Finding Home……Chapter 1 Passport

Passport

1989

I was thirty years old when I discovered I did not officially exist.

I suppose this must seem rather strange, for how can one not exist when standing here with a legal identity? But indeed, to my great shock I was about to discover there were no records of my birth, nothing to verify the existence of the adult known as Brenda Phyper. There simply was no such person.

I was mid-way through divorcing my first husband, pregnant with my fourth child, and planning to remarry in August. All of these events took place in the short twelve months of this unforgettable year.

To throw my very identity into question when I arrived to pick up my birth certificate requested three weeks earlier, the first step in obtaining a passport for a much needed holiday, was totally unexpected and a devastating shock.

I had recently experienced several traumatic situations, and only just discovered my three year old daughter had been sexually molested. And as consequence of the divorce I had to move from my home for the past six years where my three children had been raised, had to find a job for the first time in nearly ten years, and within months had to quit when I became pregnant with my fourth child. So many difficult changes piled one on top of the other in quick succession!

I was attending group therapy for the abuse I had suffered as a teenager at the same time my young daughter was going to counselling at Calgary Children’s Hospital for her recent abuse. We also attended as a new family of five because the situation impacted us all.

My first husband and father of three did not feel he needed to participate and conveniently excused himself, while the new man in my life felt strongly about supporting us. So while my daughter was receiving her therapy, Patrick and I were having sessions with the psychologist to learn how to cope with the complexity of this situation.

The hammer during this vulnerable time came down when I learned the name I grew up with was not really mine. I did not know what to say or what to do in trying to absorb this new information. It is not an easy thing to accept when you come to realize your whole life has been lived inside a lie.

While I stood at the counter of Vital Statistics in downtown Calgary waiting for the woman to come from the back room with my new birth certificate, I could never have dreamt I would be confronted with this challenge to my identity.

I had in fact wondered many times over the years why I did not have a birth certificate, but told myself it must simply have been lost or misplaced. While standing there I tried to remember if I had ever asked my parents before, but couldn’t recall doing so. I didn’t have a need for it until now.

Yet here was this clerk patiently explaining to me there could never have been a birth certificate because no such person existed, according to the official record. She asked me if I had been known by any other name. Other than nick names at school I replied, “No, never.” She said there was a record for Nancy Phyper born that same day, but nothing for a Brenda Phyper as I had always known myself.

As I showed her the contents of my wallet I protested that was impossible since I had a Social Insurance Number, an Alberta Driver’s License, Alberta Health Care card, and credit cards in this name. How could I have acquired these documents without a record of my birth? She didn’t understand how that was possible and was unable to help me find the answer. Her only suggestion was to ask my parents.

She further explained I would have to engage in the process of filing for a name change to legally become Brenda Phyper before I could apply for a passport. How strange it all was hearing this, affecting me far deeper because of my present condition and circumstance.

The name change procedure required the document be witnessed by a Notary Public, and then to file the change of name application and wait for the new birth certificate to arrive. It seemed a very daunting task which from that moment began to overwhelm. Although I was only seeking a much needed holiday this was now an urgent matter I had to deal with, having no other choice now the truth was out.

When I got home I didn’t hesitate calling my parents to ask them how this was possible. Helen answered the phone and said she also did not understand, having no recollection of these events. She would have to talk to Duncan and get back to me.

Meanwhile my mind was in overdrive trying to comprehend the situation and everything was beginning to shift. When I reflected on how uncomfortable I had always been with the name Brenda it began to make sense. The repressed feelings regarding my discomfort in not fitting into this family also rose to the surface, causing me to further wonder about the hidden truth behind these lies.

Was I a twin? Did my twin sibling die? Was I actually adopted and they did not want me to find out? What else could be hiding here?

Helen called me back, not Duncan, and said I never had a birth certificate because it was not needed at the time I was born. Assuming I was born in 1958 it was in fact mandatory policy to issue a birth certificate. She said she had named me Nancy in the hospital and then Duncan decided on Brenda at my baptism. As expected this only raised more questions!

Why did Duncan decide to change my name, and why was he the one to arbitrarily make that decision at my baptism? Helen said she did not attend, another surprising admission, so he made the decision without her knowledge or permission. Hardly a satisfactory explanation! Helen also said my grandmother (Duncan’s mother) had traveled specifically from Montreal by train for the event, (she was afraid to fly), yet did not attend. In fact, she said because my Grandmother did not attend she also was unable to go. This only created more confusion for me because a baptism is an important event for Catholics, so I could not understand why.

The explanation was that my Grandmother did not feel well, though the nature or severity of the illness was never explained. Even my step sister, Ellen, made a point of stating on more than one occasion that Grandma came all the way here for my baptism because I was so special, yet she remained absent. Rather than offering clarification I was more confused than ever.

After sifting through the various possibilities trying to determine how I obtained a Social Insurance Number without a birth certificate, I remembered it was Duncan that took care of all my legal documentation. He completed and filed the paperwork. This does not make the situation any clearer and to this day I have not been given a reasonable explanation. How could Helen not remember giving me a different name in the hospital? Why did she have to consult with Duncan before she could answer? How does something so significant just slip your mind?

I also began to put together the other issues I had about my childhood, like the fact I had no pictures and my baby book was not filled in: no weight, no length, no lock of hair, no hand or footprint. Nothing. I was now beginning to understand why I never liked the name Brenda, why I never felt I belonged to this family, and why I had been treated so differently than my supposed siblings.

If indeed my name was changed after coming home from the hospital the legal requirement to register the child in the new name stands. The only explanation I have which reasonably fits this scenario is that a child named Nancy died at the age of two and I assumed her place, having recently arrived from out of country.

I was told I was sick in the hospital with Scarlet Fever and almost died when I was very young, then I had an allergic reaction to penicillin. Nancy Phyper dies of Scarlett fever at the age of two but I am brought home in her place, saying she survived.

There was only one legitimate explanation. I was not their child. I was now left to wonder who insisted on the expensive clothes from Lad & Lassie, the only family Brownie, the Calgary Philharmonic season tickets, and the years of ballet lessons? No other family member received these special allowances. All of this began when I arrived in Canada, becoming part of this financially stressed family.

In an attempt to move forward I had my name legally changed to Brenda Catherine Phyper and successfully obtained my passport so I could make the trip to Mexico with my children and husband to be. I needed to get away from everything that was happening. I just wanted to sit on a beach and hear the ocean and for a while let go of all the problems of the past year, the past thirty years, and the new mystery of who I was. Duncan and Helen were very much opposed to our plan to spend a few weeks sunning on a beach and they did all they could think of to talk me out of a simple holiday in Mexico. I never understood their concern but they were adamant in their opinion I should not go. It began to dawn on me this was really bizarre behaviour….I was slipping down the rabbit hole.

My therapist gave me a huge pat on the back for beginning the process of taking control of my life and was so supportive with all that I was doing. She said most people would have trouble dealing with just one of these problems, yet I was juggling these many balls and standing strong through it all.

It was her suggestion, once I returned from my holiday, I once again legally change my name, knowing I was not comfortable wearing the name Brenda. She felt because it was never my real name, and because it was linked to so many negative memories, changing it would be beneficial in redefining my future and myself. It would help with the healing process to take control of my identity. I agreed and thought about it for a long time finally settling on Katherine, not so much because it was a name I really liked, but it was a name I could be comfortable with.

In truth I still did not know who I was, having never been given the freedom of self-discovery. Up to this point, other than ballet, I had no idea what I wanted or even what I loved. My therapist had been right for suggesting the change, for even though it was not the perfect choice it did empower me. It helped me take charge of that aspect of my identity and gave me strength.

If you look closely at the artwork you will see the three different signatures I used over the years. The first images were signed with the name Brenda, then later on Kacie (short for Katherine Chudleigh), and finally Gabriel, the name I learned was my birth name given to me by my father.

This in itself shows significant progression as the years passed, the artwork an outward expression of my inner growth. And my skills improved as my confidence grew. Innocently wanting a passport was the beginning of this tale towards discovering the truth of who I am. It is amazing to me when I realize how one simple event can have so dramatic an effect—a sequence of tumbling dominoes sending me in a completely new direction to an as yet unknown conclusion. Just a exceptional period in time.

My original baptism certificate.