The Sister I Found, the Stranger I Lost
Thirty Minutes, a Lifetime Apart, and the Question I Never Got to Ask
There are people who grow up knowing their brothers and sisters. They share childhood memories, birthdays, holidays, laughter, arguments, and the little moments that make a family.
And then there are people like me.
I grew up moving through foster homes, never really knowing what it meant to belong to a family.
But I never imagined that somewhere in this world, I had an older sister I didn't even know existed.
Her name was Deb.
And this is our story.
A Sister I Never Knew Existed
I was living in Kansas City, Missouri, working for an agency, when my aunt told me something that caught me completely off guard.
I had an older sister living in Topeka, Kansas.
She worked at a credit union.
I didn't know what to think.
That evening, I opened my journal and began questioning myself.
Did I really want to bring back those old childhood memories?
Did I want to open another door to a past I had spent so many years trying to move beyond?
And what would I say to someone I didn't even know?
I was skeptical. I had already experienced enough uncertainty throughout my childhood.
But eventually, I told myself I would meet her and see what happened.
My aunt contacted Deb, explained that she had a younger brother, and asked whether she would be willing to meet me.
Deb agreed.
We arranged to meet at the credit union during her lunch hour.
So one Friday, I drove to Topeka.
Thirty Minutes With My Sister
I remember meeting Deb at the credit union.
There she was.
My oldest sister.
Someone who shared my blood, yet someone I had never known.
And the feeling was strange.
It was like meeting a total stranger.
We sat together and talked for approximately thirty minutes.
I shared parts of my childhood, and she told me about hers.
She explained that she had also lived in different foster homes and had spent time in a girls' detention center in Topeka.
For the first time, I was hearing about a sister who had experienced some of the same uncertainty and separation that had shaped my childhood.
We were brother and sister, but we had traveled completely different roads.
When our thirty minutes ended, I didn't hug her or make promises about the future.
I simply told her:
"If I never see you again, good luck on your journey in life."
And I walked away.
I climbed into my white Chrysler touring van and drove back toward Kansas City.
That night, I opened my journal.
I remember thinking, I can't believe that really happened.
But it had happened.
I had met my sister.
And I decided to keep moving forward with my life.
A Family Connected by Blood
Years later, my biological mother passed away.
By then, I was living in Arizona and working in hospice.
I traveled to Kansas for her funeral.
My aunt had also told me about an older brother I never knew existed. I would meet him for the first time at the funeral.
Deb was there, along with my middle sister, Diane, and other relatives.
But being surrounded by people who shared my blood didn't make me feel like I belonged.
The evening before the funeral was uncomfortable.
There was drinking and drug use among family members, and I wanted no part of it.
At sixteen, I had experienced how destructive drugs and alcohol could become. I knew what it was like to nearly destroy my own life.
I had fought too hard to move beyond that chapter.
So I went to my hotel room and stayed away from the activities around me.
The following morning, I arranged for a taxi to take me to church.
I didn't ride with the family.
When I arrived, I saw Deb and my other siblings. We spoke briefly, but there was still that uncomfortable distance between us.
Before the service, I stood alone beside my mother's casket.
I wept.
I questioned why my childhood had unfolded the way it had.
I had already forgiven my mother, but forgiveness didn't mean every unanswered question had disappeared.
Standing there, I reminded myself of something I had learned throughout my life.
I had to be my own hero.
I couldn't spend my life waiting for someone else to save me.
And I believed God would be there with me.
When I entered the chapel, the family was seated together.
One of my sisters offered me a seat.
I politely replied, "No, thank you."
Then I walked to the opposite side of the church and sat alone in the front row.
An entire pew to myself.
I wasn't trying to hurt anyone.
I simply didn't know these people.
Just because you're connected by blood doesn't automatically mean you've experienced what it feels like to be family.
After the funeral and luncheon, my stepsister gave me a ride to the airport.
I returned to Phoenix and went back to my hospice work.
That was the last time I ever saw Deb alive.
The Call I Never Expected
Over the years, my aunt told me more about Deb.
She described her as intelligent, educated, and successful.
Deb had worked in financial services and later pursued a career in real estate.
She was also a lifelong Kansas City Chiefs fan.
But I heard about another side of her life, too.
Her struggles with drugs and alcohol.
I couldn't pretend to understand everything she had experienced or why her life had taken certain directions.
I only knew that I didn't want to return to the world of addiction I had struggled to escape at sixteen.
Then, while I was in San Diego, my aunt called.
Deb had died.
I was told that she had attended a gathering connected to the Kansas City Chiefs playing in the Super Bowl.
According to what was shared with me, she later died after being found inside a vehicle that had been left running in a closed garage.
I wasn't there, and I don't know every detail of what happened.
But the news was real.
My oldest sister was gone.
I didn't attend her funeral.
Not because her life meant nothing to me.
But because I had never truly had the opportunity to know her.
The Question I Never Got to Ask
For much of my adult life, I traveled in my white Chrysler touring van.
I had removed the seats and placed a bed inside. I carried a lantern and my journal. I used a gym membership to shower while traveling.
I was always moving.
For much of my life, I never really had a permanent place to call home.
And as I reflected on Deb's death, I thought about how much I wished I could have known her better.
There was sadness.
There was nervousness.
There was heartbreak.
And eventually, there was acceptance.
I thought about the opportunities my aunt had described, Deb's intelligence, her education, and the potential she had possessed.
And I thought about everything I had experienced growing up without those same opportunities.
If I could speak to my sister today, there is one question I would want to ask her.
Why, Deb?
Why did your life take the direction it did when you had so much potential?
What happened along your journey that I never got the opportunity to understand?
Maybe there were struggles I knew nothing about.
Maybe there were answers I would never have imagined.
I'll never know.
But I do know something about my own journey.
At sixteen, drugs and alcohol nearly destroyed my life.
I made a decision that I didn't want to live that way anymore.
And although I wished things could have been different for my sister, I understood that I couldn't make her choices for her.
I remembered something I had written in my journal:
"You can't save everybody, but always remember, learn to save yourself."
My sister's name was Deb.
We shared the same blood.
We traveled different roads.
And although I found her, I never truly got to know her.
Sometimes I wonder how many people are walking through this world with a brother or sister they barely know, carrying questions they may never have the opportunity to ask.
If there's someone in your life you've been meaning to know better, perhaps there's a conversation worth having while there's still time.
Because sometimes the hardest goodbye isn't to someone you've known your entire life.
It's to someone you never really had the chance to know.
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Inspiring Hearts 4 Ever — True-Life Stories
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