Science Does What It Does Best

Once in Cancun, the test results were never far from my mind. Truth be told, they overshadowed the entire vacation. The first couple of days, I was able to push the impending phone call to the back of my mind because I knew it was too early to expect a call. I focused on catching up with Amy & John and Ellen & Bobby, having a wonderful time in the sun with Eric, and relaxing.

By the third day, however, the manic need to know was catching up to me and forcing itself back to the front of my thoughts. I was distracted, short-tempered, and self-absorbed. I just needed the guy from Genetrack to call so we could move on to the next step. Either this guy was my birth father or he wasn't...just call and tell me, for God's sakes!

If he was my birth father, well, this actually was a bit concerning. He is a big personality and a more than a bit overbearing. I wasn't so sure that he was entirely sane and I was more than a little trepidatious about allowing him into my life further. Our two conversations had been characterized by huge roller coasters of emotion, which seem reasonable given the enormity of the event but also seemed a bit overly dramatic for my taste. As I read that, I realize that sounds crazy, since I'm given to drama myself, but my gut was sending me warning messages about this gentleman that said "Tread Lightly--Possible Crazy Afoot!"

If he wasn't my birth father then I was in an awkward position. He claimed that he would help unite me with my birth mother no matter what, however, if he wasn't ACTUALLY related to me, wouldn't he be awfully upset? He had invested time, emotion and personal capital into worrying about me for years, only to find out that I was actually someone else's child. Would he follow through and give me the information on my birth mother that he had promised? If he didn't, I would be back to Square One minus one--I would have ruled him out without getting the information I so desperately wanted.

My mind swam with scenarios. Eric and our friends sought to focus me on the fact that there was nothing I could do but wait.

On day five, my contact at Genetrack called. He was short, sweet and to the point. There was a zero percent (0%) chance that we were genetically related. This man was not my biological father. He even offered to make the call to relay the information so that I would not have to do it myself. I declined as it seemed my responsibility to break the news. After all, I had opened this Pandora's Box by finding him and it was my duty to close it.

I was less upset than I expected I would be. In truth, I think I may have been a bit relieved. I had found the man I was looking for, the one who held the key to my birth mother, the one who I hoped would still help me, but who I feared was a bit of a loose cannon. It felt like I had lost a bit of a dream, but it didn't hurt me in the ways that I had anticipated it might.

I made the call, dreading what would come next.

He cried. He sobbed. He apologized. I was surprised by the depth of feeling of his response. He was genuinely upset by the news and seemed to feel inexplicably responsible for the outcome. Surprisingly, it didn't seem to change his passion for reuniting me with my birth mother. This worried me as I wondered if he might be using it as an excuse to make contact with her and I couldn't be sure this was actually a good thing for him, for her or for me.

He still declined to give me her name as he was fiercely protective of her anonymity. We decided that I would send him a letter with photographs and a copy of the paternity test & he would deliver it to her at her home. This approach concerned me, it was totally out of my control, required dependence on someone whose motives were not entirely clear and had huge potential to backfire. I told him I would send the package once I was back in the States. He told me he loved me and that I should to try to enjoy the rest of my vacation.

One down, one to go. Sure, I would settle right in and put the whole thing out of my mind. Not!