🪦 Cryptid Dispatch #2: Door #3 Was a Person

The answer wasn’t missing. It was already here.

⚠️ Content Note

This post discusses:

medical trauma and ongoing health issues
seizures
complicated family discovery / paternity
grief and loss of a parent

Please take care of yourself while reading. Step away if you need to. The dispatch will still be here when you get back.

👁️ Welcome to The Crippled Cryptid

Disability. Chronic illness. Service dogs. Survival without the performance.

If you’re new here, hi. I’m Sky.
Professional cryptid.
Unwilling amateur cyborg.
Medically complex enough to make my chart a jump scare.

I cope with sarcasm, snacks, and narrating my life like it’s a field report.
Sometimes there’s even coffee. Those are the good days.

Most days are lived in a haunted meat suit with a questionable warranty and a long-standing feud with my nervous system.

And on Tuesdays… we document it.

The appointments.
The adventures.
The spirals.
The “we left the house and now we have a story” moments.

I don’t do this alone.

There’s Luna, my medical alert service dog.
Guardian. Enforcer. Service Dingo™.
Public access professional. Emergency “we need to sit down right now” decision-maker.

There’s M&M.
My Player 2. My soft place to land.
Co-adventurer. Snack provider. Voice of reason when I have none.

And the Yard Yeti.
Keeper of home base. Guardian of the Wi-Fi.
Occasional 3am grilled cheese summoner. Protector of the tater tots.

This space is for:

chronic illness without inspiration porn
disability without apology
life as it actually happens

If you’ve been here before, welcome back.
If you’re new, you’ll find your footing.

Welcome to the Cryptid Dispatch.
Field notes from the chaos.

🚪 The Doors (Previously on “What the Hell Is My Life”)

If you missed the earlier chaos, here’s your cryptid tea-cap:

Door #1 (birth certificate man): ❌ not my dad
Door #2 (mysterious Joey with a tragic backstory): ❌ also not my dad
Door #3: kicked open by DNA results and said, “hey ghoulie, it’s me”

Because of course it did.

🧪 The Medical Spiral That Started This

This wasn’t about identity.
Not at first.

At least, not entirely. Sure, I wanted to know more about my grandfather’s Cherokee roots but… there was more to it.

This was about survival.

After a surgical situation that did not go the way it should have, I started having seizures in December 2025. Out of nowhere. No explanation.

So, I went looking for medical history.

The man listed as my father couldn’t help me. Didn’t recognize anything I was describing.

Cool. Love that for me.

So, I bought the DNA kit.
Spit in the tube like an offended llama.
And waited.

And waited…

And waited some more… because I didn’t think I was in a rush so, I didn’t pay the extra $20 for them to rush my results.

🧬 The Part Where Reality Glitches

The results came back with a half-uncle.
A last name I recognized.
A connection that shouldn’t have existed… but did.

This led me to someone I had:

met in 2012
been Facebook friends with
spent time around

So, I did what any reasonable cryptid would do.

I asked a grown man if he had been sleeping with my mom in May of 1994.

Graceful. Elegant. Subtle.

(There is no etiquette guide for that conversation, by the way. I checked.)

I almost didn’t send it.

Because the thoughts came fast and sharp:

You’re going to ruin his life.
He has a family.
He has grandchildren.
He doesn’t need this. (Code for: He doesn’t need you. Your ghoul is disabled; she comes with baggage that most people don’t want. Okay? I know that. You know that. We aren’t lying to ourselves here.)

But here’s the thing that grounded me:

I was the one who spit in that tube.
There was no one else’s DNA in it but mine.

So, I hit send anyway.

And everything changed.

He didn’t deny it.

🧭 The Part Where He Stayed

He didn’t run.
He didn’t shut it down.
He didn’t pretend it was impossible.

He said:
“We should test. Life’s too short.”

And then… he stayed.

The last couple of weeks, he’s been:

asking about my life
asking about my writing (and remembering it from 2012??)
asking about M&M, Luna, and the Yard Yeti
checking in after storms and bad days

It might be through Facebook DMs.
But it’s not nothing.

It’s something steady.
Something intentional.

Something that feels like it might matter.

🏡 The Part Where the Past Walked Back In

Then… enter Saturday.

My plans didn’t turn out the way they were supposed to.

Instead, he came over.

And we cracked open something that felt less like a conversation and more like a time capsule that had been waiting 30 years to breathe.

Am I telling you his name yet?
No.

But I will tell you this:

The few people I’ve told about this have already said I look like him.

Same half-smirk in photos.
The same “we don’t really smile, we just acknowledge the camera” energy.
Him with his wife. Me with M&M.

And then it got… weirder. In that quiet, deeply human way.

He said I’m animated like my mom.
That I remind him of her.

And then the stories started.

Not new ones.

Familiar ones.

Just… from the other side.

It’s one thing to find a person.
It’s another thing to realize they’ve been standing in the background of your life the entire time.

🐀 **Shared Memories That Weren’t Supposed to Exist**

He talked about my mom’s rat, Magic.

Which stopped me, because I knew that name.

But then he said something I had never heard before:

That Magic wasn’t just hers.

That they shared that rat.

And suddenly this tiny, strange thread appeared between timelines that were never supposed to touch.

Because years later… M&M and I had rats too.

🚐 The Van, The House, The Things That Stayed

He worked with my grandfather, Rich.

He painted the white van.
The one with the red lettering on the back.

The one I remember riding in as a kid.

The one where:

there were no back seats
just shelves, tools, and a milk crate
and you prayed he didn’t take corners too fast

(And before anyone gets their titties in a twist, yes, it was the 90s. We were all just surviving.)

I went to pre-k and kindergarten in that van.

And he remembered it.

He remembered the phone number on the back.

I couldn’t.

Then we walked outside.

And he said, “There used to be a pool here.”

And I laughed, because obviously.

But then he said:

“I built that deck.”

And just like that, something shifted.

Because I remembered the pool. Rich got it for me after pre-k.

But I didn’t know he built the deck around it.

I didn’t know:

he built the original deck on the house
that he did drywall here
that he built the fence around my grandmother’s garden

The garden I touched every day for the first 13 years of my life.

And then he said something that hasn’t left me since:

“This house hasn’t really changed in 40 years.”

🫀 The Feeling I Don’t Have Words For

There is something deeply strange about being known like that.

Not introduced.
Not learned.

Recognized.

In pieces you didn’t even know were visible.

In places you didn’t realize held memory.

It’s not loud.

It’s not overwhelming.

It’s just… steady.

And it sits in your chest like:

oh.

🧩 The Joke That Wasn’t a Joke

We talked about when we first met in 2012.

When he had just moved back.

He asked how old I was.

And my mom said:

“Don’t worry, she isn’t yours.”

I remember her saying it. He remembers that exact conversation too.

I remember how confident she sounded.

And now?

Now we’re here.

🧬 The Logic of It All

We walked through it.

Door #1? Not possible.
Door #2? Not possible.

He even explained why in ways that lined up with timelines I didn’t have access to before.

His siblings? Also not possible.

Which leaves us here.

Waiting for the most surreal Maury episode of my life:

“Congratulations, you are the father.”

🎉 The Chaos We Deserve

Do I plan to send him something unhinged like:

“Congratulations, it’s a ghoul”?

Yes.

Absolutely.

But he also threatened to show up with balloons and confetti.

And let me just say this now:

Confetti is craft herpes.

It never leaves.

So honestly?
If I send him a spooky pop up that says, “Congratulations, it’s a ghoul!”

We’re even.

🐕 Luna’s Verdict

And maybe one of the most important details:

Luna loved him.

Now, for context:

Public Luna? Angel.
Home Luna? Security system with opinions.

If she doesn’t know you, she will let you know.

She barked at him for maybe… a minute or two.

And then?

Attached.

Following him.
Leaning into him.
Asking for pets.
Trying to exist in his personal space at all times.

She doesn’t even do that with:

my uncle (who spent a lot of time around here last year.)
my older brother Matthew (the Compass), who she has known since day one

(not to mention he’s over here every week for Game Night with the Yard Yeti.)

But him?

Immediate acceptance.

And if you know anything about dogs like her…

You know that means something.

🫶 The Part That Felt Like Family

He didn’t just talk to me.

He included M&M.

He made space for her.

And when she quietly stepped away to give us time, it didn’t feel awkward.

It felt… understood.

We swapped photos.

Old ones. New ones.

Stories layered over stories.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it—

It stopped feeling like I was talking to a stranger.

And started feeling like I was talking to someone who had always been part of the story…

Just written in invisible ink.

🌿 And Honestly?

What more could you ask for…

From something this strange?

When I wasn’t really looking for anything at all.

🧬 The Mirror Effect

This is where it gets strange in a quiet, human way.

Not coincidence strange.
Recognition strange.

same love of horror
same humor
same “cope with chaos through jokes” energy
same Jeep energy (apparently that’s genetic now)

And then the part that landed heavier than I expected:

his son has seizures
I have seizures
no one can explain either

So now this isn’t just identity.

It’s possibility.
It’s context.
It’s the beginning of answers.

🌊 The Feelings (All of Them, At Once)

This has been… a lot.

There has been:

crying
pacing
staring at the ceiling like “what the actual fuck is my life”

And underneath all of that:

Grief.

My mom died in 2020.
Which means she isn’t here for any of this.

And I have questions that don’t have anywhere to go:

Did she know?
Did she suspect?
Was it a joke when she mentioned him… or was it a hint?

There’s also this quiet, complicated ache:

“I could have known this sooner.”

And that feeling doesn’t cancel out the good.
But it sits beside it.

Because I had a good life growing up with my grandparents, and a good life growing up with her. But, I would have liked to know him and his family too before it I was an adult.

🌳 The Circle Isn’t Shrinking

I keep catching myself spiraling.

What does this change?
Who am I now?
What happens next?

And every time I go there… Luna looks at me.

Like she already knows.

Because when she came home two years ago, her world expanded too.

She didn’t lose anything.

Her circle just got bigger.

And I think that’s what this is.

Not replacement.
Not loss.

Just-

👉 something being added

Even if I can’t stop telling the few people in my life who know what’s going on how weird this is. And I think that I’m owed that. The “what the fuck, this is so strange” because most people meet their father’s when they’re a baby- not at 31.

🫶 The Part That Matters

He’s been kind.
He’s been open.
He’s been fully accepting of my life.

Including M&M, who is not optional, not negotiable, and not going anywhere.

Whatever this becomes, I am not dismantling the life I built to make room for it.

And I don’t have to.

That matters more than I can explain.

🧪 What Happens Next

We test.

He ordered a DNA kit the same day.

So, by the end of the week, we’ll know for sure.

Not “maybe.”
Not “probably.”

Sure.

Even though we basically already do.

And you know what, that’s pretty fucking weird.

But I’m not mad about it. And I’m not disappointed about it.

Because I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome, I don’t think.

🌙 Closing Thoughts from Bed Jail™

Should I be sleeping after the ER today- when I started this post?

Yes.

Am I instead writing this at an unholy hour because my life has turned into a medically complex identity plot twist?

Also yes.

If your life feels like a series of strange, unexpected side quests-

You’re not alone.

Some days are big.
Some days are just “we survived the body.”

All of it counts.

Even this.

Door #3 didn’t just open.
It walked in, sat down, and started remembering things I didn’t know I’d lost.

Thanks for being here while I figure this out in real time.

I’ll update when I know more.

Love you. Say it back.
-Sky

🐾 Luna Rating

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾 (10/10, would absolutely allow ball throwing and demand tushie scratches again)

Initial bark: brief, ceremonial, just to assert brand identity
Suspicion level: gone almost immediately
Attachment level: emotional Velcro achieved
Ball throwing ability: highly approved
Tushie scratches: enthusiastically endorsed
Stranger danger protocol: completely overridden

Final verdict:
“This one is acceptable. He may stay. He may also throw the ball again.”

🔗 Support & Links

https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

There’s never pressure to donate.
Reading, sharing, or simply staying is more than enough.

If you’d like to support the long, slow work of staying alive, stable, and mobile:
💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility