I Should Have Known Him All My Life

by Beth Steury
In less than thirty minutes, our plane will touch down in Hawaii. Not only have my husband and I never experienced the vacation-paradise beauty of the Hawaiian Islands, we’ve also never met the man who’s picking us up at the airport.

“Are you nervous?” inquires my ever-supportive husband.

I am, but I’m not. I’m mostly numb. Kind of going through the motions.

Last night was short, and today has been long. I think fatigue is contributing to my lack of emotion, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
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There’s no playbook for this kind of thing. Meeting the man who both you and he discovered just seven months ago is your biological father.

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Within hours of a new, close DNA match popping up on my Ancestry test results, the mystery of who fathered me was solved. That match, my bio dad’s sister, enthusiastically broke the news to her older brother of a 1963 found-on-a-doorstep baby. Despite knowing nothing of a pregnancy and barely remembering my mother, he’s quick to say, “Give her my contact information and tell her I’ll write back.”

As the reality of the scenario—sooooo different from my imagined-origins-story—tried to find a home in my brain, I struggled to put together that first email message. His acceptance of both me and the situation soon remedied my loss-for-words condition, and we exchanged many get-to-know-you messages in the days and weeks that followed. He didn’t shy away from my questions which required him to sort through long-ago memories and try to fit new pieces into a puzzle that he didn’t know had holes.

“You’re a secret to no one,” he declared, giving his blessing for the news to make the rounds within the extended family. “My relatives will take their cues from me. I’m happy, so they will be happy.” And that was that.

In an attempt to be unassuming and considerate, yet brave and transparent, I asked about his interest in us meeting. “Of course I want to meet you,” he declared. Knowing he was alive and well was one thing. His knowing I
existed was another thing. But meeting each other in person would bump the situation onto an entirely new plane.

I wasn’t looking for a father. There was no “dad hole” in my life. I’d been blessed with an awesome dad. I still wanted to meet the man responsible for me being here. An erratic mix of anticipation, excitement, and anxiety collided when he enthusiastically announced a lavish itinerary for my husband and me to visit Hawaii, for father and daughter to meet.
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I walk off the plane into semi-darkness on shaky legs. It’s warm, breezy, humid. My hair which already looks bad, blows in my face. I glance back at my husband to find him juggling his carry-on bag while recording my descent from the plane with his phone. Are you kidding me?

He shakes his head at my obvious disapproval and motions for me to get/keep going.

The airport resembles the open-air, outdoorsy setting you’d expect to find on the beach. People mill about in a much less frenzied manner than in any other airport we’d traveled through today. I locate a bathroom and spend several minutes trying to repair the damage of being up for twenty hours and on a plane for more than twelve. I draw in several deep breaths and urge myself to resume the search for baggage claim and our driver. My birth father.

We spot each other from a distance. He smiles and points in my direction. He’s tall and looks younger than his 75 years. It seemed the long-awaited reunion would never get here, but now I’m grateful for every moment spent getting to know each other via dozens of email messages and two awkwardly short phone calls. At least we’re not complete strangers.

Those first moments are welcoming and fun, full of smiles, happy greetings, and a big hug. The very first words we exchange evaporate into the moment. I’ve not a clue what was said—and the brief video my husband captured didn’t catch it either—but his expression and the sincerity of the encounter feel undeniably genuine. Comfortable, friendly, less awkward than I feared. And no tears. I didn’t think I’d cry but who knew? There’s no playbook, remember? What could possibly prepare a person for such a moment?

He shifts seamlessly, if a bit abruptly, into business mode, intent on retrieving our luggage. Soon, we’re cruising down the highway in the deep darkness typical of Big Island nights. My numbed emotions have recovered a little, and my nerves, which weren’t all that frazzled considering the magnitude of the occasion, have calmed. But surreal doesn’t begin to describe the feeling of sitting next to this man I should have known all my life.

I glance toward him as we exchange small talk. The resemblance I’d noticed in pictures is a bit stronger in person. Not as striking as the resemblance with my bio mom, maybe, but definitely noticeable. My entire life, I never looked like anyone, and now I look like everyone.

He takes us directly to the hotel room he’s already checked us into. After another quick round of hugs, he heads for the door, without a word about meeting up again. My half-sister and her hubby arrive moments later, having been instructed by our mutual father not to come to the airport. This is a first-time meet-up as well, but four hours of sisterly chatting on the phone has established more of a base for this new connection. Their visit is brief—they know we’re exhausted—so they depart with a generic mention of hanging out tomorrow.

We crash, as filled with hope as we are brimming with uncertainty about what lies ahead.

Our island adventure/new family meet-and-greet/35th anniversary celebration (did I forget to mention it was also our anniversary?) is punctuated by several arranged family dinners and one snorkeling excursion—that bio dad’s wife attends but he does not. All arrangements are communicated to us via email. Due to his extreme preference for privacy, we meet at various carefully chosen restaurants. He’s kept his residential address a secret—even from the offspring he’s always known about—for the last twenty or more years.

While some of these engagements are wonderfully warm occasions, one evening he arrives late and leaves early. I’m hurt and irritated with myself because of how disappointed I am. I rant to my husband the entire one mile walk back to the hotel and later pout while bobbing in the hot tub under a beautiful night sky.

The island-paradise setting distracts me a bit from the conflicting mishmash of emotions raging through my heart and mind. But even that brings its own unique discord. Bio dad’s career in real estate development brought about much of the growth and expansion in this city that we’re quickly falling in love with. A place that feels incredibly attached to him.

He seems to have perfected being welcoming while holding us at arms-length. The genuine smiles and affectionate hello and goodbye hugs are real, but I’m left wondering if there’s a future for this fifty-some-years-too-late connection. I’ve stepped into this would-be relationship knowing he's never been close to any of his children. He seems to flit in and out of their lives at his discretion all the while insisting family is important to him. I blame his painfully dysfunctional upbringing and the likely resulting attachment disorder for his approach to family relationships.

We spend lots of time with sis and her hubby, grounding a relationship I feel confident will continue to grow. Mid-vacation finds my unnumbed emotions threatening tears at every turn. I can’t bear the thought of leaving. I want more time to be with my newfound family.

Throughout our goodbye lunch, I swallow against the huge, painful lump lodged in my throat. The wonderfully fun, boisterous, so-very pleasant spirit that characterized last night’s dinner at bio dad’s favorite Japanese restaurant has been replaced with uneasy silences and little eye contact. Our food takes forever to arrive, and he watches the clock, having timed our departure to the airport down to the minute. The minimal-conversation scenario doesn’t interfere with the short time left to consume/pick at our final delicious meal.

As we head to the parking lot, I work to keep the tears in check as his wife snaps photos to capture the moment. Pictures that he’d had been unwilling to pose for throughout our visit. He cooperates, even smiles, and I’m so relieved as I’d worried the keepsake that I so craved would not materialize. He goes to his car as those not accompanying us to the airport—per his plan—line up for final hugs, and now, the tears flow. More hugs and assurances that we’ll see each other again do little to stop the flow. This brief introduction can’t be all there is.

My sister’s assessment of our mutual father rings in my ear as the last glimpses of the Hawaiian landscape zooms by. “Oh, Dad does not do emotion.” It’s obvious he nixed the idea of the rest of the family joining us at the airport—when we arrived and departed—to avoid an emotional scene.

Again, he’s all about the luggage. He apologizes that my husband’s ticket wasn’t randomly chosen for Pre-TSA status and urges him to get through security first, leaving us alone. He’s all smiles, having traded his near-silent withdrawnness at lunch for a mood akin to how he greeted us at the beginning of this adventure. He throws his arms wide for a hug, murmuring concern about his car being towed.

Just as when we met, my eyes are dry. Not even a lumpy throat. But if given the chance, I’d extend the visit by hours . . . days . . . weeks. Because I’m only a bit more certain now than I was ten days ago that there’s a future for this relationship.

Ignoring his car towing concerns, I step forward for another hug. He obliges, and this time, a peck of a kiss brushes my lips. Then, he’s gone.

I’m totally inside my head on the long flight home, tucked comfortably in my large, first-class personal space. Reliving, processing, reflecting . . .

Tomorrow, life will pick up right where we left it back home, 4334 miles away. In many ways, nothing has changed. Yet somehow, everything has changed.


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About the Author: Because her home office is too quiet and lacks a continual supply of Diet Coke, Beth Steury can often be found tucked in a booth at McDonald’s with her laptop. Sometimes she’s writing web content for businesses, penning young adult fiction, or whipping her adoption, search, and reunion journey into memoir form. Most often, she’s immersed in unraveling mysteries using genetic genealogy. Beth serves on the Executive Board of the National Association of Adoptees and Parents (NAAP) and volunteers throughout the adoption community. Beth’s Website: Beth Steury – Life Matters Publishing

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