Going Home: The Unknown Daughter No More

I once was lost but now I’m found. Well, I was never really lost. Just unfound. For most of my life, an entire side of my family (outside of my father) had no idea that I even existed. And I knew nothing of them.

But one day, out of the blue, my sister found me. I received an introductory message on social media from her that turned my world upside down. Soon after, I met her and my father’s other two children. And because of that connection, I found myself traveling over 1,500 miles to grieve with them at my father’s funeral.

Just a few years ago, I wouldn’t have even known when my father had passed away. How would I have known? Who would be there to tell me? I was the unknown daughter.

Besides, I had no need for funerals or formal goodbyes. I had washed my hands of this long ago. Or so I thought.

But there I was (to my surprise), heading back to Ohio last week for the funeral. As hard as I knew it would be, I needed to do this.

The day we arrived back in my hometown, I immediately felt regret. Though I grew up there, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. I hadn’t been to visit in over two years and the reason I was here cast a gray cloud over my return. “I shouldn’t have come,” I told my husband. “There is nothing here for me.” My husband looked at me and firmly grabbed my hand. “Your family is here,” he said.

At the time, it gave me little comfort. I’ve always felt like the outsider. The black sheep. The other daughter. Even though my new found siblings seemed to have accepted me with no questions asked, I didn’t feel like I was really one of them.

The day of the funeral, I woke up feeling anxious. The rainy, overcast day matched my mood. As we drove to the church, I remember thinking, “I don’t want to grieve with strangers. Most of these people don’t even know who I am. Even the people I’ve met don’t really know who I am.”

I entered the church and almost immediately saw a friendly face. A cousin who had reached out to me shortly after I met my siblings was there to greet me. She gave me a big hug and then moved aside. “You don’t want me to walk up there with you, do you?” she said. I knew she was offering me her support but giving me an out if I didn’t want to receive it. “Yes, please walk with me,” I replied.

There was a time I would have put on a brave face and gone through something like this alone. But not today. I needed support. The walls that I’ve spent so many years putting up are less thick now. My fortress less secure. You can thank my husband for that.

As my cousin and I made our way to the casket, I was thankful she was beside me. I didn’t want to see my father for the first time in 28 years alone. Not like this. My husband and children were there, but this woman knew my father. She spent time with him. And she has treated me like family from the very beginning.

When I saw him, I was overcome with emotion. This was certainly not the grand reunion I would have hoped for. But this was the only reunion I was going to get. So I lingered. Everyone else in the room seemed to disappear for a brief moment. The tears began to fall again, as they had done so many days before.

I leaned over and gently touched his arm before walking away. I had planned to sit at the back of the church, but before I could sneak away, my cousin asked an usher where the family would be sitting. As the usher pointed to the front pews, I hesitated. But I went where I was led and waited for the rest of the family to arrive.

As I sat there, I opened the obituary. When I got to the part about the surviving family, I saw four children listed. My name was one of them. My children were listed as grandchildren. That meant something to me. I was the unknown daughter no more.

The service ended and I followed the rest of the family to the cemetery. After we arrived, I slowly went up to where my father would be buried. I stood there with a heavy heart as they lowered him into the ground. I was caught off guard, but I didn’t turn away. I needed to see this through until the end.

As the rain fell from the sky on that dreary day, the tears continued to flow from my eyes.

I took a flower and threw it into the ground. With that flower, I threw all of the rejection, the hurt, the anger, and the confusion I had ever felt into that ground with it. And what I was left with was a love for my father that I thought was long gone. “Old things have passed away and all things have become new,” came to my mind. As I wept, I felt someone come up and embrace me. It was one of my father’s sisters.

And though we had only just met briefly during the funeral, she held onto me and offered words of comfort. She told me some things I really needed to hear. Most importantly, she said I needed to find peace. That day was the beginning of my peace.

As I gathered myself and said my final goodbye, I turned to find my brother offering me an embrace. Then his wife gave me the biggest, longest most comforting hug. She barely knew me, but there was such compassion in her eyes. This was my family.

I was the unknown daughter no more.

We went back to the church to gather after the burial and I looked around at all these people who were no longer strangers. These were good people. They were kind and loving people who took the time to comfort me, despite their own grief. Not once did I feel like the other daughter. I was just…family.

A broken part of me was put back together that day. I have begun to heal in a way I never thought possible. I may have lost a father, but I’ve gained a family. That’s the one thing he left me. His daughter, the sister who found me and brought me into the fold, made this experience possible. Because of her, I was able to say goodbye to our father in the way I needed, surrounded by the people who loved him.

I am the unknown daughter no more.

Featured image: Steven Guzzardi