As I sit down to tell this story it dawns on me that I’m not quite sure who it’s for. While what I’m about to describe has been one of the more significant things to ever happen to my family, it may also be something that is of no interest at all to anyone other than ourselves, and those closest to us.
On the other hand, I have seen similar stories on the news or on shows that involved far fewer obstacles, and there may be others in a similar situation who might gain something from my story. I really don’t know. Perhaps this is a story to remind myself; maybe it is for my children and their children, or perhaps it’s for you.
I was born and raised in the outskirts of Sacramento. I was raised with my three younger brothers (one being my cousin, who my parents adopted at a young age), a loving father (who has raised me since I was 1), and my beautiful mother.
The story of my biological father, however, was an altogether different matter. I had never met him, and he had absolutely no idea I existed. The story that my mother relayed to me over the years was very simple and brief, but the story lacked important details, such as my father’s identity.
I spent most of my life believing that I would never know my biological father; a blond-haired, blue-eyed guy named Robert, maybe two years younger than my mother. He possibly attended Vacaville High School.
Over the years I’d pry for bits of information, hoping for a full name to uncover the mystery. It wasn’t that I was missing any love in my life. My families are large, loving, healthy and supportive. Still, somewhere in me was a little girl who simply wanted to know who her dad was. I wanted to know where I got some of my characteristics. I knew I looked just like my mom, but did I have any of my father’s traits? I also wanted to know if there were any genetic risks that I needed to be aware of; that my children would need to be aware of.
My husband, maybe overly optimistically, believed that finding this man was possible, and that one day we would meet him. In 2016 my husband was able to get his hands on a few Vacaville High School yearbooks for the time period that approximated what would have been my biological father’s junior and senior years. We scouted out every Robert in every yearbook in hopes we would find that one teenage boy who resembled me.
In May of 2016, I had learned about a DNA test on Ancestry.com. For about $100 I could submit a vial of saliva and my DNA would be analyzed. Then my DNA results would be added to the Ancestry.com database of more than a million people’s DNA results. I would be able see the account profiles of anyone in the system who was a genetic match. While the chances were slim that this would lead me to my biological father, at the very least I would learn about my ancestry on my father’s side.
On May 23, 2016, I joined Ancestry.com and immediately submitted my DNA test. Six weeks later the results came in. Unfortunately, there were no close matches on my father’s side; the closest paternal matches being two second-cousin matches on my maternal side, and a handful of third, and many more fourth cousins. There was no obvious pattern to any of the matches, either. A year passed and I decided to take a break from the site, as you pay a biannual membership of $99, which felt a bit much when I felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere.
In June of 2017, my parents called an emergency family meeting. They told us that my father had been diagnosed with stage 4 esophageal cancer. Words cannot express the pain I felt. The man who had been my No. 1, my confidant, my hero and my mentor my entire life would now be fighting for his life. This news was emotionally devastating for me, and everyone in my family.
My father’s cancer sent me into a cloud of confusion and depression. I was terrified of losing him. I couldn’t stop thinking about the future time that may be missed between my kids and my father; their grandfather. It made me think about how I lost my maternal grandfather at such a young age, and all that was missed between us since then. I then began to worry about the possibilities of my own health. I was paranoid not knowing what unknown health issues might be on my biological father’s side.
In January of 2018, I received an email from Ancestry.com that said I had a first-cousin match. In order for me to view the individual’s family tree and our genetic match, I needed to become a member again. I joined and immediately resumed my research. This individual and I communicated via messenger for months. Neither of us really knew what we were doing. My last hope was to ask if this cousin’s mother could support me in my search by taking a DNA test in hopes it would give us some more answers. My cousin’s mother declined. I was disappointed, as I was beginning to feel as if the possibility of finding my father was impossible and unattainable. I thought that was my last hope.
I decided to broaden my search options by doing another DNA test, this time through 23andme, with health-history breakdown, hoping to find out if I was in jeopardy of any serious diseases. I then reached out to a family member for a DNA sample, in hopes of trying to weed out my maternal and paternal ethnicity DNA breakdown. She accepted.
Meanwhile, I wasn’t the only one to eat, sleep and breathe this topic. My husband was performing his own searches, as I did my research, each of us utilizing each other’s discoveries to gradually target the next step. We reached out to many people and took many wrong turns throughout this entire process. Our gut feeling was we were way too close to let it go, but the truth was we had reached a dead end.
On the night of February 28 I was lying in bed, scrolling through happy and heartbreaking stories from a group I joined on Facebook called DNA Detectives. The support, knowledge and understanding to all involved was astounding. As I kept scrolling I stumbled across a story that was very similar to my own. The woman’s mother had met her biological father for one great evening that ended the next day when they went their separate ways. The woman, like me, had very little information, and she went through many of the same steps that I had. The difference in her story was she hired a professional genealogist. That’s when she achieved success. She’d found her father.
The emotions I felt as I read this story were overwhelming, and I knew then that I couldn’t give up. I forwarded the story to my husband in hopes he would understand why I couldn’t let go of this search. I wanted him to see that success stories are out there, even if it means accepting the worst outcomes.
While this certainly seemed like a long shot, at least I had a strategy that made some logical sense. Was it even possible to hire a professional? Would we even be able to afford it? I was scared. I knew Ancestry.com’s professional genealogy services started around $2500, with a minimum commitment of 20 hours and no guarantees.
That next morning my husband made some calls, and called from work to tell me he’d found and hired a professional genealogist who specialized in finding lost or unknown family members. Her name was Sarah Clift. She is based out of Elk Grove, Calif. While there were no guarantees, she felt good about our chances, given all of the information that we had given her. Thursday, we signed papers, gave her access to my sites and paid for the first block of time. By Friday, she had already gone to work.
Later that evening, while we were out to dinner with friends, I received a text from her. I didn’t see it until after we had got home. She had completed the report of my biological father and was ready to send it over. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I immediately texted her back to let her know I was ready to review the report. The email arrived at 5:30 a.m. the following morning.
I remember waking, and immediately checking my phone. It had arrived. I was numb, and nervous. Josh lay there sleeping next to me. I began reading the email. My heart was pounding and I was flooded with emotion. I reached the part where it stated his name, his age, what school he attended, and his obituary. I fell apart. I had to get up and move myself to the living room. I didn’t want my emotions to wake Josh. I needed time to myself.
What had taken me 23 years of knowing and 13 years of searching had finally come to an end. The genealogist did it; she solved my lifelong mystery in less than four hours. I felt heartbroken, frustrated and relived all at the same time. Why hadn’t we thought of hiring someone earlier? What if? If only … At the end of the report, she left further research recommendations. Among those recommendations were links to my aunts’ and cousins’ Facebook pages, as well as the Ancestry.com site and my paternal grandmother’s name. With a bit of digging we soon found a Facebook profile, a home address, and a birth date for Robert’s mother.
From the information given, Josh and I didn’t waste any time. We immediately began clicking links, searching Facebook and finding numbers. We had four phone numbers for her. After three calls, two disconnected and one wrong number, we had one number left. It rang and rang and went to voicemail. I wasn’t ready to leave a message such as this one. We decided to scope out more family to try and see if we couldn’t find another way of getting a hold of Robert’s mother. We called a few more numbers and ended up leaving a brief message. By mid-afternoon, I placed a text to the last number I had tried calling earlier that afternoon to verify I had reached the right person. That evening, I received a response. I had reached her. After letting down my guard and opening up, we spoke. I explained that – while it would take a DNA test to be 100 percent certain – I believed that her son Robert was my biological father. I shared the few details I had always been told, explained that I was not looking for anything from them, but expressed that in time I’d be interested in possibly meeting her. We spoke for hours.
I ordered Robert’s mother a DNA test and sent it to her immediately. For weeks, we chatted. I had the opportunity to speak with many other family members, and we were all mutually eager to meet. Finally, we met last month. My husband, kids and I drove to Oregon to meet my paternal grandmother, her husband (not Robert’s father) and a few other family members. I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. They were all incredibly friendly, open, loving and accepting. They embraced my family as if we were their own, and had been a part of their family most of my life.
Katerina Domke’s baby photo, left; her biological father’s baby photo on the right.
Primary school photos of father and daughter, years apart.
Daughter and father’s high school photos, side by side.
After a lifetime of searching, Katerina Domke finally learned her father’s identity, years after his death.
Like Katerina’s husband, her father was also a Marine.
The DNA test came back and reported that the woman I’d been talking to for weeks was – and is – my paternal grandmother. Robert, her son, was my biological father. The man I had wondered about for so much of my life was no longer an enigma. I learned I have a grandmother, grandfather, aunt, uncle, five new cousins, their spouses and their little ones to add to my already wonderful family. And along the way, a seemingly unsolvable mystery has been solved.
I couldn’t end this story without giving special recognition to my parents. First, I acknowledge my father, the man who loved me before he even loved my mother. He was exactly the kind of amazing father I needed. He let me be his pride and joy. He let me stand on his feet while we danced around the living room, as though we were gliding through a grand ballroom. He took me fishing on days when my mother needed a bit of extra rest. He always did the best vocal impressions while reading Br’er Fox and Br’er Bear. He attended all my soccer games, cheer camps and daddy/daughter dances.
Dad, thank you for always making it a point to show me you loved me, or that you were proud of me. Thank you for always working harder, and for teaching me the importance of family and dedication. Thank you for providing me with boundaries and rules to follow, and for always being just a bit harder on me to make sure I turned out just right. Thank you for being my best friend, my mentor and my hero. You will always be my “Daddy”.
And to my mother, I will forever be grateful for the sacrifices you made, and have made, throughout my life. Thank you for keeping me, when you could have easily given me up. Thank you finding my father, and allowing him to help raise me into the woman I am today. Thank you for always being my No. 1 fan. Thank you for helping me regain my lost dreams and helping me believe in them again. Thank you for playing a part in my experiences with high school dances, boyfriends, recitals and tournaments. Thank you for always being a phone call away, for listening and for all the advice given. Thank you for never giving up on me, even when you felt absolutely drained. And thank you for setting an example of how to be a good mother, wife and friend. The relationship we have built over the years is unbreakable.
I am so proud to call them both my parents. The recent events that led to me learning my biological father’s identity has not changed the relationship between me and my parents one bit. If anything, it’s simply added a new dimension to it.
Twenty-three years after I began my quest for answers, and with the help of my husband, Ancestry.com, 23andme.com, genealogist Sarah Clift, numerous relatives, and supportive online groups like DNA Detectives, I finally found my biological father and his loved ones.
I am looking forward to meeting the rest of my family, learning more about my biological father, building new relationships and making more memories.
Katerina Domke lives in Cottonwood with her husband and two children. (She is Doni Chamberlain’s daughter-in-law.)
