Saturday, June 11, 2011


Father's Day is coming up and every year, I think about this story.  Every Father's Day holds a special place in my heart because I have never wished my dad a happy Father's Day.  Not because I'm cold hearted but purely because I have never met him.

I have always wanted to find my dad. I have never seen his face, never seen a photograph of him, never heard his voice and have never been able to say "I just looked like my dad when I did that!" I came into this world 9 months after a one night stand. I have the name of one of his friends from almost forty years ago and I know his hair colour, and eye colour.  The one friend now suffers from Alzheimer's and does not remember my dad.  My search ended with a single phone call.

I have a recurring dream where a man walks by me while I'm sitting on a park bench and I look up and know that it's him. I have lost all hope of ever finding him; ever knowing if I have siblings, cousins, grandparents. I had to let go of the idea of ever knowing that side of my family; that side of myself. 

Sixteen years ago I had a daughter. Her father moved away days before I knew for certain I was pregnant and I have been unable to find him.  Our mutual friends didn't know where he had gone.  He just disappeared one day.

To have my daughter suffer the same pain and emptiness that comes from not knowing your father is heartbreaking to me. If I can never know my father, that is one thing. But for my daughter to never know hers...I just have to find him. I hired an investigator to help me about five years ago. She was what I could afford at the time (not very much) and she came back empty handed.

I am a single mom and my daughter has been through a lot. She started high school last year and made some poor choices. She went to stay with a family member to straighten things out and her body responded to the cleaner air in a way that makes it impossible for her to live in the city again. She's allergic to pollution.  I live in Seattle; not a city that makes you think of pollution, but there is enough for her to react.

She now lives in the next state and I haven't seen her in almost six months. I remember being her age and I remember thinking that I had a piece of myself that was missing. I went through a rough patch at about the same time.  Now, not only does she not know her father, but she doesn't have her mother by her side anymore either.

It took me until I was in my 30s to come to peace with not having my father in my life. I don't want my daughter to have to suffer for another 15 years because I can't find her dad. She has a right to know who her father is and her father has a right to know that he has a beautiful, intelligent daughter who has his ears, his jaw line, his brown eyes and even his feet.

I know his name (Brock Will), his age (around mine), where I last knew he lived (Ashland, Oregon). But my daughter needs to see his face, hear his voice. She needs to know this part of herself so she can overcome the struggle she suffers to know who she is. She needs to know if she has siblings, cousins, grandparents.

She needs to be able to say "I just looked like my dad when I did that!"

I hope one day my search for Brock Will can come to an end so my daughter can know her father.
If anyone who happens to read this knows someone named Brock Will, or someone with a name close to that, please send him a link to this blog entry.  If it's him, he'll know. 
Until Next Time,


  1. Oh, Honey, one day, I'll be able to give you a hug.

  2. Thank you, Katie. Hopefully, one day I will find him.