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My entire life has been without an identity
My grandparents adopted me from their eldest daughter when I was baby. Therefore, my mom became my sister; my grandparents, my mom and dad. As far as my biological father went,
I never knew who he was until I was eight years old. Or so I thought.
“Hi, Michea, I am Mike, your dad! You can call me Mike!” the voice on the other side of the phone said.
The first half of my life was a mixture of phone calls, letters and gifts. Never once did we meet in person. There was always a nagging feeling in both of us: “Was I his daughter?”
That question remained unanswered. Mike died in November of 2017 – without knowing if I was his daughter.
In 2018, a long-lost sister from my mom’s side found me through online DNA. My husband and I visited my long-lost sister in Virginia that summer. Her husband did genealogy as a hobby. He had an extra DNA kit. After some thought, I spat in the DNA tube and my brother-in-law mailed it. He shared with me, “You already know your mom’s side. Through process of elimination, you can find your dad.
I’ll help you!”
By the time I got back to San Antonio, the results were in. The first thing that hit me was my ethnicity.
I always grew up thinking I was Native American. How wrong I was! There was not a Native American bone in my body. My results came back: I am 50 percent Greek. My dad’s DNA!
My brother-in-law directed me to upload my DNA to MyHeritage.com. This time, six family members on my dad’s side came back as matches.
I reached out to one cousin. She thought it was a scam until I sent her the DNA results and a selfie. She wrote back immediately, “Sweetie, I know who your dad is. Welcome to the family!” I started crying.
I found out my dad’s side of the family knew the Lord. My uncle was a missionary to the Turkish Muslims. He translated the entire New Testament into the Turkish language before he died in 2010. I also have a 93-year-old praying Yaya (grandmother) who lives in Greece. I have a brother and I am the only daughter.
My dad and I met for the first time on Saturday, December 9, 2018. At the end of our weeklong visit, we gave each other a hug and turned to go our separate ways. Before he went inside, he called, “Michea, come here, we can do better than that!”
We gave each other a bigger hug. “I will be back!” he reassured me before he walked inside to catch his plane home. I can't wait!
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