at the age of 13, I cut off my hair and went through a punk phase that would last years.

Maybe that punk phase and my insistence on androgyny—or my manner, a “don’t FUCK with me” vibe that I mastered well before I had any reason to suspect my father of being a child molester, was one reason I was left alone, completely apart from blood relations. That’s what I would have said, as a young adult.

It’s comforting to think we have agency. It’s even more reassuring to think we can fashion the right armor for ourselves, and that perhaps some of us know, subconsciously, that such armor is needed. But it would be dangerous—as well as self-serving—to assume that one can so easily guarantee one’s own safety by acting or dressing a certain way. Life teaches us otherwise.

There are other possibilities, like birth order or simple opportunity, to explain why I wasn’t violated—or not violated yet—in the time before I broke off contact. (And note: I made that choice at the age of 14. My mother registered no opinion or even said a negative word about my father, as I can recall—clinging to her belief that it’s better not to judge people. She was frighteningly consistent, if nothing else.)

In any case, I was lucky—at least once, and maybe twice. Lucky because I was left untouched. Lucky again, because I was, and still am, free to imagine my biological father was a better person than the first man my mother married.

*

After my DNA surprise, a cousin reaches out and offers to help find my bio-dad. I’m reluctant. My own family history has convinced me to beware fathers, generally. There’s a good chance I’ll leave one “Dad” behind only to find a new one with his own character flaws or criminal background—someone who might want to take advantage of me. Even as an adult, I feel emotionally vulnerable.

My “amateur detective” cousin keeps sending messages—she enjoys these kinds of searches and excels at them—and I finally relent. Less than a month later, she introduces me to the identity of my bio-dad. His photo and other details provided by his living siblings leave no doubt. I experience the shock of seeing my own features, as well as that of my adult son, in the face of a stranger. I experience the double-shock of realizing this matters to me, when I thought it wouldn’t. I can’t stop clicking on the digital photos sent to me of his face at three ages—young boy, adolescent, twenty-something man—and finding them both familiar and somehow comforting.

More details emerge. My biological father is no longer alive, having died in an accident just a week before my birth. His long-ago passing was both tragic—not only for him and his family but probably for my late mother, who must have spent that final week of pregnancy in deep grief. But in a strange way, in addition to sadness and belated sympathy, I feel relief. I have nothing to fear from this new biological relative. I can accept without wariness or doubt the good details I hear: that he was a kind brother, for example.

Even with a new father to think about, I spend more time mulling the old one—trying to find consolation in knowing that we aren’t related. Given the frequency of DNA surprises, how many people are at first relieved to discover they aren’t related to a parent who was a murderer, or carrying some heritable disease, or simply unlucky in life? Especially if we are the children of someone who did something heinous, the ground shifts. We struggle to regain our footing, hoping to land in a better spot than we were before.

And yet, that’s not the whole story, either. As the news continues to sink in over the next year, I realize I’ve lost a lot. Anyone who has experienced a DNA-testing surprise may understand. Now, my sisters are only half-sisters, and my mother has been proven to be not only a person who hid the truth, but someone who wouldn’t relent even when asked directly, smiling in response to my sister’s questions. If she’d become upset, I would have sympathized. But a Cheshire-cat smile, tickled by the power of what she had to withhold? That’s harder to forgive.

My already-small extended family is further diminished. I can no long claim the great grandparents—one of them, a polyglot—on my father’s side. When my mother and aunt die in the same year, I’m without older relatives altogether, aside from my sisters. The family tree I thought I knew, already pruned by divorce, has been hacked to pieces and carted away.

I lose any sense of connectedness with living cousins—people I barely knew anyway, because we all mostly stopped talking when I stopped seeing my father. He refused to explain why we weren’t in contact, leaving them to assume that he was the puzzled victim of some conflict initiated by me and my sisters. Now, through social media, a few of my cousins send tactful messages, saying I’m still “family.” It doesn’t feel that way to me, especially given how little we all interacted for decades, but I am grateful for their kindness.

The biggest loss—and the one I’ve least anticipated—is how deeply sorry I am to have lost my Italian-American heritage. For most of my life, I’ve looked in the mirror and imagined that my calves were Roman calves, my nose an Italian nose, my stature and dark coloring and love of wine and Italian food all explicable, and meaningful, because it connected me to a rich heritage. By the time I find out Dad isn’t my bio-dad, I’ve traveled to Italy twice—the second time to write a novel set there.

Now, that novel and all the emotions attached to it seem distant. But another fictional representation of my family angst takes its place.

This month will mark the publication of the most personal novel I’ve ever written, called Annie and the Wolves. It’s the story of a modern-day historian who finds her life intertwined with that of her subject, Annie Oakley. In both historical and modern storylines, characters struggle to recover from abuse. As it happens, one of America’s great icons, an 1800s sharpshooter who took the world by storm, she was molested too—in this case, by a farm family called “the Wolves” who held her captive when she was between the ages of ten to twelve.

It doesn’t take a psychologist to imagine why I was drawn to that plot.

In my novel, which takes place across a century, characters struggle to remember, to uncover dark family secrets and deal with vengeful desires—all in the hopes of finding a way forward.

My own path includes exactly this: finding a way, through both fiction and nonfiction, to deal with my family’s legacy and my own confused feelings. I’ve been liberated from one connection. But in another way, I feel more chained to my father and his story than ever—unable to shake them off. You’ll notice I still choose to call him “Dad” and “my father.” It’s a choice I’ve made only recently, in part to be more honest with the influence he had on me, from birth at least until age fourteen. Biology isn’t everything. I’ve spent time thinking about his upbringing, wondering why he did what he did and what he, himself, may have suffered.

The man I grew up loving was almost certainly a victim who passed along his damage to others, repeating what was done to him. He wasn’t really a monster, of course. But he was a predator—someone who hunted his prey with cunning.

Regardless of any blood connection, he’s a wolf I’ve had to confront—one who still prowls the dark corners of my mind.Andromeda Romano-Lax is the author of Annie and the Wolves (Soho, Feb. 2, 2021) as well as four other novels. She lives in British Columbia, Canada. You can visit her website and find her on Instagram.

By Brad EwellI’m just not sure where to start. I’m dumbfounded by feeling your presence, knowing you left this world 19 years before I knew you existed. When she handed me the angel you made from a hymnal, she said she didn’t have anything that had been yours, but she had something you’d made. It was hard for her to give up because it was crafted by your hands. She said when she felt the impulse to release it, her first thought was “come on, not that.” But the impulse only grew stronger, so she gave in. When she handed the angel to me, I had an urge to open it right away and see what hymn it was folded to. I have no idea why I felt compelled, but I did it. I opened it. Immediately I lost my breath and bearings. There in front of my eyes was a clear message from you: “Waiting and Watching” in bold at the top of the page. It felt like if I just knew the right spot to look, I’d see you staring down at me smiling. I know what you had to do left a hole in your heart for the rest of your life. My hope is that for the past 20 years you’ve been able to watch me grow as a husband, father, and man. I hope you know it’s OK and there’s nothing I hold against you. All I could do was carry the angel back to my car, look up, and say thank you. I felt a peace come over me, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. I believe one day we’ll see each other again and finally be able to embrace—the hole in both of our hearts gone forever. Until then, please just keep waiting and watching.Brad Ewell lives in Texas with his wife and three children. In 2019 he became a late discovery adoptee after taking a home DNA test. He feels like he’s still very much in the middle of this journey and enjoys writing to help organize his thoughts and better understand his own story.   BEFORE YOU GO…

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Christina Bryan has an impressive portfolio of skills that make her exceedingly good at her work as a genetic and family investigator, but it’s her tenacity that drives her success where others may fail. Based in Marin County, California, she helps clients across the country cope with life-altering DNA test results and shocking family surprises, untangling misattributed parentage discoveries and locating their biological family members. Whether working with adoptees, donor-conceived adults, or others who’ve had a misattributed parentage experience (MPE), she employs an array of investigative strategies and doesn’t stop until she’s solved a client’s puzzle.

A Portland, Oregon native, Bryan moved to the Bay area to go to California State University, East Bay, where she earned a bachelor’s degree in sociology and became a performance analyst in the investment banking field. But after she took an autosomal DNA test in 2014, she found herself on a new career trajectory. She learned about the science of DNA, applied it to her own family tree, and began using her newfound skills to help others solve the puzzle of their parentage or better understand their ancestry. It quickly became apparent it wasn’t merely a hobby; it was a calling, as the nickname her clients have given her suggests—Super Sleuth.

In 2016, she began taking on complex cases for high profile clients and performing international and historical research. She’s in demand not only for her persistence but also for her intuition, which has helped her solve cases for attorneys and law enforcement personnel. She’s also co-host, with Jodi Klugman-Rabb, of Sex, Lies & the Truth, an entertaining and informative podcast about DNA surprises.

Bryan knows her job doesn’t begin and end with solving a case. She’s likely to encounter clients experiencing stress, trauma, identity confusion, and intense emotions related to their change of status within their family and she offers comfort, humor, and emotional support. Here she talks with us about her work.

Do you call yourself an investigator or a genetic genealogist?

I’ve toyed with the title several times and am currently settled on genetic and family investigator. I also do general investigative work that’s completely unrelated to DNA and family research, so I’ve removed genealogist completely from my title.

What do most clients want when they come to you?

Everyone wants answers and a deeper and honest understanding of their story. Who wouldn’t? Clients who’ve been adopted or are NPEs (not parent expected) frequently know very little about their biological truth. If a client is looking for a relationship, I think that’s great. When someone comes with an open heart and mind, I’m profoundly impressed. We know that the other side—the biological family being sought—may look at things very differently, and that’s what we ultimately prepare for. For example, those on the other side may not feel as though they’ve lost anything or maybe don’t want to be found just yet. They may not have an open heart or mind and they may reject you for reasons that would never have occurred to you. Some want a relationship, but not necessarily a parent/child relationship. Maybe they are wondering about siblings or cousins their own age. Finding someone for the client to connect with is important for me, regardless of who it is.

Do you ever have clients who don’t want to make contact but just want the information?

Many of those I’ve worked with over the years start out just wanting some information. It feels safer for them to learn in bits and pieces and not come out swinging. But as you can imagine, it becomes hard to do nothing when the details begin to appear. You see familiar faces or hear details that interest you and you need a next step.

Is it true that you almost always find what you’re seeking?

I do have two outstanding paternity cases that are my most difficult and remain unsolved. There are even two close DNA matches, but the family is covered in NPEs at every turn. I’ve been able to discern quite a bit about the circumstances, but just need one more match on each that turns the tide our way.

In those rare cases when you’re not successful, are there typical reasons?

I never close a case, so an unsolved case will always remain open and on my radar. The most common reason for a brick wall is multiple NPEs within a family. Sometimes I need to solve another NPE case within the same family before I can move forward. This is particularly difficult when you encounter a relative who doesn’t even know they have the NPE in their family. It’s not my place to share information with someone when they are not even looking (unless it clearly impacts the case). If they are researching Grandmas’s side, I wouldn’t volunteer “Guess what, Grandpa’s not really your Grandpa.” It’s hard to sit on my hands in those situations, but, with rare exceptions, I need to do only what I was hired to do.

One client—I’ll call her Jane—was looking to find out who her biological father was. One man who was a candidate had two sisters who were happy to provide DNA for comparison to Jane. While looking at the sisters, I noticed the DNA measurement was not consistent with them being full sisters. One was an NPE and didn’t know it. I did not share the information with them.

What’s been your most challenging case?

My most challenging case turned out to be one of my most rewarding in the end. The client and siblings were raised in a few different orphanages in London during the 1950s, where they endured extreme physical and sexual abuse, which has since been uncovered as widespread. The case also involved a cult, parents that didn’t want to be found, a cover-up at every turn, and quite a bit of pain and sorrow. Regardless, they’ve learned their story, and they needed to know it.

How do you advise clients to go about contacting any biological relatives you find?

I recommend sending a snail mail letter sent via FED-EX with a signature required—the direct adult signature required option. If you choose the FED-Ex indirect signature option, it may go to a neighbor if the addressee is not home. There’s just too much uncertainty with email and connecting through social media. Those are last-ditch efforts, as is sending a message to an individual’s workplace. And I always recommend not showing up to someone’s work or home.

Making contact through other people can sometimes be a critical mistake. Here’s an example. You find cousin Susie as a match on a DNA site. You directly ask cousin Susie if she’s heard any rumors about your birth mother, then proceed to share you are the long lost and possibly secret daughter or son. What if Susie tells the whole family before you’ve had a chance to contact your birth mother? It may feel like a violation of your birth mother’s privacy. I think giving the birth mother a chance to respond first is the respectful thing to do.

Now, if you’ve given the birth mother a chance to respond and, say, she declines, then you are free to speak to whomever you want. Every human is entitled to know and share their truth, period. I tend to recommend a one-month time limit for birth parents to respond before sending a follow-up message. Otherwise, it can just drag on and on.

What fears do people have about searching?

Rejection! Imagine after you’ve made the decision to search and you get the door slammed in your face. You’ve really got to be ready for that to happen.

Clients also relying on other people’s stories or outcomes as possibilities for them. For example, if they’ve heard a nightmare scenario from someone else who’s searched, they assume they will find the same. Many worry the biological mother had been raped or there was an affair or some other turbulent event. Though we know the reason can be much simpler than that, it’s hard to fathom a mother giving up a child or concealing the identity of the biological father for any other reason.

Rejection is a realistic fear. Attempted reunions don’t always turn out well and can, in fact, be heartbreaking. How do you help clients manage expectations and prepare for the possibility of rejection?

I play a little game called “what would you do/how would you feel.” It’s actually more like a game of interrogation, because it needs to be. I ask tough and uncomfortable questions that one might never have considered. Here are some examples from real cases.

For adoptees searching for their birthparents: how would you feel or what would you do if:

• your birth parents were married with a few children when they gave you up?
• they were married and went on to have more children after you were adopted?
• after finding your birth parents, they both wanted you to call them “Mom and Dad”?
• you contacted a birth parent and they completely denied you and insisted they never gave a child up for adoption?
• you learned you had a twin sibling that your birth parents kept?
• your adoptive parents were closely related to your biological parents?
• your biological parents were a different race than you were told?
• your parents were not the religion you’d been told they were?
•  if both of your birth parents were deceased?

Also, how would you feel about your adoptive parents, and would you be open to sharing the journey with them?

For NPEs searching for a biological father or paternal relatives, how would you feel or what would you do if:

• your biological father turned out to be your dad’s best friend?
• your mother had been sexually assaulted?
• your biological father was a prolific sperm donor who may have fathered dozens of children?

For all searchers, how would you feel or what would you do if:

• your biological family members thought they were too good for you and showed zero interest?
• you were lied to right to your face?
• you were mistreated by the people you’d been looking for?
• you found a biological parent who asked you not to tell your biological siblings anything?
• You found a biological family who pretends you don’t exist?
• you finally found your biological family and they wanted you to take care of them financially?
• you felt no connection at all to your biological family?

If you’re not prepared for any of these scenarios or responses, you may not be ready to reach out. You really need to be prepared for anything.

Do you continue to work with clients after you’ve found their family member/s? Do you work with them on next steps or on managing their emotions?

After spending a lot of time on a case, I’m pretty emotionally connected myself, as I should be. I’m always thankful and honored to have been part of someone’s search, regardless of the outcome. It can be such an emotional experience, and one of the biggest of their lives, and they are putting a lot of trust in me.

The reality is, the DNA part of the case can be a cinch. Nowadays, most people can log into a commercial DNA site and help someone find the answers they are looking for. There are thousands of search angels who can do just that. This is where I differentiate myself from some of the volunteer searchers. My real work is navigating the emotional pieces of the case and ensuring the search is tailor-made to each specific person. I call it crisis management, and I’m confident it’s where I do my best work.

Can you talk about some of those emotional pieces experienced by clients during this journey?

Fear: what are they going to find?

Rejection: what if their biological relatives don’t want them?

Sadness/sorrow: if their bio parents are deceased.

Shock/surprise: finding something they never expected.

Anger: at having missed out on something they needed.

Happiness/elation: finding exactly what they needed.

Settled/at peace: finally finding the answers, regardless of what they are.

Connection: making an instant bond

Disappointment: if they thought they would feel different

How can potential clients find you?

I don’t advertise or poach potential clients who are vulnerable from Facebook groups. I rely exclusively on word of mouth and referrals from past clients and family and friends. Generally, I receive an inquiry email or a call/text from potential clients. Anyone who needs help can find me at at my website, send a message to me at christina@dnasleuth.com, or call me at (415) 378-1993. And if you’d like to share your story on the Sex, Lies & the Truth podcast, I’d love to hear from you. You can even participate anonymously if you like.

COMING SOON, A NEW COLUMN

Check back soon for a new column, Dear Christina, in which Christina Bryan answers your questions about all aspects of search and reunion. “I’m a neutral party, so I look at these situations from both sides. That’s the best way to make a cohesive and successful process for the searchers,” she says. You can ask her anything from advice about searching to how to fix an outreach that didn’t go well. Or you could tell your story so Christina can advise you about how to proceed or validate your choices and make suggestions for readers.

BEFORE YOU GO…

Look on our home page for more articles about NPEs, adoptees, and genetic genealogy.

• Please leave a comment below and share your thoughts.
• Let us know what you want to see in Severance. Send a message to bkjax@icloud.com.
• Tell us your stories. See guidelines. 
• If you’re an NPE, adoptee, or donor conceived person; a sibling of someone in one of these groups; or a helping professional (for example, a therapist or genetic genealogist) you’re welcome to join our private Facebook group.
• Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter and Instagram @Severancemag.