I'm pissed off

Dear Diary,

Well, friend, we've been searching for my birth families -- maternal and paternal -- forever and you know how much it has meant to me.  As you know, Diary, people who are not adopted can never understand how important it is for us to find our generic roots.  I mean, they just can't.

Remember when I finally discovered my maternal roots 45 years ago?  This was pre-internet, so you know how hard it was.  There I was, spending time in libraries pouring over city directories vainly looking for Ottawa Latimer's.  All I knew was my birth mother's name, Shirley Ann Latimer, and where I had been born, Ottawa. 

Shirley Latimer, my birth mother.

 Eventually, I obtained her birth certificate and learned her mother's maiden name, McKegney, but they were from Kingston.  That led me to eventually find Shirley's family.  Remember how I cried when I finally found her, only to learn she had died the year before at the young age of 49?  I was inconsolable.  I also learned I had been her only child, so no siblings to connect with on that side.  

Diary, there I was in a blank field with only a few uncles, aunts and cousins.  Oh yes, I met them, but they weren't that interested and so it all fizzled out.

Fast forward to two years ago and '23 and Me' revealed my paternal father.  I had no clue, but when a message arrived from a half-sister, the genetic DNA evidence was irrefutable.  We had the same father:  William Doyle.

My birth father, Billy Doyle.

Yesterday, I watched a documentary about a man who had been on the same search as I for decades.  This guy never gave up and I hadn't either.  Eventually, he found  his siblings and they welcomed him with open arms.

Me?  With the exception of one sister, they didn't want to know about my existence.  I actually accepted this at first, just being grateful they knew about me, but not wishing to upset the familial applecart.  But after this documentary, I asked myself, "Who do they think they are to look down on me?"  My birth mother had had a different boyfriend when she became pregnant by Billy Doyle.  What was that all about?  Did he rape her at some gathering?  I'll never know, but it's a possibility, so for my siblings to get over their skis about how superior they are is a bit of a stretch.  

Now I am pissed off.  I am the oldest of eight; I have seven siblings and I expected a bit of respect, but I got none.  Just shunning and ignoring.  Sorry, Mary Frances, Margaret and Eleanor, but I actually exist.  Thank you to Nora and Maureen, who kind of accept me, but to the other three sisters, you should be ashamed of yourselves.  (As for my brothers, one had died and the other is a recluse, so they are lost to me.)

Sorry, but your perfect father had another daughter, me, before any of you existed.  Sorry that he was in a relationship with your mother while he was intimate with mine.  Sorry that bursts your "legitimate offspring" bubble, but those are the hard, genetic facts.  Deal with them.

That documentary made me realize that I need not apologize for my existence and, that as much as you are trying to make me feel, I certainly do not feel inferior to any of you.

So, yes, I am pissed off with my siblings some of whom have treated me with disrespect.  Not knowing me is their loss.  

Sincerely,

Nancy (aka Carolyn)