When my biological father stopped communicating with me, I thought perhaps God was taking him out of my life in exchange for my father who raised me. That maybe my dad would survive the cancer. I was wrong.
It’s been exactly two years since I woke up to find an email titled “Final Chapter” and sent just before 1 a.m. It arrived days after I texted my biological father about my dad’s cancer diagnosis. He never acknowledged my message. Instead he said this:
“Dear Tiffany,
You have done nothing wrong. I imagine almost anyone, upon hearing the same news your mother disclosed to you, would engage in a relentless quest to discover their roots. I honor and appreciate your situation and the excitement you felt by discovering me as the sperm donor that led to your birth.
Now is the time I must close the final chapter of this book. This has all come with too high a price for me and my relationship with my family, which at this point is strained. I have no idea how long it will take to heal the emotional wounds I have inflicted upon my family, but doing so is the most important priority of my life.
I will no longer be in contact with you in any way or form, and I hope you will respect me enough not to respond to me or contact any members of my family.
I wish you a full and happy life and truly wish you and your family well.”
Suddenly he was back to being just a “sperm donor” and my existence came at “too high a price” for his family. I was no longer, in his eyes, on the same level as the sons he raised. Lunches and texts were too much. It was time for me to go away forever and forget that any of them existed. I was supposed to disappear for the sake of everyone else’s feelings. My own mental health and feelings did not matter.
Less than two months later, I was taking my dad off of life support. Less than six months after that, I was burying a grandmother who never knew we didn’t share genes but who impacted my life like another parent.
I have cycled through therapists over the past year. I am now on three medications for anxiety and depression. Now I wonder if I will ever be ok again and if I will ever feel like “myself” again (whatever that means). I started to send my biological father a Father’s Day message last night but opted to “unsend” the message when I remembered the pain his final message and actions inflicted in the wake of my dad’s diagnosis.
I often wonder how the pain I feel to this day compares to the apparent pain my existence caused.
This is why I advocate for known/open ID donors. Nobody else should have to endure this pain.
Tiffany Gardner
A Donor Conceived Adult 