I always knew who he was. He kept in touch now and then with gifts at Christmas and birthdays, but I didn't see him or have a conversation with him. The gifts stopped coming after my stepfather adopted me.
For 70 plus years, I thought of finding him. For years it was just a thought, never an action. A few months ago I put my grandmother's name into a search engine and discovered a family and my roots.
There is a website called 'find a grave'. That's where I found a private family cemetery and the tombstones of my grandmother, grandfather, great and great-great grands. It's a small fenced-in cemetery, nothing fancy, but it contains my roots, my paternal family heritage.
While going through the various records at 'Find a Grave', I learned that my grandmother was the last known owner of the cemetery and that my father is buried in Arlington National Cemetery. He died at age 49 in 1960.
A little back story here. I have a daughter who lives in the D.C. area. Every time I visit her, when I cross the Memorial Bridge into D.C., I feel like I'm home. I never understood why I felt that way, telling myself it's because I'm a country loving patriot. Now I know why. It has to be a genetic memory. According to Wikipedia, "in psychology, genetic memory is a memory present at birth that exists in the absence of sensory experience and is incorporated into the genome".
About two years ago, I told my family I wanted my ashes tossed onto the Potomac River. I was informed it is illegal. I asked that they find a way. It was a very strong desire.
From "Find a Grave" web site
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