A Divine Appointment

It was New Year's Eve, seven years ago, and we were sitting at the dinner table. My husband Kevin is a fairly even-keeled, easy going person, not given to great highs or deep lows. So it surprised me when he gave voice to some rather melancholy reflections. "It's kind of sad," he said, "not to have anybody left in your family, especially during the holidays."

I remember the sharp pang I felt as he spoke those words. I have four older brothers and sisters, and even though they live clear across the country, they are there for me. We email, we call, we are there for each other at a moment's notice. But who did Kevin have? His mom had recently passed away. His brother John had passed away a few years before that. And his sister, Gloria, died when Kevin was only 10 months old. He never knew her. That was it—there was no one left in his family. . . . Or was there?

My mind raced back to a scene two years earlier. After my mother in-law passed away, my husband was sorting through some of her old documents. A puzzled look came over his face as he picked up his father's military discharge papers. Kevin's dad had served in the Navy during WWII, but the odd thing about this document was the personal status. He was listed as "married" when he was discharged.

"Look at this," Kevin said. "The Navy made an error on his discharge papers. I wonder if he even noticed that?"

I’m a journalist. My first thought was, Hmmm. . . . What if . . . ? So gently, I put the question to my husband.

"Kev, I know this sounds crazy, but . . . what if that wasn't a mistake?"

"I thought about that, too," he said. "I don't even want to go there. If my dad had a previous marriage and no one told me, then I'm not so sure I want to know about it."

Well, I do! I thought. And I did. What if Kevin's dad had been married previously? What if he had other children? What if Kevin had siblings he didn't know about? What if our daughter unknowingly struck up a relationship with someone who turned out to be . . . her own cousin!

A few days later, I decided I couldn’t resist. I dialed the number for vital statistics in the county office where Kevin's dad grew up. But as I waited on hold, something held me back. What if this opens up a Pandora's Box? Maybe Kevin is right. And it isn't exactly a trust builder to do this behind my husband's back. So I gave up the idea . . . but not entirely.



The kicker on my blog is the thread that sews these stories together on Cup O Joe:

     When it comes to prayer,

          we are like beggars holding a meager tin cup.

     If only I had known you better,

          I’d have come runnin’ with a bucket.

I stumbled over that bucket rather early in life. Clinging to my tin cup, I offered it up believing that I would get something in return. To my astonishment, I was rarely disappointed. So I became bolder in my requests, and it wasn’t long before I connected the dots: If you want to see specific answers to prayer, pray in specific ways.

   

So on this occasion, I traded my investigative project for an intercessory prayer. It went something like this:

“Lord, I have a feeling that those discharge papers were not in error. Did Kevin's father have a previous marriage? Does Kevin have any siblings that we don't know about?"

I decided to shoot the whole wad: "Lord, if Kevin does have a sibling that he doesn't know about, I pray that you would reveal it to him, that you would make it known."

Two years passed, and I had almost forgotten I even prayed that prayer. A surge of excitement rose through me as I put the pieces together. Now is the time. Kevin does want to know about his background.

Don’t ask me why I did this, because looking back, it seems so outrageous. I slipped away from the dinner table, raced downstairs to my office, and googled “O’Donoghue Clan.” I saw a genealogy forum in the listing and called it up. I wasn't reading for very long, when my eyes landed on a message that gave me goose bumps.

Someone had posted a request, asking if anyone knew anything about . . . and there I saw the names of Kevin's aunts, uncles and father—all of them listed in order. It was signed "G Bade," whoever that was. Then I looked more closely—the message was two years old. The person who wrote this might not even be using that email anymore. . . . Then again, what were the odds that I should find something like this?

"Kevin!" I yelled.

I was shaking with excitement as I showed him my screen. "Look at this! I googled an O'Donoghue genealogy site and found this on the message board. This message is asking about your aunts and uncles!"

Kevin did not recognize the sender’s name. “G Bade.” Was this a man or a woman? One thing was certain: This person had to be a relative. All six of the siblings in Kevin’s father’s family were listed—in order. I printed out the message and handed it to Kevin.

“Here you go. It’s worth a try. I know the message is two years old, but maybe the sender still has the same email address.”

I’ll never forget that night and what happened next. . . .

Kevin sent an email to "G Bade," wondering who this person could possibly be. Late that night we got a piece of the puzzle.

G Bade sent Kevin a reply. It began with her sharing some pictures via e-mail. My even-keeled husband was visibly excited: "Look at this! I remember this spot. One of my earliest memories is playing in that back yard."

Our lives were forever changed by that email. It turns out that Gerry's grandma and Kevin's father were siblings.

We came to find out that a first cousin, whom we assumed had died tragically, was very much alive and well—and the uncle of Gerry Bade. He would be the oldest person in Kevin's generation. If any cousin would know about Kevin's father, surely it would be him. . . .

Using his gifts of tact and diplomacy, Kevin asked as gently as he could what Gerry knew about Kevin's dad. He felt safe enough to ask the big one: "Was my dad married when he lived in Galena?"

We later learned that this question tipped off a Red Alert. Gerry consulted her Uncle Jeff, Kevin's long-lost and oldest cousin. Jeff's wife, Nadine, immediately knew where this was going and cautioned, "May Day." Her warnings to her niece were couched in wisdom. And since Jeff didn't get into e-mailing, Nadine accepted the delicate task of acting as his mouthpiece, Aaron speaking for Moses—the one who just might lead us to the Promised Land.

After welcoming us to the family, Nadine rounded out the picture for us regarding their personal lives, sharing details that provided info and developed trust. I didn’t realize it then, but she was also creating a cushion for a safe landing.

Kevin found it easy to connect with Nadine. So did I. He put the question directly to her. “About my dad . . . I have a document that says he was married when he was dismissed from the Navy at the end of WWII. But my parents didn’t get married until 1949. Was that document in error, or did my dad have a previous marriage?”

We learned that, yes, Kevin’s dad had been married before. Nadine relayed the info Jeff had given her: When they were married, where they lived. . . . They divorced shortly after he returned from the war.

Of course, that led to the next question: “Did they have any children?”

Nadine was a godsend. Knowing that this was coming, she had leaned hard on Jeff. “This is important to these kids. You know what they’re going to ask me. What can you remember? Think!”

Nadine relayed his response: “Jeff says that he can remember a little girl. Her nickname was Tiny. . . .”

I can’t begin to tell you the emotions I felt, so imagine how this impacted Kevin. How do you handle news like that?

We had far more questions than answers. And the few answers we did have were so vague that if this wasn’t deadly serious, it would have been laughable. Jeff didn’t know where she lived now, nor was he sure how old she was. They lost touch early in childhood, and he had to dig deep into his memory just to recall her nickname.

What about Tiny’s mom? No one knew where she lived either. But we did learn her name—June Smith. Do you know how many billions of Smiths are in the data banks?

Fortunately for us, Nadine was an expert at genealogy, and all of her skills and expertise were at our disposal. Over the next days and weeks, it became a family project between us and our newfound family members. We had daily reply-to-all emails. We were bonded by a quest—find Kevin’s sister. I remember at one point saying to Kevin, “You know what? This whole venture came out of a deep desire to give you an extended family. I hope we find your sister. But even if we don’t, we have already been given a treasure trove—look how much these guys care. If this isn’t family, what is?”

Yes, we had indeed been given a treasure. But Pandora’s Box had been opened. . . .

After weeks of combing through online records and sharing leads, Kevin and I and our newly found cousins had drawn closer in our bond but not closer to our goal—the quest of finding Kevin’s sister. All we knew was that her nickname was Tiny. We didn’t even know her real name. For that matter, we didn’t even know if she was still alive.

By February we decided it was time for a new tact. We would make a trip to Galena, Illinois, where Kevin’s father grew up. This called for soft diplomacy. Presidents’ Day weekend was coming up, and we would travel there on pretext of a ski trip. One of Kevin’s cousins still lived in the area. We would check records on our own but also spend time with Cousin Mary and broach the subject to her.

It had been 20 years since we last saw Mary and there was a lot of catching up to do. I found myself feeling anxious, waiting for Kevin to cut through Mary’s old photos, their family memories, the latest on who was doing what. Finally, a segue: “Say, Mary, I was going through some of my mom’s things, and I found my dad’s discharge papers from the Navy. It said that he was married. Was that an error, or did my dad have a previous marriage?”

Mary paused with a look of surprise. “Oh, I thought you knew. . . . Your dad was married here in Galena. They divorced sometime after he returned from the Navy.”

“Did they have any kids?”

Mary paused again, realizing we really were clueless. Then she began to tell us about Sylvia. . . .

Sylvia was the same age as Mary—20 years older than Kevin. Mary could remember playing with Sylvia when they were young, but they lost touch when they were growing up.

Mary’s recollections seemed like a bump in the road, and all too soon she was back to sharing other memories that had nothing to do with Sylvia. Kevin was so patient, just listening to Mary take the conversation in a different course. Finally, when I could stand it no longer, I said, “Mary, have you ever tried to make contact with Sylvia?”

“Well, no. I just figured she wasn’t interested in keeping in touch with the family.”

“But does she realize she had some siblings? Do you think maybe she might want to know that she has a brother?”

Mary cocked her head and a puzzled expression came over her. It appeared she had never considered that. For the first time I saw a glimmer of hope. Perhaps now Mary was starting to get it—this was a big deal to us to find Kevin’s sister, and maybe, just maybe, Sylvia might want to find him, too.

We spent most of our weekend playing detective—going through local church records, government documents, newspaper archives, even high school yearbooks. The thrill of the chase was exciting, and we did uncover a lot of family info, including some golden nuggets. I paged through a paperbound centennial booklet that had been created by the local Catholic parish. There I stumbled onto a picture of some children, boys wearing knickers, and the adorable one on the end particularly caught my eye. The caption underneath read, “John Donohue.” That was Kevin’s father, at age eight. Until then, we had never seen any pictures of his dad as a child.

Our time in Galena would end with a Sunday dinner at Mary’s house. It was fun seeing Mary’s kids and grandkids and getting reacquainted. I was hoping we could probe further about Sylvia, but it just didn’t seem appropriate in the context of this family gathering.

As we walked outside toward our car, Mary came up beside us with a small piece of paper in her hand. “I have something for you.”

The “what if . . .” pleas on Friday night had apparently struck a chord. Over the weekend, Mary had managed to contact Sylvia’s aunt. Together they had decided that Kevin should contact his sister. Through Mary, the aunt gave Kevin the information he needed. Sylvia was living in Eureka, Nevada. Eureka—how appropriate is that?

I drove us home, the whole trip from Galena, and while I drove, Kevin sat with his laptop open, writing the most difficult letter of his life. He labored over that letter for an entire week, writing and re-writing what was on his heart. I was dying to know what he said but didn’t ask to see it. On Saturday my wish was fulfilled.

“Here, read this and tell me what you think.”

Not knowing how much Sylvia knew, or whether she would even want to hear from him, Kevin painstakingly introduced himself and his siblings. His self-deprecating humor made me cry. “My brother John was a genius. . . . I’m told Gloria was a ham. . . . And me, I could never spell, so I became an electrical engineer.”

Kevin’s carefully crafted letter led up to the sense of loss he felt in not knowing her for all these years. He promised he would not bother her if she did not care to make contact. Then he left it in her court, shades of “Tie a Yellow Ribbon.”

The letter was mailed Saturday night. On Monday, while we sat at the dinner table, the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” Kevin said, as he sprang from his chair. “Oh, Sylvia, hi. . . .” Then, after a few minutes, I heard him roar with laughter and say, “Yeah, well, rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

About an hour later, Kevin hung up the phone, returned to the table, and, trying to mask his smile, said very nonchalantly, “That was my sister.”

Was it a good connection? It was a gift from God—for both of them. Sylvia's mother had later re-married but there were no children from that marriage. So Kevin was Sylvia’s only living sibling, and she his. In fact, Kevin learned that Sylvia had tried to contact him about 15 years earlier. But she gave up when a relative told her that “Kevin was dead.”

The two of them called each other frequently, about every other week that first year. The first summer following our initial contact (seven years ago), we went to Nevada for a family reunion to meet Sylvia and her family. The picture above features Kevin with a king-sized grin, looking like he won the lottery, his arm around a prize beyond measure.

And to think, it all began with a prayer. . . .

Runnin’ with a bucket,

Angela

Cup O' Joe with Angela O
Every picture tells a story . . .