Goat, or Orphan

not sure which

It sounds odd, but I’ll just say it.

I feel like an orphan, or a goat.

First, the orphan—I don’t feel like I have any of my parents. Or rather I feel like my brother has the two parents I thought I had (I know, I know, “he’s still my father”.)

When I wrote “brother”, I technically mean “half-brother” of course. But the purposes of this writing, my brother is the boy I grew up with, and my dad is my dad.

So nothing changed for him, except my relationship to him and to my dad, plus any relationship I might have with donor and his family. (My family?)

My brother isn’t the kind of person who would opt into complication. He didn’t want to know anything about the DNA results (even though we both could see we were half-siblings.)

I don’t have my donor because he is just that, and nothing more. He is very kind and writes back to my emails and I know that should be enough and I should be grateful. I am very relieved he’s not creepy and is a Good Person. But I have no claim to him, to put it coarsely. It is up to him to let me know what, who, I can be in his life. I could reject something he offers, but I cannot ask or name anything. He replies to my questions.

What I mean is I can’t call him my father in any way, whether I want to or not. My dad is my dad, and I want it that way. But the man who is genetically my father is, well, genetically my father. I know I have changed my course in this matter. It’s not that I want or feel anything different; it’s just a settling in.

My new half-brother has referred to himself thusly, as I think I mentioned. And one of his daughters has said she was excited to know I exist, and we’ve emailed some. But it’s always me who writes more and sooner, and then waits.

Where does the goat come in? I guess it’s this—I love goats; I love visiting the triplet goats in town (long story) and am always dreaming of having a goat of my own. But ultimately, I don’t have a goat and am not sure I’d want the responsibility for one.

I wonder if I’m some sort of goat-sister, goat-auntie, something fun and curious, but not belonging, really.

This isn’t to say I feel low or excluded. There’s just a lull, and a recognition that I’m neither this nor that, neither here nor there.