There is a Japanese art form called Kintsugi which uses broken pottery by repairing it with powered gold or platinum lacquer. The result is embracing breakage and repair as part of the history to make the object whole and one of unique beauty instead of trying to disguise the severed edges. This of course aligns with the Japanese philosophy of accepting the flawed or imperfect.
As I navigate the side roads of this journey to understand the deceptions that have led me here, it is a concept I have to keep as a mantra.
I spent several days this weekend doing what has been my hobby and passion for more than 40 years–showing purebred dogs. The irony of my love for preservation breedings that produce and maintain genotype and phenotype traits that are known and somewhat predictable, and my current situation of trying to discover who exactly is the man that is my father, is not lost on me.
I remember telling my literature students that finding meaning in a poem, like life, is much like peeling the skin and layers of an onion. There is the outside protective layer that holds in all the color and purpose, and only with mindful care can you get to the core of what is hidden in the middle. This journey has changed that idea for me. I think instead of going through layers, we are actually adding on levels, as if we are making a mixed media collage. We start with what we had yesterday, and add on pieces of today, and this may bleed over the former colors, or change them altogether, making them opaque or obliterated. We cannot predict what the final piece will be because we do not know what shapes and shades will be added tomorrow.
In the past weeks, I have learned a great deal about Gordon Carey. My father. He moved to Maryland when he was 7 years old from a farm in North Carolina. When he was 10, he delivered newspapers and at 15 he was a Cadet Captain for the Maryland Civil Air Patrol. He attended the University of Maryland and graduated from the University of Nebraska during his military career. His father was an aviation mechanic at Glen L Martin plant and Gordon was always fascinated with flying. He told stories about test planes leaving the Martin’s plant, some crashing in the river, some soaring high in the air. At the age of 17 he joined the Maryland National Guard-US Army Air Force, and at 20 he entered the US Army. He flew helicopters and fixed planes for 22 years and had over 800 hours of combat flying time with 3 tours of duty in Vietnam. He retired from the Army as a Lt. Col. after 22 years and went on to a successful career managing large real estate companies.
Somehow at the beginning of all of that, he met my mother and I was conceived. Two years after that, he married and had a son.
There are still so many things to learn about Gordon the man. He was without a doubt a military hero–Silver Star, Purple Heart, Army Distinguished Flying Cross, 4 tours of combat duty, Commanding Officer. But, I’m not sure if I’m peeling layers or adding new growth to the void now.
I have talked to my cousin Christine through texts and phone calls, and she has given me so much detail and color about my aunts and uncles and cousins. Her father, Anthony, is the only surviving sibling at 86 years old. I finally called him 2 weeks ago and we made plans to have lunch together in Myrtle Beach the first week of May. He assured me he can’t recall all of Gordon’s conquests through the years nor keep track of any surprise children that keep popping up.
“I know of one other one. A girl. But that was complicated and I don’t know if I remember all the facts about that one, or if I ever knew all the facts about it. But there was some hush money paid to keep that quiet and not by Gordon. You have to understand, Gordon was always a charmer. After Mary, he worked for a real estate company for the whole region and they must have had 200 or more women. I imagine that was like his own personal harem.”
“But he never mentioned me or my mother that you recall?”
“No. No he didn’t. But I was younger than he was and that wouldn’t have been unusual. You can bring some pictures and I’ll take a look, but I doubt it’s going to help.”
I agreed and he told me he would take me to the best seafood restaurant in the south. I didn’t remind him that I come from Maryland where our spices offer flavor to what other regions simply add boiled water and butter.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
A few days later, I got a call from Crete, Gordon’s second wife. She was gracious, and warm, and tried to offer me insights into Gordon the man. She told me Anthony had called her and wanted her to come to have lunch with us. She lives in Texas, and is moving to Florida, so this is not a small ask. But she said she would fly in to meet us.
“Gordon was a wonderful man. Even after his time in the army, he volunteered at so many veteran groups because that was always such a big part of who and what he was. He adopted my girls and treated them like his own. I’m not sure what happened with his son, that was before our time together, but you must have heard he did not come to Gordon’s funeral and asked us to never contact him again. Even though they were estranged, Gordon always sent birthday and Christmas presents to him and his children. I don’t believe Gordon knew about you, because he never mentioned it to me and he would have I think, because he told me about another child, a girl, that was also before we met. That was a bit complicated and I can tell you more about it when we meet.”
The hush money baby? Was I the hushed up baby, or I didn’t know about you baby?
On April 23, I got the notification from Ancestry.com that my DNA results were analyzed and waiting for my review. I sat at the computer for a few minutes before I clicked on the DNA tab. This was really to help my niece Natica confirm what she was trying to discover about her family.
And when I clicked onto common ancestors, there she was, third on the list, at 13 % shared DNA, identified as my half-niece.
I took a deep breath and looked at the top match, at 26% shared DNA, identified as my half sister. Jean. She didn’t do 23and Me so this was the first time she had appeared with actual DNA confirmation. Even when you know it, it’s still a bit numbing to see it in print.
I closed my eyes and told myself the next one will be like getting a shot–‘a tiny pinch’ but suspected it might be more like aiming a shot, where you have to take a breath and let it out as you squeeze the trigger to keep your eye on the target. There shouldn’t be anything between number 1 and 2.
Match # 2. Emily Half Sibling 1032 cM 25% shared DNA
