Lost and Found

I never thought I'd see her or talk to her again. I didn't know she even thought about me or had been inquiring about me for the past 20 years. My last memories of her were a drawing she sent me of a panda or teddy bear (it was so long ago, the details have faded) and a phone conversation that lasted maybe 5 minutes. Even though she was my half sister, we didn't speak the same language; we still don't. But I thought since we lived so far away-countries away- that our relationship, like so many other things, was lost in translation.

All it took was a Facebook friend request. That's how close we actually were! I feel angry about that. I feel like I could've known my sister years earlier. Through one keystroke, a click on the "send" button, my sister found me. My older sister found me! She's not my only sibling. I have, including her, five. One whole sister, a half brother and sister from my mother, and a half brother and sister from my father.

My father immigrated here from Central America in the late 70's and married my mother in the early 80's. Little did my American mother know, my father came here undocumented and my mother was his ticket to a legitimate life in the United States. My father believed, as many immigrants do, the streets here in the US are paved with gold. Coming here is a way out of the very real misery and hardships that exist in their home countries. They believe they will have their whack at a piece of the "American Dream". But for many, they strike out. They spend their days toiling and working until their knuckles, knees, and backbones are worn to slivery remnants of the youthfulness they initially possessed. My dad fared somewhere in the middle.

He was a factory worker and worked just hard enough to maintain a paycheck. I don't know what he does now for a living. I deliberately stopped knowing about 15 years ago. That's when my father relocated to Arizona with his new very young wife and stepson, and essentially became a "phone dad". I got a call for my high school graduation. He said he didn't have enough money for a plane ticket but very soon after, sent me pictures of his vacation to the east coast. He called to congratulate me on graduating college (with honors might I add) and an empty promise that he'd make it for this one. He didn't, nor did I expect him.

I stopped caring about him long ago.  He wasn't present in any part of my life and more importantly, he had sexually abused my older half sister (his stepdaughter). The only thing he has ever been good for is inflicting unnecessary pain. I'm not sad he's absent (a somewhat mutual decision) from my life. The only thing that saddens me, is in his absence, my sense of culture and belonging and family was usurped. I lost half of my extended family. No paternal grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, neices, or nephews. The potential to know them, counted as collateral damage from my father's mayhem.  And then I get that Facebook friend request.

Thank God my husband knows Spanish! My husband is also half latino. He was fortunate enough to have lived with the parent who spoke Spanish. He is much more "latino" than I in that sense. My older sister and I spoke that night. I was in shock I think and said very few words. Husband was like "what do you want to say to your sister?" I was like "uhhhhhhh". I mustered "te amo mucho". That means I love you a lot. She said the same. We giggled like little girls. No translation needed. She didn't have a web camera but we wanted to see each other. We decided to try to video chat the next day. She would go to an internet cafe. We must have said I love you in English and Spanish a hundred times.

I spent the next hour uploading photos of my family onto her Facebook page. Kids and me and Husband. I was so happy to share! I looked through every picture of her's and mulled over every mundane detail. The color of the walls- lime green. Very latino. Always a tank top, never a sweater. Dewy skin and sun-kissed noses. Brown and fair hues of pigmentation in the same family. Curly hair and straight hair; all ebony. Authentic latino food. This is what I longed for and here it was staring back at me in photos, and these were my family's photos.

The next day she called again. The first time, I rejected the phone call. I think it was too much. I was overwhelmed. It's funny. I know she's my sister because she did just what I would've done. She called back a second time right away. My husband gently encouraged me to answer. After about half an hour of technical difficulties, (texting and messaging and failed Skyping and grainy FB video chatting with no sound) I saw my sister's face. I saw bits and pieces of me in her. We made the same funny faces and we both had curly hair. I got to see my niece and it was like looking at an exact replica of my younger sister here in the States. I belonged.

We talked for almost 2 hours. My husband stayed nearby to translate. And inevitably the topic came up of our father not teaching me Spanish (which in latino culture is a big deal). I explained to her he left when I was 5. He didn't have time to teach me. She cried because we each shared a common story. He left her when she was 8months old. She still talks to him. Every month she calls him and every month, absolutely unsolicited, he tells her he has no money. She's not asking for money. She just wants to talk. She cried again. I tell her he's not rich but he's very comfortable. He's lying about not having money. We used to hear that lame line too. "Daddy, can you take us to the amusement park?" "No money. Lo siento." Cheapskate to the max.

Then a question popped into my mind. Years ago he used to tell us he mailed money and clothes and other helpful things to them. I asked my sister if he actually did this. She said she never got it. I cried. Her life was harder than mine and I feel a little guilty. After my father abandoned his first family, my sister's mother couldn't deal with it. She was sent with the equivalent of a  hundred bucks to live with her grandmother. Twice rejected. "Duro", the Spanish word for hard was the life she was given. She told me how, over the years, she asked for us often and my father always came up with an excuse as to why she couldn't contact us. There was no excuse worthy of keeping me from my sister! We both cried. I realized very quickly that you can't catch up on 20 or more years in one fell swoop. This is why our lives are, God willing, long. This is why some books possess 200 or 300 pages. This is why TV mini-series exist! You can't squeeze 20 years into 2 hours.

Yesterday she added me as a "sister" to her Facebook page. I almost melted into a puddle on my couch. Instead, I joyously confirmed that status change. Yesterday I shared a picture of my oldest son on her timeline. He lost his first tooth. I had to google translate how to say that phrase because my husband wasn't around. This relationship is going to be work :) I need Rosetta Stone! She liked the photo and said how handsome he was "que guapo!". I brimmed with an emotion I'm still trying to figure out. Somber joy; sweet with a bitter end.

I was reminded of the story of Job in the Bible. Job's life was obliterated by the Devil. Everything was taken from him except his life. But the beauty of this story is, because of Job's unrelenting faithfulness, God restored Job giving him twice as much as he had before. I grew up without a father; thinking for many years I would always have this splintered and disjointed family life; only knowing a few shallow layers of my family history. I totally felt like a historical orphan. But here, after many years, God has restored what was withheld from me. It feels like a double portion of family! My husband joked that the number of overtly latino names popping up in our friend suggestions has increased exponentially since accepting my sister's friend request. Some of the names are familiar- I know them to be family and I am happy for now I can rest in the comfort that my family is not lost, but actually found.