This is a very long post so be warned before you begin

Do we really NEED to know about the past? Do we really NEED to know where our ancestors originated? Do we really WANT to know? Are we prepared to find any skeletons that may be hiding out in the closets of time gone by?

I know for some people, knowing where they came from doesn’t make a hill of beans to them and they become bored even with the threat of a discussion in this area.

For others, there is a deep need to find out all they can about the past and who lived in the past and all the ins and outs of it.

I am one of the ones that fall into the second category.

I am, by nature, curious. Some call it nosy. I prefer curious. Puzzles intrigue me. I won’t be happy until the last piece is put into place and the whole picture is laid out before me. That is my reward. The whole picture for me to feast my eyes upon and the knowledge that I did it, even if I may have had help, there is still that sense of accomplishment.

To answer my own questions above; Yes, I need to know about the past. Yes, I need to know who and what my ancestors were. Yes, I WANT to know everything I can possibly know about who came from where, when and how. No, I wasn’t prepared for the skeletons that came tumbling out of those closets.

I started researching my family tree about 10 years ago. Like most people, I started with my immediate family members. My mama, daddy, aunt and grandma were my main information source.

I gathered as much information as I could from each family member. My grandma being the oldest and having started her own research some years before me, had quite a bit of documented information already together. Most of the information that my grandma had was from Ireland, being that is where her mother was from. This was actually a BIG help to me since searching in other countries can be a pain in the ass sometimes.

Anyway, once I started keeping track of who was who and who married who and which kid belonged to whom and blah, blah, blah, it seemed that little tidbits of information kept being brought to my attention.

Not that I dug up any juicy dirt myself. It was volunteered to me through different members of the family. I can only guess that figured I would find out sooner or later what was going on so they figured it might be best to tell me before that happened.

Whatever they’re reasoning was, they let some of the family skeletons free to roam around for awhile.

I found out that my 1^st Cousin isn’t really my 1^st Cousin. She’s really a 2^nd Cousin. One of my other 1^st Cousins is my 2^nd Cousins mother but the 2^nd Cousin thinks that my aunt and uncle are her mother and father and that the other 1^st Cousin (who is really her mother) is her sister. Now is that just a fucked up situation or what? That’s like saying "My baby’s daddy’s mama’s brother’s wife’s sister’s aunt’s cousin’s baby." WTF? The 2^nd Cousin (the one who thinks her real mother is her sister) is about my age or maybe a few years older and to my knowledge she still doesn’t have a clue. Hey, who am I to be the barer of some really fucked up news? I can see it now (and btw, I haven’t seen this cousin or ANY of them for that matter, since I was about 10 years old) after 20+ years, I walk up to her and say, "Hey Cuz…how have you been? BTW…did you know that your sister is really your mother?" Uhh…No. I don’t think I will be delivering THAT news anytime in the near or distant future.

I have another cousin that has some parentage issues. Apparently my aunt was pregnant with this particular cousin when she got married but the husband of the aunt isn’t the father of the cousin. This isn’t that big of a skeleton like the above cousin, more like an arm bone or something. From my understanding, the cousin and the husband both know that the cousin isn’t biologically the husband’s child. I don’t know WHO the biological father of the cousin is and I’m not sure that she does either but at least she’s not thinking that her daddy is her brother or some stupid shit.

Not long after I found out about this cousin, I find out that my daddy and my aunt (the mother of the cousin) had a thing years before my daddy and my mama got together. WTF? Let’s keep all in the family now. So then I get to thinking …could the cousin really be a half-sister? But I’m not sure of any time frame on this so I just push this one back into the dusty corner.

After I absorb this information and digest it into some form of sanity and shake my head at all the lies that have been floating around for YEARS, my daddy dies, I give up my research and put everything out of my mind and back in the closet. Skeletons and all.

One year after my daddy died, I get a phone call from my stepmother asking me to come over to her house. Since my stepmother has been a thorn in my side for pretty much my whole life, I knew something wasn’t right and that she wasn’t asking me to come over for tea and crumpets and some jolly conversation.

Knowing that something was up, I dropped what I was doing and go to her house. As soon as I saw her, I could tell that she was upset and angry. My first thought was, "Fuck, what have I done now?"

Well it turns out that I didn’t do anything (not that I REALLY thought I had, it was just one of those fleeting thoughts). She held up a folded piece of white notebook paper in her hand and tells me that it fell onto the ground when she went to replace the old flowers with new ones in the vase at the cemetery.

She goes on to tell me, while still holding the paper in her hand, that she picked it up and started to throw it away when her sister asked her what it was. My stepmother just assumed it was a piece of trash that had somehow gotten down into the vase and she was going to throw it away. The sister noticed some writing on it and suggested that my stepmother open it up and read it, which she did.

She told me that once she read what was on the inside she started to burn the paper but something or maybe it was the sister, made her think twice about it and she decided that I should read what was inside.

She tells me this BEFORE I even TOUCH the paper. The more she talks, the more nervous I get. A thousand things are running through my mind and not any of them make a bit of sense to me at the time. All I wanted was to grab the piece of paper and find out for myself what the hell was going on.

She finally hands the paper to me and my fingers reach out to grasp the paper and she proceeds to tell me that she doesn’t believe a word of it and I shouldn’t either but I had to at least read it and decide for myself.

I finally have the paper in my hands. Still folded, turning it over and over and over, thinking, "I don’t want to open this up." "I really don’t want to see what’s on this paper." "Fuck, I’ve got to open it."

I finally open the paper and the first thing I notice is that the ink is blue, but not like a regular ink pen blue, it was more like a brighter, lighter blue. I also noticed that there were two phone numbers at the bottom of the page and I noticed that the note written there was surprisingly short. All of this I noticed in a matter of seconds. I don’t know why these things stuck out in my mind but they did.

Once I began to read the words, my eyebrows drew together, my heart picked up it’s pace, my hands started shaking and my stomach started that flop, flop dance. I took a deep breath and reread what I had just read and kept rereading it for several minutes before I could digest any of what it said.

In a nutshell, the letter was written by a young man I’ll call Timmy who claimed that my daddy was his grandfather and that his (Timmy) daddy was my daddy’s son and my half-brother. The letter went on to explain that he (Timmy) had been looking for my daddy for quite some time with no luck when he (Timmy) happened across my daddy’s obituary while doing research for the family tree a year after my daddy died. Timmy decided to write the note and put it in the flowers at the cemetery with the hopes that someone would find it and contact him.

As I finished rereading the letter and began folding it once again, I looked up at my stepmother, who was crying, and asked her what she knew. Of course, she ranted and raved about it all being lies and bullshit that she would never believe it and I shouldn’t believe it either.

I stuck the note in my pocket and told her that I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, if anything, about the letter. I said my good-byes and left. Once I got back home, I read and reread that letter again and again. I don’t know why I kept rereading it like the damn thing was going to talk to me or maybe give me the secret to life’s greatest mysteries.

After rereading the letter, yet again, it finally hit me that "Timmy" had wrote down his father’s (my supposed half brother) name, which just so happened to be my daddy’s name, minus the last name. The closest thing to being a Jr. without legally being one. This made me angry. He (the supposed half brother) wasn’t supposed to have MY daddy’s name! I don’t know why I felt this way other than maybe I just felt like someone was trying to stake a claim to MY daddy and I didn’t like it. Bottom line…I didn’t want to share, even though my daddy was dead and buried.

I vented my frustration out to my husband and asked his advice as to which way to go. Should I call "Timmy" and find out the story or should I just leave well enough alone? Hubby’s suggestion was to leave it alone. Well being the curious one that I am, I couldn’t leave it alone.

I carried the note around with me in my purse and went on a hunting expedition, so to speak. I went to my mom asking questions, to my aunt asking questions, even to an uncle that I barely know and asked questions. No one had the answers for me. They only added MORE questions to my already growing list.

I got even more frustrated because no one could tell me a definite YES or NO that is was AT LEAST possible for this story that "Timmy" told could be true so I finally broke about 2 months after my stepmother giving me the note and called "Timmy" at one of the numbers listed on the paper.

I dialed the first number with shaky hands. I counted the number of rings, then a voice on the phone. For an instant I almost lost my nerve and hung up but I followed through with my intention and asked for "Timmy". The voice on the other end of the line said that he no longer worked there. Hmm…ok…I didn’t realize that it was a work number that he had left but I was thinking that maybe this is a sign. If he doesn’t work there then I can’t talk to him. The decision would then be out of my hands. Then I remembered the second number on the paper. I had already made up my mind that if I couldn’t get him at either number then that was that. It was done. I dialed the second number, also with shaky hands. I also counted the number of rings, then once again, a voice. This time the voice was a younger or what sounded like a younger female. I asked for "Timmy" and she said, "May I tell him who’s calling?" Ok…so I hesitated for probably longer than I intended to and she had to repeat the question. I gave her my name and in an instant her voice tone changed to a more chipper, excited tone. Two things hit me at this point. One being the fact that SHE, being whoever SHE is, recognized my name as soon as I told her. Two being the fact that MY name was being thrown about in a house where I knew NONE of it’s inhabitants. This made me extremely uneasy.

While I’m ticking off the seconds in my head waiting for "Timmy" to come to the phone, I once again have the fleeting thought of hanging up, unplugging my phone and hiding in the closet. Don’t ask why. Just a crazy thought that I had. My version of putting my head in the sand I suppose.

"Timmy" gets on the phone and after the first introduction to each other, there is an awkward moment or two of dead silence. I don’t even think I could hear myself breathe at that point. I don’t remember exactly word for word of the conversation or how it really got started but somehow it did.

I asked him to tell me everything he knew about the relationship between his grandmother (mother of alleged half brother) and my daddy. He tells me what he knows, which isn’t an awful lot but enough for me to have some questions. I don’t really do a lot of talking in this conversation other than asking a question here or there. I did ask "Timmy" what he was looking for and what he wanted out of me. I wasn’t too polite about it either. He tells me that he wants to know who his grandfather (my daddy) was and to learn about him, what type of person he was and the typical stuff like that and he also told me that since I (allegedly) am his aunt, he would like to meet me.

So I get a little freaked out. I talk to this kid (which really isn’t THAT much of a kid….he was early 20’s, I think, at the time) once in my life and he claims to be my nephew and my daddy is allegedly his grandfather and he wants to meet me to talk about my daddy. Nope…ain’t happening. It made me uneasy and hubby agreed that meeting wasn’t the best thing to do at the time. The one time I actually agreed AND listened to hubby.

After the first phone call to "Timmy", I was more confused than ever. Trying to make sense out of the information that he gave me, which seemed to be quite a bit about my daddy. This puzzled me. How could someone that didn’t know my daddy know so much about him? I once again went to family members, with more information this time, and asked them if it were possible that what "Timmy" said was true. Once again, I was met with unsure answers. I talked to one of my daddy’s brothers (who also happens to be the grandfather, playing father role, of the 2^nd cousin that thinks her real mother is her sister) who admitted to me that YES, my daddy date the woman (alleged half brother’s mother) years ago and YES, my uncle knew that she had a baby boy but NO, it wasn’t my daddy’s baby.

So armed with this information, I contacted "Timmy" yet again. We discussed even more details of these strange happenings of many years ago and found that still some things fit and some didn’t. We compared notes and he made notes of things that I wanted him to ask his grandmother (being the one that claims she has the baby belonging to my daddy) to see what I could find out. I was trying to play detective but failing miserably at it.

For a period of about three months, I talked to "Timmy". Then I would talk to family members once again. It seemed that each time I talked to a family member, a little bit more information would come out but still each one denied that the alleged half brother was my daddy’s son.

After one of the last phone calls to "Timmy", I put everything I knew or had been told down on paper and sorted it all out. I fit dates with certain events and people with places and came to the conclusion that YES, it very well COULD be true that I have a half brother out there that was fathered by my daddy. Even though I was right on the verge of believing whole heartedly, I still held back. Not wanting to believe it. It’s different when one has documented proof of something and when they only have ghosts that can’t answer anything.

The last phone call to "Timmy" was determined beforehand by me that it was most likely going to be the last call between "Timmy" and I. I knew that I needed to have absolute proof or just let it go. It was starting to consume me. The questions, the half ass answers I was getting, the time it took away from my family to work through this. It was taking its toll on me and I knew it had to be one way or the other. I suggested to "Timmy" that the only way I would honestly believe everything that we both knew was through DNA testing. If that proved we were kin, then I’d accept that as it was but I couldn’t keep talking as if it were all true and still not REALLY knowing.

There was no DNA test and I still don’t know anymore than I did 10 years ago.

Sometimes I think I should call the number and try to contact "Timmy" (and yes I still have the note) and maybe even meet him just to satisfy that curiosity that I have in me but then I think…"Nah…I’ll just leave it alone…..I already have one half brother (same mother, different father) that isn’t really like a brother to me…what the hell do I need another one for?"

Although, I still have questions…….

I realize that by starting my family tree research, I uncovered some not so great discoveries about my family and I’m sure that in my continuation of research, I will no doubt uncover some more. I am not perfect and neither is anyone in my family. Do I judge the aunt and uncle that are or have in this case, raised a granddaughter as their own daughter? No, I don’t. I figure they had their reasons for doing what they did. I do, in this case, think the ‘daughter’ should know who her real parents are but that is not for me to decide.

I have learned that family is family. No matter how many skeletons it comes with or how many "half" anything’s one might have out there. I am in no way ashamed of how my family turned out or who they are. It is what it is. I can only sit back and laugh at the ironies of it all sometimes.

Sybil has one KNOWN half brother (shared by the same mother)….a possible half brother (shared by the same father)….and a possible half sister, thought to be cousin that may be shared by the same father but mothered by Sybil’s aunt.

Now if that ain’t sightly fucked up…I don’t know what is