[img]958|left|Alex Campbell||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — A while ago I got a strange piece of mail. It was a letter, sent the old-fashioned way. I didn’t recognize the return address; it was from a woman named Phyllis, in upstate New York.
I opened it up and read it. As I read, my heart started racing and the hand holding the letter shook. This woman Phyllis told me she had reason to believe that I was her half sister. It seems that her father had had an affair with a woman she thought was my mother. She remembered him talking about a “friend,” Mary. After he died, his will listed four children, which was strange, since she had known of only three—herself, her sister and her brother. As the executor of the will, she had done some serious investigative work to find me. Another clue to this mystery was found in their dad’s closet, in a shoebox (how cliché). Old love letters, to and from “Mary” and “Meri.”
Phyllis didn’t want to invade my privacy, she didn’t want to scare me — she just wanted to know if it was true — did her father have a child no one knew about? Did my mother ever mention anything? She left her email address and phone number. She told me she hoped to hear from me, even if it was just to say I’d received the letter.
My First Reaction
I sat there in shock. Of course it was a scam. I felt sick. Who was this woman? Why was she playing mind games with me? Despite my fears and doubt, my curiosity was piqued. I emailed her. After a few back and forths, I called her.
I learned that Phyllis was the oldest. She and her partner lived in upstate New York. Next was Nancy; I didn’t hear much about her. David was the brother, who was also gay like Sophie. I thought it was interesting that two out of three siblings were gay. David lived in Boston, like me! He had moved here to get legally married to his longtime partner. Apparently, I was the youngest of the four children.
I guess their dad had had what was technically an affair, even though his wife had talked about leaving. He met my mom in New York City. He was quite a bit older; seventeen years, to be exact. My parents were having an “open relationship” at that time. Mom got pregnant with me and decided it would be too complicated to leave my dad.
I couldn’t confirm any of this, and neither could Phyllis, because both sets of parents were deceased. All we had to go on was a box full of love letters. Yes, my mom’s name was Mary, and she sometimes spelled it M-e-r-i. Yes, I grew up in New York City. Yes, I knew that my parents had had an open relationship at one time, because I had read my mom’s journals after she died. But was this man my biological father? Did the man I knew to be my dad know? Phyllis said she could send me some of the letters to see if I recognized my mother’s handwriting.
I waited for the package with bated breath.
(To be continued)
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at her new address, snobbyblog@gmail.com
