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BRANCHES ACROSS AN OCEAN
They say grief shrinks over time, but for me, it grew heavier. Settling in the corners of my life like dust, after losing both of my parents, the refuge of unconditional protection dissipated leaving me to realize I was the loneliest branch on a dying tree.
I had a wonderful and supportive husband I could count on. I had kindhearted children that needed me. I had a beautifully full life, complete in so many ways, yet I still felt deeply alone. It was a loneliness that was hard to explain because I was not actually alone. I was surrounded by the family that I had created. What I missed was different from the sense of family I had growing up with my parents. Before they passed away, I was comforted knowing they were always there for me, as loved ones who knew me to my core, knowing I could retreat to them if I needed comfort, and knowing I didn't have to be the strongest branch in the tree.
As the youngest of two, my brother's and my relationship carried complicated feelings. We had grown up together, shared the same parents, and shared the love of our parents along with the same history. However, as adults, we took different paths in life. He came to me when he needed help, advice, or someone to listen to him, and I was always there. In the same sense, I knew that he wasn't in a place to offer me the same refuge when I needed the same nurturing I often gave him. I quietly learned not to expect it. I wasn't angry or resentful. I simply became accustomed to carrying more than I chose to admit. Somewhere along the way, I had begun to believe that my family tree had reached its final splintered chapters. I was a lone lighthouse guarding an empty sea.
On a completely ordinary evening, I decided to log in to my Ancestry.com. I had purchased the test two years before not to find lost history but to know my regional lineage. I logged in that evening checking to see if the site had updated its DNA region data as I had many times over the last two years. I expected an updated pie chart, updated percentages of my regional lineage. I expected the mundane.
Instead, a tiny icon glowed over the messages section on my screen. I clicked it open,entirely unprepared for the words waiting on the screen:
The room seemed to lose its air. Did I just read that correctly? A rush of adrenaline surged through my chest, hot and overwhelming, while my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I sat frozen for a moment, staring at my dad's full name typed out by a stranger across the world. Tears blurred my eyes, a vast sea of every ounce of unexpressed grief and loneliness coming out all at once. I gathered my composure, wiped my eyes and typed a reply. I confirmed the name. I confirmed the history, my dad Renan Argueta Olivares had been stationed in Germany while serving in the Army, decades ago, before I was born.
When the replies started to roll in, a whole new reality unfolded. I had an older brother who had grown up longing to know of his own family tree. He had limited knowledge of the man who had fathered him. Knowledge so limited that he was given an incorrect name by his mother and spent his life believing he was of Puerto Rican descent. Much to his surprise, he learned via a digital text box, that his father, my dad, our dad, was born in El Salvador with no ties to Puerto Rico.
As we exchanged countless messages, a bridge began to form across the Atlantic Ocean. Wanting to piece together his fractured family tree, I connected him with a half-sister I did have knowledge of. She was also born and raised in Germany and only lived about an hour away from my newly-discovered big brother. I had never quite formed a stable bond or relationship with her due to many reasons, but I thought he should know of her. Watching my newly found brother and my estranged sister connect from afar brought a complicated wave of emotions. I felt a sting of worry and a quiet streak of jealousy. Not envy, but a protective ache. With them being in the same country, she was able to meet him in person first. I worried she would stain my dad's memory with her own bitter opinions. I chose to hold my tongue and not share my opinions of her or her story. That was for her to tell and my new brother to interpret as he chose.
Time, as it usually does, revealed the truth of her ways. In a recent conversation with my brother, he quietly shared that he now understood why I chose to not have a relationship with her. He saw her true colors and web of lies with his own eyes. The relief I felt was immense, clearing the air and forming a deeper trust between us.
Out of the complex web of our family tree, beautiful new branches have grown. I learned I also have a nephew close in age to my son, a parallel generation growing up an ocean away. I talk with my new brother often, sharing updates on the current events of our life and past memories of our childhoods. I share as much as I can about our dad and his history, the good and the bad. He deserves to know everything he can about him to fill the void he grew up with.
For my birthday this year, he sent a voice message singing "Happy Berzday to you!" His German accent made the birthday wishes a hundred times better than any other wishes I received.
We have plans to meet here in Texas next summer, to finally turn our messages on a screen into a face-to-face embrace. Although we have not physically met in person, the distance no longer feels like an obstacle as we grow our relationship. The feeling of being the loneliest branch in my grief is now a growing branch, flourishing. I am a sister, an aunt, and the keeper of a shared history.