Who am I?

I was eighteen years old and living in Detroit when I got word that my uncle Roy had passed away. I wanted to go to the funeral and so I asked my friend, Odessa to accompany me. We crossed the border and got to the funeral home, where the service was about to begin.

I greeted my cousin Brian and talked to him for a few minutes relaying my sympathy, as this was his grandfather.

After the funeral, I greeted another Uncle, who looked at me and told me how much I looked like one of the Vincent's…our family name. He was a favorite uncle, having visited us throughout the years.

My grandfather and grandmother had both passed away when I was twelve years old.

Then as Odessa and I stood talking to Brian, another woman came up to me. She also was family, but I didn't know her name. She introduced herself as my Aunt Rheba, and she was a very beautiful woman. She was fair-complexioned with nape length, auburn wavy hair.

She then looked at me, with her hazel eyes, sadness emitting from them, “Cathy, I'm your brother Fred's mother.” She waited for my response.

I looked at her, seeing the uncanny resemblance my brother had to this woman, and replied, “I know. I can see that.”

She then asked me where my brother, Fred was living. I told her that he was living in Toronto and I gave her his address when she asked for it. She also asked where I was staying. I told her where in Detroit I was, and she asked me to come and see her. I smiled back at her and agreed to go over to her house on the following day.

Another cousin approached me his name was Richard. He asked me where I was living since it had been a few years since I had seen him. I looked up at this grey-haired middle-age man, and into his large brown eyes.

I smiled, “On Livernois Street in Detroit.”

“Oh, you're down the street from your sister, Joyce.”

My mouth dropped open and I shrieked, “My what! My sister! What do you mean?” I glared at him.

He started slowly backing away from me.

He stared at me for a second…before I could ask him anything else he calmly uttered the strangest thing to me.

“Oops, well you'll find out anyway.”

He looked suddenly nervous, turned on his heel, and walked away.

I knew I had a cousin named Joyce, and the only sister I had was named Sandy. I remembered seeing Joyce when I was twelve at my grandfather's funeral.

I stood there staring at him, my face felt drained of all emotion save one…shock.

My mind recalled an argument my brother and I overheard one-night several years prior to… my mom was saying, “They are my children.” My father retorted, “They are your cousins.”

My brother and I stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked at each other. He never said a word. I looked at him and said, “What do they mean,” but he never answered me. I could not understand what those words really meant that night. I found out years later because of his photographic memory, he remembered the day they got me.

I somehow felt betrayed without knowing the whole story…

The people I had always thought were my parent wasn’t!

Who am I?

These thoughts tumbled around in my head. I shook my head and told myself to concentrate on the here and now. Time for such thoughts later….

Odessa and I left Windsor and I returned home to my sister, Sandy in Detroit. I told her what my cousin had said to me. She was livid. I remember she got on the phone and called my mother. I left the room.

The next day I called my Aunt Rheba and she told me she would pick me up. She came to me and took me to her house. She and Uncle Charles had a beautiful home and a lovely dog. They owned and operated two convenience stores, a beauty supply shop, and a bar in Detroit.

I was scared to ask her if she was my mother, but I didn't have to for she soon took care of my unspoken question.

She took a photo album out of a drawer and brought it over to where I was sitting. She pointed to a picture in the album and told me that the lone occupant of the picture was my sister, Joyce. She also told me that I was living about 5 minutes away from her.

She then turned the pages of the album till she stopped at one picture and told me this was a picture of my mother. My biological mother. I looked at it, she was sitting on a chair and had long black hair, fair complexion, and rather on the thin side. The picture was small. She was beautiful. She was about seventeen years old.

Aunt Rheba then took a few pictures out of the album and laid them on her lap. She had selected five pictures. I came to find out they were the oldest of my newfound siblings. I looked at each of their pictures trying to find myself in them. They were so different than me.

They were all light-skinned I was much more tanned.

I asked her where my mother and siblings lived. She told me outside of Chatham, and that she would take me to meet them.

“Your mother just had an operation, and when she goes home, I will take you to meet her.” Aunt Rheba put her arm around me and hugged me again.

I hugged her back, and held the pictures in my hands, giving them one last look before she put them back in their respective places.

I couldn't wait until the day when I would meet my real mother and siblings. Siblings I never knew existed.