The Son I Lost for 31 Years
When I was eighteen, my parents forced me to give up my newborn son. For thirty-one years, I searched for him, believing he had been adopted by strangers. Then, at forty-nine, I woke up in a hospital after emergency surgery and saw my surgeon wearing a silver cross I had placed in my baby’s blanket. In that moment, everything I thought I knew about my past began to fall apart.
I still remember the day I told my parents I was pregnant. My mother dropped the dish towel, and my father pushed his chair back angrily.Track Pregnancy
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“Who is the father?” he demanded. “Tell me his name!”
I refused to answer. I was frightened, but I knew one thing for certain: I wanted to keep my baby.
“You have no money and nowhere to live,” my father warned. “You cannot raise a child on your own.”