(Written in 2025, after twelve years of searching)
To my daughter, Anna Mae Koehler — the girl I’ve never held, but have loved since the second I knew you existed.
My name is Derek Salyers. I’m your father. And for twelve long years, I’ve been trying to reach you. I’ve searched. I’ve waited. I’ve prayed. And even though we’ve never met, not a single day has passed without you on my mind.
This post—on my blog, OMG It’s Derek—is my way of breaking the silence. My hope is that one day, if you ever search your name or wonder about your past, you’ll find this letter. You’ll find me.
After all this time, I’ve finally found out where you are. And now, I’m in court—fighting for the chance to be in your life. Fighting for the right to know you. To see you. To love you out loud.
But it’s not easy. Your mom, Shirley Koehler, and the man listed on your birth certificate, Jacob Koehler, are doing everything they can to keep us apart. Still, I’m here. Still pushing. Still believing you deserve the truth.
To the Daughter I’ve Never Met
Imagine being a young man and finding out you’re going to be a father. Now imagine that dream being ripped away before it even began.
That was my reality.
From the moment I knew about you, I wanted to be there. But before I ever got the chance, I was cut out. And for twelve years, I’ve been chasing a relationship that should’ve never been taken from me.
You live in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio now, with Shirley and Jacob. I don’t know what you’ve been told about me—if anything. Maybe I’m a name that never comes up. Or maybe you’ve only heard versions of me that don’t reflect the truth.
That’s why I’m writing this. I want you to hear it directly from the source—from the man who never stopped fighting for you. This isn’t just a blog post. It’s a letter. A lifeline. A record of every step I’ve taken to try and reach you.
I’m currently fighting for third-party visitation, which is the only legal option left to me. I’m not considered your legal father anymore—not because I walked away, but because when you were four, Jacob signed your birth certificate. He did that knowing he wasn’t your biological dad. And I wasn’t even told it had happened until it was too late for me to legally challenge it. There’s a two-year window for that—and they made sure I missed it.
But paperwork doesn’t erase blood.
They may have taken away my legal rights, but they can’t take away the truth. They can’t take away my love for you. And no matter how hard they try, they can’t stop me from showing up here and telling you everything.
So that’s what I’m doing—laying it all out. Every heartbreak, every setback, every ounce of hope I’ve held onto for twelve years. Because if you ever find this letter, I want you to know one thing above all else:
I never stopped loving you, Anna Mae. Not for a second.
How It All Began: Before You Were Born
Let’s go back to the beginning—before you were born. I was in my mid twenties, living in Champion, Ohio, and working as a youth pastor at my dad’s church, Praise Cathedral Church of God, in nearby Niles. That’s where I met your mom—Shirley Knotts, who you now know as Shirley Koehler. She’d been coming to the church since she was a teenager, so I’d known her for years before we ever got involved.
We didn’t start dating until I was around 24 or 25. At first, it seemed okay. Normal. But it didn’t take long for things to turn. Shirley had a temper. Arguments over the smallest things would explode into screaming matches. If I didn’t call her back fast enough, or we disagreed on something minor, it would blow up. She’d yell so loud the walls would shake. Slam doors hard enough to rattle the whole apartment. I never knew what might set her off next—and that constant volatility wore me down.
That’s why I ended it.
I wanted peace. And as much as I tried, I couldn’t find it in that relationship.
Two weeks after the breakup, she showed up at my apartment unannounced. I was sitting in the living room, still trying to catch my breath from the emotional mess, when she dropped the news:
She was pregnant.
My heart sank.
Not because of you, Anna Mae—but because I knew what being tied to Shirley for life would mean. I knew the yelling, the instability, the chaos… wasn’t over.
But from the moment I heard you existed—I wanted you.
I never saw you as a mistake. Never for a second. Even though things with Shirley were a wreck, I was ready to step up. I wanted to be your dad. And I tried to show that, right from the start.
I started picking up baby clothes—little onesies, tiny socks, a stuffed elephant I thought you’d love. My family jumped in to help too. They even threw a baby shower for Shirley at Leavittsburg Church of God, and the church members showed up with blankets, bottles, and more—doing their best to support a situation they didn’t fully understand.
Shirley and I never lived together. I rented the top unit of a duplex in Champion, and she rented the bottom. So when she’d vanish for days at a time, she wasn’t gone—just downstairs. But she’d be busy with school, work, or who knows what else. I’d knock sometimes, try to check in, but she’d brush me off.
And as the pregnancy went on, that distance between us only grew.
I didn’t realize then just how far she’d take it.
The Disappearance: When You Were Taken From Me
The day after you were born at Saint Joseph’s Hospital in Warren, Ohio, I got the call—from a mutual friend. You were here. You had arrived.
I dropped everything and rushed to the hospital, heart racing, ready to meet you. I wanted to see your face, hold you in my arms, whisper your name. I wanted you to know that your dad was there—that I had shown up.
But I never got the chance.
When I got to the maternity ward, Shirley had already told the hospital staff not to let me in. No warning. No conversation. Just a wall I couldn’t get through.
I stood there, on the other side of the glass, pleading with the nurses—begging to be let in. They wouldn’t budge. I watched other families hold their babies, take pictures, celebrate… while I stood alone, shut out of the biggest moment of my life.
I didn’t even get to see you.
And the next day, she was gone.
Shirley checked out of the hospital with you and disappeared. No forwarding address. No goodbye. No clue where she went. I came back to the duplex, thinking maybe she’d be downstairs—but her place was completely empty. No baby stuff. No clothes. Just silence.
I drove around town, checking every place I thought she might’ve gone. Friends’ houses in Warren and Niles, spots she used to hang out. I knocked on doors. Called her name. Nothing.
I called her phone. Straight to voicemail.
I left message after message:
“Shirley, where are you?”
“Is the baby okay?”
“Please, just tell me something…”
I emailed an old address I had. I texted. I tried everything I could think of. And I got nothing back.
You were gone. And I didn’t even get to say hello.
The Betrayal: A Friend’s Deception
Losing you was already more pain than I thought I could handle. But what I found out years later added a whole new kind of heartbreak.
Jacob Koehler wasn’t just some acquaintance. He was my friend. Not someone I’d grown up with, but over the course of four years, we became close. Along with our mutual friend Savannah, we were a tight trio—the kind of friends who show up, who say “I’ve got your back” and mean it.
Outside of my current friends Tony and Rachel, Jacob and Savanna were the closest friends I’ve ever had. We hung out after church, grabbed food, and talked about dreams. Jacob was the guy I’d vent to when life got heavy—and he always listened. Or so I thought.
After Shirley disappeared with you, Jacob was still around. I leaned on him. I told him how much it hurt not knowing where you were. How helpless I felt. How desperate I was to find you.
And he listened—pretending he cared—while hiding the one truth that would break me.
What I didn’t know, and wouldn’t discover until years later, was that Jacob had started seeing Shirley not long after she vanished with you. Behind my back. Behind every conversation where I poured my heart out to him. He was with her the whole time—keeping it a secret.
And then, when you were four, he signed your birth certificate.
In Ohio, when another man signs the birth certificate—and the biological father doesn’t legally challenge it within two years—that man becomes the legal father. Permanently.
That’s what they did. While I was grieving, they were writing me out of your life.
And I never even knew it had happened.
I wasn’t told. I wasn’t warned. I didn’t get the chance to fight for you because I didn’t even know there was a fight.
By the time I uncovered the truth—years later, digging through court records during my attempt to legally connect with you—it was too late. That two-year window had closed. And with it, the law stripped me of my rights.
But they couldn’t erase my love for you.
This wasn’t some stranger. This was someone I trusted. Someone who knew how much you meant to me—and still helped keep you from me.
And yet, even that betrayal didn’t stop me. If anything, it lit a fire.
They may have taken away my legal rights, but they couldn’t take away the truth. They couldn’t touch my love for you. Or my need to find you. Or the belief that one day, you’d want to know the real story.
So here it is.
12 Years of Silence: The Search That Never Ended
For twelve years, I searched for you, Anna Mae.
I didn’t have lawyers. I didn’t have investigators. I didn’t have some dramatic, movie-style moment where everything clicks. I had me. Just a broke guy in Champion, Ohio, with a laptop, a notebook, and a heart that never stopped aching for a daughter he’d never even met.
And still—I searched.
I started with what I had. I called anyone who might’ve known where Shirley had gone—old friends from Praise Cathedral, cousins I barely remembered, people she’d worked with at a restaurant in Warren.
“Hey, it’s Derek. Have you seen Shirley Knotts? She took my daughter—Anna Mae. I’m trying to find them.”
Most hadn’t seen her since she left. A few said maybe she’d moved—Pennsylvania, possibly West Virginia—but nobody had a number, an address, anything solid.
Still, I wrote it all down. Every rumor. Every maybe. Every “I think I heard…” I filled notebooks.
When the phone calls didn’t get me anywhere, I turned to the internet.
Social media wasn’t what it is now, but I used everything I could. I posted on Facebook—public posts, hoping they’d be seen by someone, anyone:
“Does anyone know where Shirley Knotts is? She has my daughter.”
I posted every few months. Year after year. Just in case.
Eventually, I started tweeting too:
“Still searching for Shirley Knotts. Still trying to find Anna Mae.”
Sometimes I’d get likes. Or a “Sorry, man.” But never anything that helped.
I tried public records. Marriage licenses. Property databases. Court dockets. I’d search anything with Shirley’s name.
Half the time, I didn’t even know where to look. The rest of the time, the information was locked behind paywalls I couldn’t afford. I called courthouses in Trumbull County, in Warren, anywhere I could think of.
“Do you have any birth records or custody filings with Shirley Knotts’ name?”
“You need a case number. A specific filing date,” they’d say.
I didn’t have either.
But I kept going.
Kept digging.
Kept hoping.
Those years weren’t just hard—they nearly broke me.
In those early months, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, soaked in sweat from nightmares where I’d lose you all over again. I’d stumble to the bathroom, grip the sink, and try to breathe.
Some nights, I thought I was dying. My chest so tight, the ache so sharp, I could barely stand up.
The panic attacks faded. But the ache didn’t.
I thought about you every single day.
What did you look like? Did you like dolls? Or soccer? Did you laugh like your mom—or like me?
Every year, around your birthday, I’d stop what I was doing and just… sit. I’d close my eyes and picture you. And I’d pray. Messy, unfiltered, desperate prayers. Asking God to protect you. To bring you back to me. To let you know—somehow—that I was still out here, waiting.
I never wanted to be a deadbeat dad, Anna Mae. Never.
My dream was simple: to have you with me part of the time. The way I do now with your little brother, Tanner—seven days with me, seven with his mom. Fair. Balanced. Whole.
That’s what I wanted for us too.
Movie nights. Weekend adventures. Inside jokes. Memories.
But Shirley took that chance away.
And every day since, I’ve been trying to get it back.
The Breakthrough: Finding You in 2024
And then, in 2024 — everything changed.
I did something I’d done a hundred times before. I opened Facebook, typed the same post I’d written year after year:
“Does anyone know where Shirley Knotts is? Please let me know.”
I hit share. Closed the app. Didn’t expect much.
But this time… someone responded.
Out of the blue, a woman from my church messaged me:
“I think she’s in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio.”
My hands started shaking.
Could this really be it? After twelve years of silence, of heartbreak, of searching in the dark — could this be the lead I’d been praying for?
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I sat at my laptop, using every trick I’d picked up over the years. I combed through Summit County property records, cross-checked tax data, ran searches for Shirley Koehler and Jacob Koehler, and pieced it together the way you would a puzzle without a picture.
And finally… I found you.
Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. Just an hour away from Champion.
You had been right there — so close this whole time.
When it finally sank in, I broke. I sat on the floor of my living room and cried. Not polite, quiet tears — the kind of sobs that shake your whole body. The kind of grief and joy that come crashing into each other all at once.
It wasn’t just relief. It was heartbreak too. Because now I knew — I could’ve been closer all along. But I hadn’t known. I hadn’t been allowed to know.
Still, I couldn’t just show up. As badly as I wanted to drive straight to that house and knock on the door, I knew I had to do this the right way.
Through the courts. Through the system.
So no one could accuse me of doing it wrong. So no one could twist it.
I filed.
I started the legal process — not because I thought it would be easy, but because I knew it was the only way to make sure my voice couldn’t be ignored.
And I made myself a promise:
No matter how long it takes — I won’t stop this time.
The Legal Fight: Battling a System Stacked Against Me
By the end of 2024, I was ready to do what I’d waited over a decade to do: fight to be in your life — officially, legally, on record.
But I had to do it without a lawyer.
I had just come out of a brutal and expensive custody battle for your little brother, Tanner. Emotionally drained. Bank account empty. I didn’t have the money for legal help. So I did what so many dads like me are forced to do — I went in pro se.
That means I filed everything myself. I wrote the motions. I printed the forms. I Googled court procedures and tried to teach myself how to navigate a legal system designed to drown people like me.
At first, I thought I could fight for custody. I figured I’d get a DNA test, prove I was your father, and go from there.
But then I talked to a lawyer for advice — and what he told me hit like a truck:
“If another man signed the birth certificate and it wasn’t challenged within two years…
your parental rights are gone.”
Just like that.
That’s what Jacob did.
He signed your birth certificate when you were four — knowing he wasn’t your biological father. And because Shirley had hidden you away, I didn’t even know it had happened. I didn’t know to challenge it. I didn’t even know I needed to.
I always believed I was your legal father. That my name was on your birth certificate. That I would have rights if I ever found you.
But by the time I finally discovered the truth — buried in court documents I found years later — the two-year window had already passed.
The law said it was too late.
I sat there in that lawyer’s office, staring at the wall, feeling like the floor had been ripped out from under me. Like I’d lost you all over again.
But I wasn’t going to walk away.
If I couldn’t ask the court for custody, I’d ask for something else: third-party visitation.
It’s not custody. It’s not even shared time. It’s what a grandparent might get — just the right to see you, even occasionally. But it was a way in. A way to be heard. A chance to start.
It wasn’t the life I wanted with you. But it was something. So I took it.
I filed everything myself and sent it to Cuyahoga Falls, where you live with Shirley and Jacob.
That’s when the real fight began.
They refused the certified mail. Sent it back, unopened.
So I paid the Summit County Sheriff’s Department to deliver the papers. They tried three times. No answer.
I hired a private process server — someone who’d done this kind of thing hundreds of times. He went out three more times.
Still nothing.
Six attempts total.
One time, he saw Shirley and a child moving around inside the house. He knew they were home.
But they wouldn’t answer the door.
I asked, “Can’t you just leave the papers on the porch?”
He shook his head. That’s not how the law works.
To count, they have to be handed over. Or willingly accepted.
And they’re doing everything they can to avoid that.
They’re not just dodging emotionally — they’re dodging legally. Doing everything in their power to keep this from even reaching a judge.
They don’t want it heard.
But I’m not going anywhere.
I’ve learned a lot through my fight for Tanner — how to speak when your voice shakes, how to file a motion when the odds are against you, how to keep showing up when you feel invisible.
The system isn’t built for dads like me. I’ve seen that clearly.
Moms get free attorneys, free resources, free shelters. Dads? Dads get told to figure it out.
So that’s what I’m doing. I’m figuring it out.
Because I want to sit across from you one day. Look you in the eyes. And say:
“I never gave up on you.”
Because I didn’t.
Because I won’t.
A Message to Anna Mae: You Are Loved
Anna Mae, if you’re reading this… this part is just for you.
I don’t know what you’ve been told about me. Maybe you were told I didn’t care. Maybe you were told I disappeared. Maybe no one mentioned me at all. Maybe you’ve grown up thinking Jacob is your biological father.
Whatever the story has been — I want you to hear the truth straight from me.
My name is Derek Salyers.
I am your father.
And I have loved you from the moment I knew you existed.
For twelve years, I’ve searched for you. Prayed for you. Cried over you. I’ve imagined your smile, wondered about your laugh, and carried your name in my heart every single day. Even though we’ve never met — you’ve been with me, always.
And now that I’ve found you, I want you to know something important:
I’m not here to take anything from you.
I’m not trying to replace the life you’ve built. I’m not here to take you away from your mom or from Jacob. I know you have a history that I wasn’t part of. And I know learning about all of this might feel overwhelming — maybe even confusing, scary, or upsetting.
I get that. I really do.
This isn’t about me trying to force something. This is about making sure you know the truth — and giving you a choice. A door that’s open, no matter how long it takes for you to want to walk through it.
You don’t owe me anything.
I just want you to know I’m here — and I always have been.
Every birthday, I’ve paused and wondered what you were doing. Every holiday, I imagined where you might be. I’ve sat in silence and prayed for your safety, for your happiness, for your heart. I’ve pictured you running through the yard, walking into school, growing up year by year — and wishing I could be there for even one of those moments.
And now, even though I can’t rewind the clock, I can tell you the one thing that hasn’t changed:
You are still my daughter. And I have never stopped loving you.
You also have a little brother — Tanner. He’s five years old, wild and goofy and full of energy. He would absolutely adore you. I can already picture him running up and hugging you the moment he sees you, whether you’re ready for it or not. You’ve got the same spark in your eyes.
And it’s not just him. You’ve got a whole extended family who’s asked about you every single year — your grandparents, your aunts and uncles. Every holiday. Every family gathering.
“Any news about Anna Mae?”
“Have you heard anything yet?”
They’ve been waiting for you too. Quietly. Patiently. Hopefully.
Just like me.
If you ever want to reach out — I’ll be here.
You can message me privately through the contact form on OMG It’s Derek. You don’t have to write anything big. You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to.
You can just say “Hi.” Or ask a question. Or say nothing at all until you’re ready.
This is your pace. Your choice. Your story now.
And I’ll wait.
I’ll wait as long as it takes.
My Hope
So here I am, Anna Mae.
Still fighting.
Still hoping.
Still holding onto you in my heart.
This journey — twelve years of searching, losing, finding, and fighting — has been for one reason and one reason only: you.
I don’t know how or when you might read this. Maybe you’ll stumble across it years from now while searching your name. Maybe a friend or a stranger in Cuyahoga Falls, or Warren, or Niles, will see this and pass it along. Or maybe it will sit here, quietly, waiting for its moment — just like I’ve been.
However it happens, this post will still be here.
And so will I.
My hope is simple, but it means everything:
To meet you.
To know you.
To be your dad — in whatever way you’re open to.
I’m not here to erase your past. I’m not trying to rewrite your story. I just want to offer you the part of it you were never given — the truth, the love, the connection that was taken from us.
Shirley and Jacob may keep dodging. The legal system might keep dragging its feet. But there’s a fire in me that won’t go out. Every form I fill, every step I take, every prayer I whisper… it all moves me closer to you.
And if I ever get the chance to look you in the eyes — I’ll say what I’ve wanted to say for twelve years:
“I’ve been here the whole time.”
“You were never forgotten.”
“You are so loved.”
To anyone else reading this:
If you know Anna Mae Koehler, or Shirley Koehler, or Jacob Koehler — especially in the Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio area — please share this letter.
Post it. Forward it. Email it. Text it. Every share is a chance that this reaches Anna Mae. A chance that she finds her way here. A chance for her to see what she was never told.
And to the fathers out there fighting their own battles to be in their children’s lives:
Don’t quit.
The system may not care.
But your kids will.
One day, they will.
Anna Mae, if you’ve made it this far — thank you for reading.
I’m your dad.
I’ve been your dad from the very beginning.
And I’ll still be your dad, no matter how long it takes.
Twelve years. A hundred more.
Whatever it takes.
I’ll keep showing up.
I’ll keep loving you from a distance — until I can love you face to face.
You’re my daughter.
That’s forever.
With all my love,
Derek Salyers
Your Dad