Meeting My Paternal Family for The First Time In 76 Years - Mary Bradley McCauley

Imagine my excitement at age 76, meeting a family I never knew I had until only a few months before. They are the son, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of my biological father, John W.Goodwin, aka Jack, the father I never knew.

Getting out of the car in the parking lot at a restaurant where we were meeting, I paused, took a deep breath and smiled nervously at my daughter who came with me. She knew I was nervous. That's why she made the trip from another state to be with me. She would be meeting an Uncle and cousins who were new to her. They were waiting in the restaurant. I wondered if they were as nervous as I was since they had no idea my father had a daughter they never knew existed.

My Parents Separated

1937

My father and mother decided they wouldn't be good together when I was about thirteen-months-old. I heard about and from him when I was very young, but there are no memories of ever seeing him.

Learning I had a father like other kids in the neighborhood had to have been a stunning revelation to me at age 4 or 5. The memory of clutching a baby doll dressed in a crisp white dress with embroidered flowers across the top is still vivid in my mind. I was excited. I never had a doll and never expected one as pretty. I remember the painted hair and rosy tinted cheeks. Her lips were painted with a smile.

My mother said it was a present from my father not a toy from Santa.My father! I had a father, not just a mother and older brother, but a real father like my friends.  The only difference was that my father never came home like theirs.

A Little Girl's Fantasies

Over the years, I fantasized about him. I imagined he would come live with us if I was really good. When my mom got mad at me, I thought that if he were there he wouldn't let her be mad at me. He would love me and tell her not to be mad. But it never happened; he never came to see me.

When I was about six, my mom handed me a brown paper wrapped package. I never got a package in the mail before. I vaguely remember opening the brown paper wrapping.  Inside was a beautiful white dress for my First Communion. When I close my eyes now I can remember walking down the aisle of St. Mary's Catholic Church, so proud to have a dress as pretty as the other girls.  Sometimes I've wondered if my mother had written to him about my needing a dress. A single mother with two kids in 1943 didn't have much money to buy a First Communion dress.

Jack Goodwin

The next memory I have of a connection with him was when I was about 9 or 10. He sent me ice skates, a black and white checkered skirt, and a white long-sleeved sweater. I don't know why he sent them. It couldn't have been for my birthday. It is in May, not ice skating weather.

It was the last gift I got from him, but not my last connection or kind of connection. When I was 13 or 14 my mom and stepfather took me to meet an uncle, (Gordon) one of my dad's brothers. He had called and asked mom if he could meet me. It was outside a restaurant/tavern with a huge plate glass floor to ceiling windows.  We spoke briefly and I was wondering why I was meeting him. I have no recollection of what was said. It was sometime later that I wondered if my father had been inside watching me. Maybe not, maybe it was just another of my fantasies that someday he would come into my life.

Did He Know If I Was Okay? Did He Care?

There were times when I imagined him knocking on the door and telling me he wanted to be sure I was okay. Another was of me knocking on his door to let him know I had become a Broadway star, another of my fantasies at that time. 

It wasn't as if we would meet on the street in my hometown. He was from another state. My older brother tells me about the time we were at his family home. He has memories of a big white house and a big farm. It was when I was a year old and baptized in his family church. It was shortly after that he and my mother parted.

Years passed, my life became an exciting adventure, but there were moments when I wished he could be there, especially at my wedding. Many times over the years I thought of how proud he would be of my six children and his 13 great-grandchildren.

Eventually, I gave up the fantasies of meeting him, but not the desire to know about him. When I got my first Internet connection I found someone who does family research. This was before ancestry or Latter Day Saints, or before I knew of them.  She did a bit of research and told me all she could find was the death certificate information of my grandmother, Minnie Goodwin. My search may have ended, but it was never abandoned.

The Internet and Perseverance Prevailed

Finally, it began to fall into place. A few years ago I typed my paternal Grandmother's name into a search engine. I found her on a 'Find a Grave' website. Not only did I find the grave where she is buried but learned it is a private family cemetery.  What a surprise. Searching the names of my ancestors who are buried there, I found family records and read that my father is buried in Arlington National Cemetery. I also learned he died at age 49.

My Grandmother and Grandfather

At Our private cemetery

              

I Never Gave Up

There was sadness knowing for certain I would never meet him. You don't have a dream for all those years and not feel sorrow when you know that dream would never come true. Maybe the dream of meeting him would not come true, but meeting his family was the next best thing.

In January, a friend who does genealogy research at Ancestry.com did a search for my dad's family. She found a connection with pictures of him and my three half-brothers that I never knew about. All the information on that Ancestry site confirmed that she had indeed found his family, my family.

I posted a message to the person who was maintaining the site telling her I was his daughter; giving her as much substantial information as I could to verify who I was. She responded in a few days with great surprise that he had a daughter and she had an Aunt. She included her phone number.

A Family Connection

A few days later I called her. She is the daughter of his oldest son, my dad's granddaughter, my niece that I never knew about.  Our two-hour conversation gave me lots of information about family connections. She told me one of his three sons, my brother, is still living. She put me in touch with a niece and a nephew on Facebook. They all live in the same state.  One of my daughters lives in the same state and she made arrangements to have me fly there to visit her and her family and to meet my new found family. It was an exciting time.

Approaching the meeting at the restaurant, my daughter, who had flown there to be with me, patted me on the back for the courage. I was excited and anxious to meet them. Would it be awkward? What if they didn't like me, or vice-versa? What would I learn about my father?

Once inside the restaurant all concerns dissolved. They were waiting inside the door and the hugs we exchanged were filled with warmth, caring, and laughter. I met my brother, two of his daughters, and two of his grandchildren. There was a nephew, the son of my father's youngest son, my one and only nephew, and his two little boys. And there was my niece who got the family together for our meeting. She is the caretaker of the Ancestry site and the daughter of my brother buried in Arlington. She is the one I connected with through Ancestry.com.

Our time together was filled with getting to know each other and much too brief. My dad had died before any of the grandchildren were born. They never knew him, but had heard about him from family members. They filled in some of the missing blanks in my heritage. All too soon we were hugging our goodbyes, promising to stay in touch and get together next time I was visiting my daughter. I felt my love going out to them and coming back to me. They were indeed my family.

Our Connection Continues

We connect through Facebook. I look forward to their posts and pictures. I watch the video of my grandnephews being cute boys; my grandniece and nephew playing baseball, and I feel a connection that bridges time and distance. I look forward to staying connected with them and seeing them in the future.

During that same trip, my daughter, who had made it possible for me to be there, the daughter who flew there to be with me, and a granddaughter took me to a neighboring state where I visited the graves of my grandparents, great-grandparents, great-great-grandparents, and several other relatives in the private, fenced in the family cemetery. I learned it is in the National Archives as a national historic site. It is a very peaceful setting. I was glad my niece who kept the family Ancestry file had sent me stories she found about them.

Saying Hello and Goodbye to My Father

Arlington VA

On our way back from that cemetery, we went to Arlington where I saw the grave of my brother. A few moments later, I finally got to say hello and goodbye to my father. I told him I was sorry we never met and that I was glad to meet his family, now part of my family.

In my fantasy, I like to think he was at that restaurant with us, and maybe he had a little something to do with bringing us all together.

The End

It's never too late to get something you really want. It was 70 plus years for me.

Don't let it be too late to write your life's story for your family and those to follow.

I'm writing mine. Are you ready to write yours?

                        

Disclosure

Some of the links in this Blog may be affiliate links, which means I may
receive compensation from some of the links listed here for referrals as
a thank you for me sending you their way including Amazon.