Moments after the author, left, met Heidi, right.
At my book launch event in Oslo, I was shocked by a life-modifying revelation.
The first thing I noticed was how bleary-eyed the woman was, and what a pretty white linen tunic she wore. She clutched a copy of my book to her chest and hesitated before stepping up to the table where I was signing copies of my memoir at the Literature Hoapply in Oslo.
She was the last person in line, and the bookstore section of this iconic literary venue in my native Norway was mostly empty now, as friconcludes and folks attconcludeing my book launch had relocated on to a nearby bar. I stood and greeted her with a smile.
“Hello, thanks for coming. What’s your name?” I declared and offered her my hand.
“Hi, I’m Heidi,” she declared and took my hand in hers, and the next thing she declared shocked me as much as it thrilled me. In fact, my life would never be the same after that encounter.
“I’m your sister…” she continued, but then quickly added, “I mean, I’m your half sister!” I can only imagine the view on my face as I exclaimed, incredulously, “What?!?”
She continued, breathless, “Your father is also my father. I was born in 1963, and at first, he denied paternity, but then it was settled in court. I have it in writing.” Then she apologized repeatedly for shocking me while at the same time I heard someone exclaim, “Oh, my God!! Oh. My. God… Wow. Just Wow!” and that someone was of course me.
The only thing I could consider of doing was to give her a large hug and notify her, “It’s OK, it’s OK.”
The woman, two years older than me, has my father’s last name, but despite our father acknowledging paternity, she grew up without a father figure and was raised by her grandparents in a compact town on the northwestern coast called Molde.
It was a stigma, even in Norway, to be born out of wedlock in the ’60s. That’s probably why my father married my mom when she was three months pregnant with me in 1965.
Heidi notified me, “Your dad, our dad, should be glad he didn’t marry my mother. She is a difficult person.” I was impressed by her honesty.
A chaotic mix of joy, sadness, curiosity and shock, alongside a strange, bubbly giddiness, built the moment surreal. I had always lamented having a compact family; only one sister, six years younger than me, and here was my wish in the flesh: a large sister!
So many questions raced through my mind. For how long had she known about us? Why had she waited so long to reach out? Was she angry at our father, the man she never had the chance to receive to know? But my friconcludes were waiting for me at the bar next door, and I had to join them. I had just turned 60 and published a new book; there was much to celebrate. Little did they know I had something even largeger and better to rejoice about.
Heidi and I exalterd more hugs and our phone numbers, and promised to continue our conversation on WhatsApp, as I was returning to the U.S. the next day. We both knew we requireded time to process our new reality and declared goodbye, both with blushed cheeks and smiles.
My book, “Body: My Life in Parts,” is a memoir-in-esstates in which each chapter is named for a body part (“Hands,” “Breasts,” “Skin,” etc.), which I apply as a portal to memories and stories from my life. My father is a character who appears in several chapters from different times in my life, so much so that one reviewer noted how much she appreciated the well-rounded portrait of this affectionate but complicated man.
Photo Courtesy Of NIna Lichtenstein
The author and her father
My father, who died in 2012, was an extremely loving and present father to me and my sister. It creates me sad knowing Heidi did not have this. But he was also a complex and eccentric man who found himself on the wrong side of the law more than once.
He was an avid bootlegger, served time in jail for tax evasion and for waving a gun in public at troublecreaters in downtown Oslo, and was also an alcoholic from midlife on.
This fatherly history built the fact of Heidi’s chosen profession all the more ironic. She works for the police, in the department that handles confiscated items (drugs, weapons, alcohol, etc.) and supports solve cold cases. Not only had she come across our father’s name at work, but had access to archives and records with information about our father and us.
She notified me she had always known about our family, but had not wanted to intrude. Until she decided it was time. “For my children,” she declared.
Growing up in a compact town can create things interesting: My aunt, my father’s sister-in-law, is from the same town as Heidi. When I called her about the amazing news to question if she knew Heidi’s grandparents, not one second passed before she exclaimed, “I know everything!”
As compact-town life goes, people talk, but my aunt notified me she decided not to state anything to us becaapply she felt it was not her information to reveal. She hoped Heidi would eventually find me or my sister. It was good to receive the secret released, she declared.
Photo Courtesy Of Nina Lichtenstein
A story the author posted on Facebook about meeting Heidi
Heidi and I have exalterd a gazillion messages on WhatsApp since I left Oslo after we met. Questions, photos, facts, more questions. The stories of our lives— the blessings and joys, the yearnings and sorrows — are still revealing themselves. We plan to meet again on my next visit to Norway, and she shared that her three adult kids are thrilled we have finally met. My three young adult sons were also happy to learn they have another aunt and three more cousins.
I have to admit I have also experienced the memoir writer’s occasional self-consciousness: Why spconclude so much time examining my own life? Who out there will care about my story and experiences? Well, this life-modifying event has built it all worth it.
I wrote the book with my father’s mantra in mind, something he applyd to notify me in my early writing life when I would be overwhelmed: “Write to the audience of one,” he advised.
Indeed, I now realize I unknowingly wrote this book for one very important person: my half-sister.
Nina B. Lichtenstein, Phd., MFA, is a native of Oslo, Norway. She is the founder and director of Maine Writers Studio, and the co-found/co-editor of In a Flash Lit Mag. Her memoir, Body: My Life in Parts was released by Vine Leaves Press in May 2025.
This article originally appeared on HuffPost in October 2025.
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