Episode 10 - Secrets from My Twilight Zone
Faint Dreams & Genetic Truths
If this is your first encounter with my story, you may want to start at the beginning here: Secrets from My Twilight Zone.
As the echoes of Eileen and Cathleen’s surreal mother-daughter reunion reverberated through the tangled threads of the O’Toole family, I found myself standing on the brink of another challenge. Their story had not only unearthed long-buried secrets but had also stirred something within me— another call to delve deeper into my own origins. The curtain had barely fallen on their saga when a new trail appeared before me, one that led to unanswered questions about my biological father. In a strange twist of fate, their discovery set the stage for the next leg of my journey.
The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of emotional upheaval. Amidst the turbulence, a sense of urgency buzzed through me. The DNA results that had unraveled Eileen's past also hinted at mysteries in my own lineage. With tantalizing clues before me, I felt that familiar pull—an insatiable curiosity, like a gnawing hunger that drove me deeper into my genetic history. Understanding genetic relationships through DNA testing involves calculating the amount of shared genetic material, often measured in centimorgans (cMs). Higher cM values typically indicate closer relationships, helping to piece together family connections.
Armed with newly verified genetic data, I once again turned to the consumer DNA and forensic genealogy tools that had become my allies in unraveling family mysteries. Each test result, each database search, seemed to pull me further into the labyrinth of my past, revealing fragments of information that might piece together the larger picture. The promise of finding answers was as thrilling as it was daunting, carrying the weight of opening old wounds and confronting truths that had been obscured for a lifetime. In some ways, I am grateful that both of my parents are long gone. They would never have to deal with these scientific truths.
In quiet moments of reflection, I pondered the strange, almost cosmic alignment that had led me from John O’Toole’s grave to Cathleen’s discovery. What other secrets lay hidden in the shadows of my ancestry? As I embarked on this next chapter, I hoped that the answers would not only clarify my lineage but also bring me a more satisfying sense of closure and a larger understanding.
With a blend of apprehension and determination, I prepared to dive into the genetic evidence. The work promised to be as intricate and revealing as the stories I had uncovered so far. The next steps in this odyssey would determine whether the final pieces of the puzzle could be found—or if the mysteries of my heritage would continue to elude me, lingering like a mysteriously unfinished piece of ancient art.
During the same period when I found my genetic cousin in Denver was an O’Toole, I stumbled upon another high DNA match. At 798 centimorgans (cMs), she was younger than me and had no interest in communicating. She turned out to be a Sedlák, the granddaughter of one of my suspected fathers, Greg Sedlák, a man of whom I knew very little—only that he grew up in a small Pennsylvania coal mining town in Cambria County and lost his mother when he was just a toddler.
In a spurt of unconventional thinking (not recommended), I wondered: What if I doubled our shared centimorgans to estimate her father’s genetic relationship to me? This calculation resulted in 1,596 cMs, a number typically falling within the half-brother range—much higher than what you'd expect for a first half-cousin. Given that Greg's son and I share a similar amount of DNA (1,596 cMs) to what I share with my known half-siblings, the evidence strongly suggests that Greg is my biological father. This close match, especially since Greg's son and I are of similar age, strengthens the probability that he is not just a first half-cousin but a direct paternal connection—a half-brother. All evidence pointed to Greg, the man my possible half-brother Mike Sedlák described as a “shit stain,” as my likely biological father. Thankfully, I had not pursued relationships with that family. I feel like I dodged a bullet—or a flyswatter.
Was I the result of a sexual assault like my Denver cousin Cathleen, or a brief, clandestine affair between two married people? Regardless, Mom had long put that behind her rollercoaster life and took that truth to her grave.
In retrospect, my complex odyssey felt like dropping down the labyrinthine shafts of genetic genealogy. It was an unpredictable trail with many twists and turns up and down psychological mountains. As a child, my body and identity felt as ethereal as wispy blue-gray clouds hanging low in the Pittsburgh sky, the kind that pressed down on you with a damp heaviness, making the world feel small and close. The scent of rain-soaked concrete sidewalks and the distant moans of trains mingled with the faint tang of petrichor, only added to the feeling of being tethered to something unseen, yet just out of reach.
Those of us who've experienced a non-parental event (NPE) and other unexpected forms of misattributed parentage share vaguely similar feelings. But for me, these amorphous emotions began in early childhood, long before I made my DNA discovery, and lasted long after my mother took the secret of my paternity to her grave. A poster of Roberto Clemente at the plate, a symbol of aspiration, had hung on the bedroom wall of my childhood. The smell of worn leather and dust hovered in the air, a stark contrast to the reality of my emotional withdrawal and sense of abandonment. The baseball glove, tucked away under my bed, was a relic of childhood dreams—dreams that felt distant and unattainable, like the muffled crack of a wooden bat echoing in an empty ball field. And yet, beneath that quiet stillness, I could almost hear a chorus of angelic voices, a faint descant that seemed to rise from deep within my soul, echoing through the great void.
I wonder if this was the impetus for my affinity for edgy television dramas like Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone. In response to my early struggles with body autonomy, loss, and abandonment, and my mother’s unaddressed issues, I reluctantly sought help by attending ACOA 12-step meetings and individual therapy in my late twenties. Something felt wrong, and I initially believed it was just me. I was not yet fully conscious of my own agency. I sorted out what I could in therapy, and later the DNA test dissipated those puzzling clouds of doubt. There was now a reliable and verifiable reason for my feelings.
I took advantage of the internet’s powerful technology to connect with others. Most people I encountered in social media NPE support groups in 2019-2023 were still in the early stages of their journeys, grappling with the initial shock (and often anger) of their genetic discoveries—grateful they were not alone. This led me to understand that my discovery was not as devastating as it could have been, as it was for others. I had begun my recovery work in psychotherapy and support groups decades before I was conscious of whatever I was recovering from—something like an invisible cosmic meteor from the past. I knew it must have something to do with my mother and my childhood.
In a way, just as my mother explored her world through eclectic books, I, too, have had a lifelong interest in examining the inner psyche. In retrospect, becoming a psychotherapist seems like a natural path. My endless introspection during childhood had no specific destination except to follow my curiosity, circuitous as it was. It became clear that Mom and I shared more similarities than I ever knew or wished to acknowledge. I didn’t identify it as body autonomy yet. I only just realized in my sixties that we were both NPEs. Moreover, as I navigated the Byzantine world of genetic genealogy, I unexpectedly discovered that the skills I picked up weren't just tools to resolve my own puzzles; they turned into a lifeline for an adoptee's quest, an unknown cousin, to reunite with her estranged mother, a voyage I hadn't initially expected to undertake.
Little did I know that my unconscious path of self-discovery, unfolding since childhood, would later find its revelation in another personal memory. There were still loose ends to tie up, both in my past and in my body, much like the strange and tragic death of John O’Toole in that Pittsburgh elevator shaft.
Secrets from My Twilight Zone is a version of my personal story. It is inspired by true events. However, characters, dialogue, and some events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes.
Just a curious question , I am the father of three- two are adopted - one directly from China and the other conceived in Mexico , born in the US but also genetically ( to be tested ) Aztec Indian , how do we approach the parental inquisitiveness which to date ( 30 years after the fact ) has not manifested itself or has it .
Although there is trauma here, I enjoyed this piece. Seems weird to say "enjoyed," but I like your style of writing, and the topic intrigues me. I too am a ACOA. Wrote a little about that in my article:
https://shellnorman.substack.com/p/writing-about-the-past
I also am interested in all this "DNA stuff." So many stories of broken links.