I Found My Long Lost Family on a Google Search

A local Charlotte, N.C. reporter whom I have a professional relationship with contacted me three weeks ago to interview for an article in one of North Carolina’s Spanish newspapers. I’ve done several interviews with various local papers over the years, mostly work related pieces, but this time would be a little different. This reporter told me that she wanted to write a personal article, one for readers to get to know me. I hesitantly agreed while nervously attempting to anticipate the kind of questions I would be asked. After all, “be gutsy” is my 2016 motto and goal so why not?She came to my office that Thursday morning and asked me questions that were very easy to answer- what are your hobbies? What books do you like to read? Do you like to dance? How do you pass the time, and so on….During our conversation, the topics became a little more serious. She asked me about my past, how I came to be in North Carolina from the Republic of Panama and all about my family. I’m normally very proud and ready to talk about my family- they’re my world. But I found myself at a crossroads when she asked for details. I could give her my very broad, non -descriptive answer that I can spit out on command. My go to for strangers when being asked about having 11 siblings usually is: “it’s a his, hers, and our children situation". This usually works because it’s an honest response, but keeps me from going into the details.“Be GUTSY Rosy”, said the little voice in my head. And for the first time on print and with the public, I shared the story that I carry in my heart- the story of how I found my family through a Google search.Needless to say, the reporter found that story most interesting over my hobbies of cooking, and reading memoirs, so she mainly wrote about my family. The article that was published is a bit of a teaser. It doesn’t tell all the juicy details (because I held back a little and there is truly SO much to tell), but the interview experience let me know that it was time to share my very special story.I have a total of 11 brothers and sisters, and this is how I came to have them all.First, a little necessary back-story:My mom and biological father were married, had me, and then got divorced when I was about 4 years old. I maintained a relationship with my father up until my mom and I moved out of the country and to the U.S. when I was almost 7 years old.Total Sibling Count= 0My mom began a relationship and eventually married my (step) dad. My (step) dad had 4 children from previous relationships. After meeting them very interestingly (a story I will save for another time), we got to know each other, and spent many holidays and summers together. They mostly lived with their mothers growing up, but occasionally lived at the homes I lived in for extended periods of time.Total Sibling Count= 4Together, my mom and (step) dad had 4 children. They're each one-year apart. That’s right, my mom was pregnant for 4 years straight! I grew up under the same roof as them until I moved out in my adulthood.Total Sibling Count= 8Have you ever played those icebreaker games at school? Proudly bragging that I was 1 of 9 children was my go to fun fact about me. I had been an only child for almost 8 years before inheriting siblings. I was happy, loved being a part of my big complex family. I love that most of us don’t look alike, and loved receiving puzzled looks when people saw us all call the same man our dad and explaining my diverse looking family.Being a big sister was what defined me. Lined up in age order, I'm child #3.We all grew up as siblings. We don’t call each other half siblings or stepsiblings. They’re all simply my brothers and sisters. I also don't use the term step dad normally. My dad is my dad and I happen to have 2 of them. I’m only using those terms to keep readers from getting confused.When mom and I moved to the U.S., I lost touch with my biological father. I grew up with the understanding that he knew how to reach me and simply didn’t. I was under the impression that he didn’t want to have a daughter; he wanted a son. I was told that he was aggressive and strange. All of my negative characteristics were inherited from him and I should recognize those qualities, and try to change them.Years passed by in which my biological father's name was forbidden in my home. I had a dad (my step dad) that financially provided for me. I had 8 brothers and sisters that I laughed with and played with, and loved me. What else could I possibly want? Right?I wanted answers. I had always been curious of the 1 other person I knew of that shared a last name with me. Every single one of my siblings shared my step dad’s last name, and even my mom no longer carried his name like I did. And as silly as that sounds, it was a constant reminder that I had another father out there somewhere. Teachers assumed my parents had my last name and called them the wrong name every time. Mail was addressed incorrectly. And on a few occasions, I was told that I was not one of “them”, a true member of the family, by other family members that weren’t my siblings.It was difficult to get answers when I was afraid to ask questions. When I did (only a handful of times in my life), it was dismissed. I had a dad who would be offended by the mere idea that I thought about my biological father and that was all I needed to know and respect.I was patient. Twenty years passed by and I still couldn’t shake the thought of my biological father. I had written poems about him over the years that I kept to myself. Did he think about me? Would I ever see him again? Does he have a family now? Do we make the same facial expressions? Would he ever show up and rescue me from my crazy teenage, dramatic life? Would I ever work up the nerve to find him? I always thought that if I did, I would watch him from afar and not tell him who I was like a total creeper. I wouldn’t know what to say. Would he even recognize me? Would I recognize him? Would I feel anything? I just wanted to see him.The mental image of the man I once called my dad was fading from my memory. All I remembered about his appearance was that he had lighter eyes and slightly darker skin than me. I wondered if that was even true or an image I had created for myself.I’m curious and stubborn (my mother says it’s the Leo in me), and as the 26 year old at the time when I was at the peak of my curiosity, I was exceptionally determined to know more about him, whose name shall not be mentioned.So here's how it all went down:My biological father doesn't have a very common name. One day I thought, maybe I should Google his name just to see what comes up. The thought came and went. I was too afraid of finding something. What would I do with the information?Finally, one day while feeling particularly gutsy, I did it. I typed out his first and last name on that blank rectangular search bar. I was feeling lucky. I searched through the insignificant pages that I knew couldn't tie me back to him or my country of origin. I didn’t know anything about him but I imagined he was still back home and none of the Google hits were about anyone in Panama.Finally, I came across a 17-year-old boy with my father's name who lived in Panama. This 17 year old with my old last name (I was married by then and I took my husband's name) had a profile page on a Spanish social media site called Sonico. I didn’t know anything about this site but I decided to join it just to see if I could learn more about this person. I crossed my fingers that it wasn’t some crazy site I didn’t really want to be associated with. Maybe this boy was related to me? Maybe he wasn’t? I had to find out either way.When I joined the page, I found out that the boy wasn't active on it. I didn’t learn anything more about him and didn't find even a picture of him. I was hoping a picture would somehow mean something to me.Full of nerves and disappointment of not finding any answers after all my research, I logged off the site and thought about my next steps for a few days.My mind went absolutely CRAZY. I couldn't stop thinking about it.Should I send him a message? If so, what should I say? What if he’s not family? What if he is? What if he knows who I am? But even worse, what if he doesn’t? What if he doesn’t know who I am, and we're related and I start stirring up trouble? What if I unintentionally disrupt their happy family? I have mine here. Maybe I need to leave them alone? Mom’s going to kill me when she finds out that I’m looking for trouble.I started to think about the handful of memories I had of my biological dad.I thought about the memory of me skipping in the streets of our neighborhood while I held his hand and he walked beside me on a trip to the dentist. I don’t know how he ever kept up with my skipping. His walk beside me was effortless. I remember a time when he bought me a lime ice pop while he came to visit me at my grandma’s house. We used to play a game in which we guessed the shapes of the clouds in the sky and playfully and lovingly argued over who was right. He made a faint whistle sound with his mouth outside the bathroom stall to try to trigger me to pee that I could still hear in my head. When that didn’t work, he’d turn the faucet on a little in the public bathrooms. I have a memory of him teaching me about why chameleons change colors while I saw one crawl on a tree in front of us one day. And a handful of other great memories that I treasured quietly and tried to hold onto over the years.I decided to send this mystery boy a message after all.I didn’t want to cause any problems so I remember being very careful with my words. I typed in Spanish something very close to this:“Hello, My name is Rosy (insert maiden name). I live in the United States and I think we may be related. If you would like to contact me feel free to message me here, or e-mail me at……”. I entered my e-mail address.I sent it, made the sign of the cross over my face, blew a kiss up at the sky to Jesus in prayer, and logged off the strange, new social media site.To say I was nervous is an understatement. I experienced extreme anxiety, and to put it nicely, an emotional roller coaster. I checked my profile compulsively only to find an empty inbox. A million thoughts ran through my head. Had he read my message? Had he not read my message? Is he my brother? Should I have worded my message differently? Had he read my message and asked our father who I was? Have I sparked some sort of argument or drama? Is my father married? Does his wife know of me? What if this person isn’t related to me? What do I say if we're family? What do I do if they know who I am but want nothing to do with me? How would that make me feel? What have I done?I needed to feel loved. I was scared and anticipated nothing but rejection. I went into full protection mode of my emotions and so I turned to find comfort and love where I had always received it- my mother.I told her what I had done. I needed her love. She couldn’t believe I had looked him up after all these years based on what I had been told about him. She was anxious for a response just as much as I was and together we waited. Every single day seemed like painful eternity. I prepared for the worse- how to respond to this boy if he ever wrote me back, and how to cope if he never did.One and a half long week later, I received a response.It read something like this: “Hello, I know exactly who you are. You’re my older sister. I've thought about you and I'm happy to hear from you”.My heart exploded. I have a 17 year old brother and he knows about me!?! I had no idea he existed. And he accepts me?! I cried like a baby. Complete relief filled my soul and gave me life back after the long days of anticipation. This 17 year old on the other side of the computer screen had total control of my emotions and he brought me so much joy with his few words.Total Sibling Count= 9I'm paraphrasing big time here because this is a blog post after all, not a book. But my new brother, (by the way, this is exactly how I referred to him to the small handful of people I told this story to at the time) and I instantly bonded. Neither one of us had a relationship with our father or his side of the family. He told me he saw him every 15 days for a few minutes but didn't know much about him. However, he had heard rumors about possibly having a brother and a sister that he did not know and had never met which turned out was true.Total Sibling Count= 11Days later, I connected with my other two siblings. And days after that, I connected with my biological father. Six months later, I flew to Panama for the first time since mom and I left (20 years later) and I met them all.Although I didn't want to focus on the past or the history behind my parent's separation, the truth eventually came to light all before my departure date. My mom explained that we moved to the U.S. without his knowledge or consent and over the years attempted to discourage me from ever wanting to find him. She had her reasons which she expressed. This in addition to other complicated things put a hinder on our relationship for a few years. Mom and I are on good terms now but it took a lot of work, self reflection, discussion, and time.The best way that I can describe this whole experience is to say that, that family filled a hole in my heart that I didn't know was there. I wondered over the years about the mystery man I once called my father, but I had no idea that I was actually missing something in my life. How could I miss something that I didn't know I needed?The circumstances that occurred for this to happen were exactly how they needed to be, and I accept that. I grew, my family grew, and relationships grew. No good came from wondering the what could've beens or what ifs. It took time, and a process to get to that point. I chose to live in the present and focus on my relationships and moving forward.My heart grew bigger for more siblings when I didn’t think it could and I will forever be grateful to the 17-year old boy who responded back to me that day.Every single sibling of mine holds a special place in my heart. They're a part of my love enriched life and I owe it all to them.