Family of the Heart #MondayBlogs


This post is going to be a lot more personal. I hate when people beat around the bush so I’ll just spit it out and go from there. My father in the biological is a donor number but the man in the picture below is my Daddy, and he loved me more than anything else in this world. 170545_1751310897555_526108_o

My parents were married in the seventies and tried to have kids for several years. When nothing happened they made an appointment with a specialist for fertility testing. The results came back that both of them were contributing to the problem. Mom might be able to become pregnant, but it would be a hard road. Daddy was told he couldn’t. They were devastated. Daddy told Mom on the way home after they received the news that he would let her go so she could get married and have a chance to be a mom with someone else. Mom didn’t marry him to have kids, she married him because she loved him. Whatever happened in the future with children, they would face it together.


They came within minutes of adopting a baby girl. Mom and Dad waited at the hospital, fully expecting to meet their baby. As sometimes happens, the birth mother changed her mind and decided to keep her daughter.

I don’t know how they got onto the idea of artificial insemination, but I am glad they did. A donor would be chosen with similar physical features to my dad. His sperm would be used along with a lot of fertility medications for mom. Even still, it was over a year before they finally had a positive pregnancy test.


Daddy was asked if would be happy being a father to another man’s child. His response is one that fills my mom with pride to this day.

“Any post pubescent male can be a father. I am going to be a daddy.”

Here are the things I know about my donor.

  1. My donor’s sperm was used to help conceive at least three siblings. I was the last.
  2. He was a medical student with light skin and light hair.
  3. A handsome monetary reward was given to him in exchange for his contribution.

Here are the things I know about my daddy.

  1. He attended every award ceremony, sporting game I cheered or danced at, recitals, competitions, tryouts, and parades. Fought for me when I was unable to stand up for myself and helped me learn to fight my own battles. Cried when I cried. Laughed when I laughed. Suffered through the girl drama and teen angst with me by being a shoulder to cry on and a listening ear. Made every Christmas, birthday, vacation, and special occasion memorable.
  2. What more could I possibly need?


Daddy got to walk me down the aisle when I married Mr. B. We lived with him for the first year of our marriage because he had a big house and we were very poor newly weds. When Mr. B was away at boot camp it was Daddy who told me to ensure I wrote him a letter every day, and I did. It was what kept Mr. B going. Daddy wrote him letters too. He was proud of the man I married and got to have experience what having a son would’ve been like. When I called to tell Daddy I was pregnant he cried and laughed at the same time. He shouted, “I’m gonna be a grandpa!”

Sadly, his health declined and he passed away five months before his grandson was born.


All over the world people are being raised outside of what biology calls family. Why should science get to tell me who my heart can call family? Unless we’re talking about genetic code, then science doesn’t get a say. My father is the man who cheered me on and loved me every day from birth until his death. His mother, sisters, nieces and nephews, etc are my family. There is family of the blood and family of the heart.



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