“We need to talk to you about something, darling,” Dad said over dinner one evening. It was summer 2003 and Mum, Dad and I were sitting in the dim light on our family’s veranda.
“Talk to me about what?” I thought. Terrifying scenarios swirled around my head. Was Dad unwell? Did Mum have cancer?
Dad looked down and ironed out the tablecloth with his hand, trying to find his words. “You have a brother in Canada,” he said.
When he was younger, he explained, he and his ex-partner had a baby in Canada and the child had been adopted. Dad was clearly wrestling with guilt and seemed nervous about how I would react. I was, after all, the last of us four kids to be told (I’d turned 18 that year and my parents felt it was time). But all I felt was excitement that somewhere across the planet I had another brother.
In the months that followed, my mum encouraged my dad to find his biological son. So in 2004, when he was invited to a reunion of friends who had lived in Vancouver in the 1960s, Dad decided it was a good opportunity to begin the search.
While in Vancouver, Dad got in touch with a government agency that helps facilitate reunions between adopted children and their biological parents. When Dad returned to Australia, the agency contacted him to say they’d found his son, Shawn.
It turned out Shawn’s adopted father had died not long before and he was open to connecting. For several months, my dad and brother exchanged emails through the government department.
One evening in September 2004, Dad called me in front of his computer. Shawn had sent photos of himself and his family. Suddenly I could put a face to my imaginings. As Dad and I scrolled through the email, both of us realised we were crying. There he was: Shawn as a child; Shawn ice-skating competitively as a teenager; Shawn getting married. It was bittersweet seeing glimpses of his life; we had missed out on so many milestones, but were grateful the pictures told the story of a happy life.
Soon after, Dad passed on his phone number to the agency and one morning the phone rang early. “Good morning, Philip speaking,” Dad said. On the other end, he heard a warm Canadian voice say, “Well hello, Philip”. That was how Shawn came into our lives.
I couldn’t wait to get to know this big brother of mine, who was 15 years my senior. We learned Shawn had four children, including a daughter named Melissa (my namesake) and a son called Michael, my older brother’s name. Shawn had known he was adopted most of his life and said he had a wonderful upbringing.
Later that year, Dad flew to Vancouver to meet Shawn and his family. Then in January 2005, Shawn brought his family to Australia for my sister’s wedding.
The first time we met was on my parents’ driveway. I was blown away by his resemblance to Dad. Same large forehead. Similar nose. And most strikingly, Dad’s bulging calves. We hugged nervously, then Michael quipped: “Shawn, you’ve inherited the Coke bottles [Dad’s calf muscles]”, and we all roared. The ice was broken. Shawn later wrote in my dad’s 70th birthday book that meeting us for the first time felt “just like coming home”.
In 2015, I was getting married and really wanted Shawn to be there, but he told me he couldn’t make it due to work commitments. I was disappointed, but I respected his decision.
A week before the big day, my Australian siblings and husband-to-be, Sam, went out for dinner as a final hoorah. Sam mentioned he had to pick up something – a surprise wedding gift – and took off. I called Sam while he was on his way to the restaurant. “Would you like me to order you something?” I asked. “Two steaks,” he replied. That really had me stumped.
When Sam arrived at the restaurant, he took my hand and led me across the road, then covered my eyes so I couldn’t see what was behind a parked van. “Surprise!” he bellowed and removed his hands. There, at the back of the vehicle, stood Shawn, arms outstretched with a massive grin.
I screamed like a contestant on a gameshow who had just won a million dollars. I couldn’t believe my brother had flown across the world to be with me for my special day. That night, us five siblings laughed about how Shawn and Sam had hatched the plan to deliver my surprise wedding gift – the best surprise I had ever received.
When Shawn turned 50 in 2019, I returned the favour by surprising him at his birthday party in Vancouver. He was speechless as our little boy ran up the stairs of his family home and said, “Hi, Uncle Shawn”.
Sometimes I imagine what it would have been like growing up with Shawn in our lives. He is dependable as anything and I know he would have been there in a flash to pick me up drunk at a party or give me advice about boys as a teenager. Luckily, Michael was good at that too and now I have two older brothers to look out for me.
I can tell Shawn anything and I know he will listen and provide advice without judgment. I may have missed out on two decades with my brother, but I’m so happy we eventually connected.
