I Finally Found My Birth Father — One Day After He Passed

From a young age, I felt something was amiss — that people looked at me differently, that everyone around me seemed to know something about me that I did not. 

Svein Jørgenson

My childhood was far from simple. My mother worked on a cruise ship, and just a few months after I was born, she handed me over to an elderly, childless aunt and uncle to raise me, while she was often absent for long periods due to her work. 

In addition, around the age of one, I developed severe asthma, which led to prolonged hospitalizations. This continued for many years, during which I was frequently placed in isolation, as was the practice at that time. 

I knew this man couldn’t be my father

When I was a toddler, about three years old, my mother married a man whom I assumed was my father. But even though they made me believe this, something within me constantly prevented me from accepting it. He was a cold and violent man, leaving no doubt that he didn’t love me and caused me a lot of suffering. Beyond all that, there wasn’t even one connecting thread between us. Nothing that could make me feel, or believe, even in the slightest way, that this terrible man was truly my father.

When I was 11, one of our neighbors, an old grim lady, became angry with me, and among her many harsh words and insults she also hurled at me that I was a ‘bastard.’ That’s how the truth began to be clarified for me. 

Because I spoke back rudely to that lady, she went to complain to the man I thought was my father. Then, when he threatened to punish and beat me, as he always did, I saw it as an opportunity to confront him once and for all. I told him that he wasn’t my father, and therefore he had no right to punish me or interfere in my life in any way. The expression on his face left no doubt that I was right. That was the truth. He indeed was not my father. 

Searching for my real dad

I continued living at home, but I was actually out on the streets most of the time. A street boy, getting into trouble, hanging out with the wrong people. I was filled with constant anger and sadness. I felt rejected, excluded, lonely and deceived.

At that point, my mother hadn’t been working for several years because she had fallen severely ill with multiple sclerosis. Her condition deteriorated rather quickly, until she was bedridden and barely communicated. I still stayed around because I had a younger brother and sister, my mother’s children with the terrible man who wasn’t my father — and I wanted to protect them from him as much as I could.

My mother passed away when I was in my early twenties. Before her death, when she was still able to communicate a little, she told me the name of the man who is my father. 

This information helped me in the process of finding my real father. Among other things, I tried to research and gather any possible information about the people who had worked with my mother over the years at the shipping company, and I enlisted the help of friends to spread my story in order to gather any information possible.

How could this be my father?

Several years after my mother passed away, when I was 30, I received a letter from a woman claiming to be my paternal sister. The name she mentioned was exactly the name my mother had given me before she died.

I didn’t waste time: I quickly traveled with my wife to meet my father and my new sisters. But just a few minutes into our first meeting I had a feeling that this man was not my father, and then even my wife whispered to me: “He cannot be your father. He is not like you at all.”

From their side, my newly found father and sisters immediately acted as if they were my family in every way. My father told me he had known my mother when they worked together on the cruise ship. It turned out that over the years, until I was 18, he used to send money to my mother, to help support my upbringing.

This bothered me even more. I couldn’t understand how a father could be content with only that and not want more. How could he not want to meet me, to see me grow up? Furthermore, he admitted that he knew I had been raised in difficult circumstances, that my mother’s partner had made my life miserable — yet still, he never reached out nor tried to help.

The search continues

The connection between us continued, but so did my search for the truth. I tried every possible avenue. I even reached out to my mother’s old friends, women in their 80s and beyond, and they tried to help me find information.

9 years ago, in September 2015, I joined MyHeritage to research my family history. I examined my family tree in depth, as well as the tree of the new family I had discovered. A few years later, I took a DNA test, too. It was quite astonishing, but all the matches I received pointed only to my mother’s side. Every match and every piece of information I cross-referenced led me only there.

Surprisingly, what turned out to be significant was the lack of a match. One of my sisters from my supposed father’s side took a DNA test — and there was no match between us. I realized once again that my instincts had been spot on from the very beginning. I liked, and still like, my supposed sisters, who were kind and generous toward me. I still care for them and regret the disappointment caused, but the journey to uncover my real father’s identity had to continue.

Finally, the real thing

Then, in June last year, the turning point I’d been waiting for all these years finally arrived: I received a new DNA match with a woman two years younger than me.

According to the match, she appeared to be my half-sister. 

I looked her up on Facebook, and immediately came across a post she had shared just the day before:

Our dear dad and father in law died suddenly this morning. He, and his countless and colorful stories will be deeply missed.

The moment I read those words, and especially the description of the man as a storyteller, I had a clear feeling for the first time in my life that I had found my father. That finally, this was the real thing. And I missed him by one day.

Svein’s father

I decided to wait a little before reaching out to my sister, and in the meantime, I searched for information about her father. Everything I read felt as if I was reading about myself.

When I finally called, my sister had just scattered her father’s ashes in the sea. When she called me back, I realized she had no intention or expectation of finding me, or any close relative she didn’t know about. Her daughter had bought her a DNA kit as a gift.

She was convinced that her father, Ragnar Fredrik Tonder, had no idea I even existed. She grew up as an only child, and her father always expressed regret that he didn’t have a son. He had always dreamed of having a son with whom he could do ‘boy things’ together.  

He was a ship captain, and during his training, he spent two months on the same ship where my mother worked.

Connecting with my sister and the memory of my father

I invited my sister to visit me in Spain, where I’ve been spending a lot of time for the past few years because the weather is good for my wife’s health. To my delight, she came to visit within a few days, and we had a wonderful time together. 

She loves Spain, and my father loved Spain too. He would visit during the winters. He used to stay in a place about 25 minutes from where I live now. Not far from me, there is a Seafarers’ Church that I’ve visited often. Inside, there’s a large ship anchor that always impressed me — and it turns out that my father donated that anchor.

From all the stories, photos, and reactions I get from those who knew my father, the resemblance between us is astonishing. We’re the same type of person. Sea lovers, storytellers.

My father’s brother, who is 85, spoke with me, and after five minutes, he burst into tears. He told me, ‘I feel like I’m talking to my brother. You have the same voice, the same way of speaking.’ My sister also told me that our body language, facial expressions, and reactions are all similar. Everything is alike.

She has told the whole family about me, and I feel a strong connection with each and every one of them. Everything fell into place. I feel it not only emotionally but also physically. 

I missed my father by just one day. It’s hard to believe that I was so close. But still, at the age of 63, for the first time ever, I’ve experienced true peace of mind.

Many thanks to Svein for sharing his bittersweet story with us. If you’ve also made an incredible discovery on MyHeritage, we’d love to hear about it! Please share it with us via this form or email us at stories@myheritage.com.