In 1959 I was a pregnant, unmarried woman. My child's father chose not to marry me. So at the young age of 20 I made a decision on my own to give my son up for adoption. I vacillated the whole term of my pregnancy, until the actual day of birth. I chose not to see or hold my son for fear of not being able to let go. How painful have been those 30 years since that decision was made.
I have been happily married for 28 years, have five lovely children and am pursuing my career. Never have I replaced the emptiness of my first born.
I made contact with my son last October, and we have been in touch ever since. This is not to say that there has been a happy ending. It is a bittersweet experience that keeps unfolding.
I feel loved by my son and his wife, and there are two grandchildren whom I dearly love. I met the adoptive parents, and they are loving people. I'm jealous of them for having the opportunity to raise my child. I'm working on overcoming these feelings.