Emily was surely at work in the unfolding of this masterful and miraculous tale that I shall be telling from the Mama Perspective. I will start from A beginning, last summer, but not THE beginning, which was actually 23 years ago.

 

Each year, one of the massive online conglomerates has sale days where certain items are hugely discounted and there is a continental shift as people commence their online buying frenzies. As expatriates, coming back to North America in the summer has always involved stocking up on pharmaceuticals and foods and conveniences not easily or affordably available to us where we lived in China.

 

All four of our family pored over these sales, selecting the individual items we most wanted. Emily got headphones, Charlotte perfume and makeup, and Don and I mostly the diurnal: lotions and potions, air tags, talcum powder, and underwear.

 

In my endless scrolling, I saw that an ancestry site was having a forty percent off sale on their DNA kits. We had spoken several times as a family about possibly having our DNA ‘done,’ since we do not share DNA with our daughters. Neither Charlotte nor Emily had ever expressed a particular interest in finding their birth parents, saying that WE were their family and that was enough. Don and I had always been open to the idea of our children seeing if they could find relations, but we also knew it was highly unlikely. When we adopted our children, we were led to believe that there was a virtually zero percent chance of a child finding their birth family, given that it was still the era of the one-child policy in China, where it was common, especially for rural parents, to abandon their daughters because of the traditional emphasis on male heirs and the expectation that a male would take over the family farm, staying loyal to the family, rather than marrying off into another village and ‘leaving’ the family. There was much pressure to give up daughters during this extended time in China’s history and our children were part of that legacy. It’s complicated and sad and joyous all at the same time: our gain, and the deep loss for the parents who created these precious children.

 

Given the huge discount for DNA testing, I asked the girls again if they were interested, and they shrugged and said, “Sure, why not?” So we ordered four kits, not particularly optimistic that much would come out of it, even though much progress has been made in the last 20 years of DNA mapping in China, largely thanks to those children whose families were created through transnational adoptions.

 

The four of us gathered in early July in our sister and brother in law’s basement, where we were staying in Madison, to extract our DNA. There was no letting of blood or pulling of hair, just a simple spit (or many spits, as I recall) into individual receptacles labeled with our names and a serial number. There was much laughter and lightness in that evening. We were so happy, our little family: so solid, so loving, so perfect, even though there was not an iota of shared DNA. Family is family is family. Families who are formed in the traditional way may not always understand this or believe it to be true (though I hope most do), but love is love, plain and simple. In every sense and nuance of that word. We are and were love encapsulated. That equals family.

 

Each of our little containers was slipped into an individually postmarked and prepaid package and sent off to the labs nobody-remembers-where the next day, deposited into Kal and Ellen’s post box beside their cheerful red door. We were told our results would come to our emails in a few months. Since Charlotte would be in Vancouver, starting her second year of university and we would be back in Beijing, we agreed that we would open our results together in Japan at Christmas, where we had planned a two week family vacation: the next time we would be all together again.

 

Our results arrived sometime in September, and, as per agreement, none of us opened the emails. Emily was underage, so her results came to me. Then, the unthinkable happened and Emily left her earthly life in November. Our lives turned upside down. We quickly left Beijing to be with Charlotte in Vancouver, the Japan trip was canceled, and life became a moment-by-moment affair of disbelief and grief: a sweater unraveling, a tsunami destroying our beautiful familial landscape. 

 

Gradually, the inevitable began: ever so slowly the tides began to roll back, exposing a new vista: changed, requiring much in the way of rebuilding, but still beautiful. A new beautiful. A sad and gracious beautiful that emerges and shifts every day with the tides. Driftwood washes up, sand shifts, tidal pools swirl and the sky is alternately bright and bruised, the ocean rough and then so calm that the herons can wade on their stilted legs, like slow-moving marionettes in their hunt for fish. The vista is unruly and ever-changing, as nature is, but it always stunning.

 

I didn’t forget the results in our email boxes; I simply chose to ignore them, not being ready, not wanting to bring anything more into our little protected jewel box beyond the present healing of our family of four, Emily encircling us with her love.

 

+++++++++++++

 

Two weeks ago heralded the Victoria Day long weekend in Canada: Don and Moondog and I took the 6:30 AM ferry from our island home to Vancouver in order to beat the rush, waking up at 3:30 am to make the drive to the ferry. Anything to spend time with our Charlotte! She has recently moved into a townhouse with friends, and is finding even more independence and joy in her lifeguarding and swim instructing and friendshipping. Our Vancouver buddies, Stef and Aman, were happily living it up in New York and offered up their house for our family, including doggie. 

 

Charlotte had gotten her learner’s license in Comox a few weeks prior, when she had come for a visit, and experienced island driving already: two driving lessons with an instructor and several ventures out with us. Our little neck of the woods does not present particular challenges other than an abundance of deer at dusk and a few sharp country road twists, but is a good place for a novice to get started. We thought we might just introduce Cha to the big bad streets of Vancouver in a very gentle way, by driving around her campus, which sits on a hill, where not many people were around because of the long weekend. On our drive up, I had Charlotte sit in the front seat and observe Don and the traffic situations, and even insisted she put her phone away so she wouldn’t be tempted to look at it. Questions were being asked, traffic rules were mostly being obeyed by Daddy Driver, and I was snuggled in the backseat with Moondog, perfectly happy to be the passenger with no responsibilities. 

 

As we drove, Charlotte asked her Dad, “What’s Santa Cruz?”

 

“It’s a city in California,” Don responded. The car idling in front of us at a stop light was from a dealership in Santa Cruz. Because Charlotte is often on her phone and listening to music when we are driving together, there isn’t usually this level of observation or conversation. Meantime, I was the one in the backseat, paying minimal attention and surfing FB on my phone. A notification popped up that I had a friend request, which I do fairly frequently because of my podcast and this blog. I clicked on the request, seeing that it was from a young Asian woman (one notices these things when one is a Caucasian parent to Asian children) by the name of Mollie. She seemed rather young to be requesting my friendship – usually I get requests from 50 and above gals or men in the US army who are recently divorced or widowed. I wondered if she was a former student who might have changed her name. I took a moment to look at her profile information, noting that she presented herself very well, was educated and motivated, and was from Santa Cruz.

 

“Hmm…” I thought, and then didn’t think much more beyond that I would neither accept or reject the request at that moment. We went to TNT, a local Asian food chain and Charlotte stocked up on kitchen staples that excited her: sauces and rice, chicken and pork buns, oranges and bananas, and Mama happily paid for the kitchen stock-up while Don waited in the car with his trusty dog.

 

Charlotte unpacked her groceries in the townhouse she is sharing with three others, carefully arranging her food in the prearranged spaces in the fridge and freezer. We had a tour, felt proud of our dear girl, took the dog on a small walk through a forested path on the hill of SFU where we still found patches of snow, and then settled Charlotte into the driver’s seat of our 2003 Toyota Avalon. Though the roads were unpopulated (thank goodness!), Charlotte’s concentration was not fully present. She ran through a few stop signs – “But, I didn’t see them, Mama!” – and we all agreed that maybe a few more professional lessons in the city were in order before we took her out as parents. 

 

On the way back to our friends’ place, we realized, though we had gone grocery shopping for Charlotte, we hadn’t actually bought anything for dinner so we pulled into the Safeway on Hastings Street and Don hastily ran in to get the makings of dinner. Charlotte and I surfed our phones a bit and chatted, and when Don came back with the fixings for a meal, we started home, me driving, Charlotte in the front seat.

 

Suddenly she said, “Hey, someone is spamming me! What are all these messages?”

 

Charlotte was on her phone again. Of course. 

 

She says she’s my sister. What?!

 

Omg, she sent a screen shot. It says we are a DNA match. Is this even real? She says she’s from Santa Cruz!

 

“Hang on – I got a friend request from someone from Santa Cruz today. What’s her name?”

 

Mollie.

 

Goosebumps. Electricity. The only one, oblivious to the magic of the moment, was Moondog, in her own reverie, nestled beside her beloved Don.

 

“Mollie is the one who contacted ME on Facebook!”

 

We were close to home, so didn’t pull over, though I may have broken a few rules myself getting there. The three of us rushed in the door, I grabbed my computer to look at the FB request more closely and saw that there had also been a message sent.

 

It read: “Leah, ancestry.com says I am sisters with your daughter Charlotte.”

 

There was a photo enclosed – a young girl, jumping for joy. A girl that looked just like Charlotte at that age.

 

 

We all stared in stunned silence as we began to scroll through Mollie’s FB profile. Was it Charlotte or was it Mollie? Their ears, their hairlines, their beautiful smiles, their eyes with downturned lashes – they could have been twins. This was when any doubt we might have had left us. This was surely Charlotte’s big sister, from Santa Cruz, living in Oregon, short hours away from where Charlotte lives in Vancouver.

 

And then the fun began! We all quickly accepted friendships from Mollie herself and her four moms (Yay!) and the texting began between the two sisters. They were both in disbelief. Mollie explained that she had had her DNA done eight years prior and there had been no matches. Just that morning, she had asked one of her moms, Leslie, for her log-in to the long-ago ancestry account they had set up. Coincidence? I think serendipity.

 

We ate our barbecued chicken dinner quietly that night, stunned, and punctuated by “Can you believe this is even happening?” “Is this really real?” After opening Charlotte’s email and finding the match, we had also opened ours: for Don and me, there was nothing we wouldn’t have already expected; Emily’s results were vague. There were many one percent matches, nothing beyond possible eighth cousins. We couldn’t help thinking that it would have been hard for her to have seen her disappointing results alongside her sister’s flashing 100 percent sibling match. It would have been odd and perhaps disconnecting for her. 

 

At the same time, we couldn’t help thinking that Emily and the universe had significantly conspired to make this happen at exactly this frame of time: six months after we had lost her, just as Charlotte’s healing had begun to jumpstart, but the pain of missing of her sister was still piercing; just when Charlotte was longing for connection and for people other than her parents and a therapist to talk about the trauma and nuances of losing a sibling; how wonderful it was to have close friends, but still challenging to discuss or navigate this loss with them.

 

And then came Mollie.

 

The fact that we were with Charlotte on this particular weekend when this particular miracle exploded is more than enough to assure me that Emily was giggling from the celestial stars and rubbing her hands together, confirming, “See Mama, I told you things would come together in beautiful ways you could never, ever have expected.” 

 

The next day, Sunday, we went to see my father in Abbotsford and met up with my sister and her family – the joyful news had already been shared to everyone except Charlotte’s Opa, and once he understood, the tears came. We sat at a picnic table alternating between in stunned astonishment and joyful exuberance: that Charlotte could be blessed with another sister, that this was most certainly part of the healing, part of the grand plan. We all rejoiced together as we walked around Mill Lake and discussed life and death – new babies joining the family, older parents soon making their departure, Emily’s presence in all of this, and how family, chosen or biological, was one of the greatest blessings of life.

 

We rushed back to Vancouver so Charlotte could be ready for her first video chat with Mollie at six pm. We all prayed it would be full of ease and flow and that the connection would be immediate. As we listened to the two of them from the other room, trying to give them privacy (but mama occasionally butting in with suggestions for conversation to ease any discomfort), we couldn’t get over not only how closely they resembled one another, but how their voices had the same register, how their intonations matched one another, how they SOUNDED like sisters! After just a few minutes, the conversation grew comfortable and spontaneous, punctuated with “Omgs..” and “How is the possible?” and “Wait, do you hate mushrooms too?” “Do you have any tattoos?” And on the conversation flowed, questions and answers bouncing like volleys across a court. Laughter and short silences. Charlotte’s shoulders loosening, her position shifting to one of ease, while her eyes never left the screen. Mollie was so genuine: walking around her apartment, introducing her roommate, stirring up her quinoa dinner (something Charlotte would never eat – haha!), eating ravenously in front of us with no inhibitions. We loved her immediately.

 

 

By this time, we had joined the conversation, though Charlotte clandestinely hit me more than once, letting me know that I was overstepping my boundaries, intruding too much, on this most holy of conversations. Two of Mollie’s four moms joined the call, sitting in the car on the side of the road somewhere, the only place they could get decent reception. They plied Charlotte with questions and with love, and we all talked at once in the bewilderment and wonder during precious hours that slipped by.

 

The moms wanted to know everything about Charlotte – did she have allergies, what was her favourite food, what was she studying, was she musical, team sports or solo sports? So many questions. We had similar wonderings for Mollie. We discovered she is lactose intolerant, highly academic, ultra-motivated, allergic to so many things (unlike Charlotte), and sociable, loving to be around people. 

 

Mollie wanted to know what it was like to have a Dad (Charlotte and Emily have the best one in the world!), and she said, “Imagine having four moms instead of just one,” to which Charlotte replied, “OMG!” Well, now Mollie has an honourary Daddy and we hope she will find out how it’s both different and also exactly the same. Don’s mellow energy and deep ability to love will bless Mollie more than she can yet imagine. Even more importantly, these two young ladies are now forever-sisters, bound by DNA, and also by a growing love.

 

Over the few weeks, the girls have been texting and video chatting for hours every single day, at any time of the day, just to check in, to get to know each other, to become sisters not just biologically, but intertwined as the kind of sisters who support and love and understand and deeply know one another and have nothing to hide or hold back.

 

 

In Mollie’s word, she feels complete; in Charlotte’s words, she feels secure. I know they are both beyond-delighted with this serendipitous occurrence that will profoundly change both of their lives in a trajectory they could not have imagined. I know we are all forever changed because of this. We have Emily to thank.

 

Now Charlotte has both a big sister and a baby sister. Now Mollie is no longer an only-child. Now Mollie and Charlotte have one another in a world where they consciously and unconsciously wondered if there might be any connections from their heritage that might help them understand themselves better, that might open up another world of family and friendship.

 

In a few weeks, we will all convene at a guesthouse in Seattle: there will be flying and driving and busing to get there. We will huddle together and laugh and cry and commune over all that was lost and all that has been found. The parents will rejoice sometimes quietly and sometimes rambunctiously, and we will allow our collective daughters to find themselves and one another even more deeply as we all plant our roots in this garden of possibility and new adventures.

 

*I have been given permission to tell this tale by my daughter and her older sister, Mollie. Charlotte’s baby sister has, of course, given her resounding approval.