Find­ing fa­ther

Friday - - Society -

wasn’t easy to talk to her. She told me she’d had to give me away be­cause my fa­ther was mar­ried and she was a sin­gle mother of three.

“Your fa­ther and I had a short re­la­tion­ship, but it caused big prob­lems in the fam­ily,’’ she said. I looked at my birth mother, numb.

“I un­der­stand, it must have been hard,’’ I said, not know­ing what else to say.

She told me that she had also given another child from a dif­fer­ent fa­ther – Zak – to a fam­ily mem­ber to look af­ter, as she just couldn’t cope with three chil­dren.

We spoke for more than an hour. She asked me what I was do­ing, we talked about my mar­riage, the kids and a lot about my adop­tive The next day, when I told my friends at the cen­tre that I had found my bi­o­log­i­cal mum, ev­ery­one was ex­cited for me.

“What about your dad? Where do you think he lives?’’ one of the home­less men asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, per­haps he is closer than I think,’’ I laughed.

I con­tin­ued work­ing at the cen­tre and al­most three months af­ter I first met my birth mother, in July 2012, I got a call from her. “My sis­ter could help you find your fa­ther, An­drew Rus­sell,’’ she said, giv­ing me her num­ber.

I im­me­di­ately called her and she said she knew An­drew’s son, Pa­trick. “I’ll mes­sage you his Face­book link,’’ she said. I sent Pa­trick a mes­sage on Face­book and he replied with my dad’s num­ber – it was that easy.

In­trigued, I looked at the pho­tos on Pa­trick’s page, and saw the man I guessed was my dad. We looked so alike.

I had noth­ing to lose, so I picked up my phone and di­alled the num­ber.

“Can I speak to An­drew?’’ I asked, ex­tremely ner­vous. I didn’t know how he would re­act.

“That’s my mid­dle name, and no one has called me that for a very long time,’’ my dad said. He told me his first name was Wil­lie, but ev­ery­one called him Will. “This is Amy, your daugh­ter,’’ I replied.

There was no sound at the other end of the line. My heart was beat­ing so fast, I was ter­ri­fied he wouldn’t want to see me. “Say some­thing,’’ I said. “It’ll be OK,’’ he replied. “I’d been pray­ing to find you. The phone call was an an­swer to that prayer.’’ He said he hadn’t looked for me be­cause he did not know where to start.

Wil­lie lived in Phoenix too so we ar­ranged to meet for break­fast the next day at a lo­cal café. I did my best to look nice. I wore heels, a skirt and a dress shirt. I wanted my dad to be proud of me.

When I walked into the café I recog­nised him straight away as I had seen his pic­tures on

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