The boy who has my heart

Of all of the parts of my story, of everything that has existed in my life that has made me who I am, this is by far the hardest for me to talk about. This is the only part of my story that I can not talk about without there being almost a guarantee of me becoming visibly upset.

But to not talk about him, to not tell his story…I can’t do that either. As you know, I have 2 sons who I love more than anything on this planet, and I will fight and advocate for them until my last breath. I couldn’t imagine my world without them in it (and the fact that their health issues makes that a very real possibility is more heartbreaking than I can put into words).

I can’t imagine what my life would look like without my two boys.

Except that I can. Because I don’t have two sons.

I have 3

I have three sons. And I have had to not only imagine, but experience, what it is like to live without him.

He is 7 now. I haven’t seen him since he was 3 days old. My husband is not his dad, but he loves him as if he were.

I was 19 when I had him, and the choice to raise him wasn’t mine to make. I fought for him with everything that I could. But my life was unsteady. The relationship that I was in at the time became abusive and manipulative vey quickly. He told me “I won’t tell you what to do, but if you keep it, you’ll be doing it without any help from me”.

Regardless of the why, because the why really doesn’t matter, placing him for adoption was the decision that was made. I chose and met with the adoptive parents very early on, we formed and maintained a great relationship, and everything was as good as it could be.

I have nothing but respect for them. They are great people with good hearts, and I know they are doing a great job raising him.

Still, things are as good as they can be. Unfortunately for me, things can only be so good.

There is absolutely nothing in this world that compares to the pain of losing a child. Because that is exactly what it is. I lost a child. Yes, he exists. I know his name, his address, and his eye color. I know his birthday (I chose the day myself, if I couldn’t raise him, I made sure to give him a kick ass birthday!), but other than that, I don’t know anything.

I’m told things, I get stories, pictures, but I don’t know. I don’t know him like a mother should know her child.

I don’t know what it feels like to hug him. Can you imagine that? If you are parent, then you know. You know what your child feels like when you’re hugging them. You can feel their weight, their shape…it’s a weird thing to explain, but you just know.

It Doesn’t get easier

You might think, well, he’s 7 now, this should be getting easier, right?

I can’t speak for everyone, but for me, this is getting harder and harder. The anticipatory grief of potentially losing my other 2 boys, not knowing if I gave this genetic disorder to him too

The older he gets, the more of a person he becomes. Watching my 4 year old turn into a person rather than just a toddler, seeing the development…I’m missing it. I’m missing him.

Our adoption is considered semi-open, meaning there are not visits, but there is communication between myself and his parents. I send gifts on Christmas and birthdays, send texts and updates, they send me pictures, we’re “friends” on social media…but no visits.

I don’t know what he knows, I don’t know if he knows about me yet. He has an older brother who was also adopted, and I don’t know where he is either in his journey. Their parents have always said that they will leave it up to him if and when he wants to meet me. It will be his decision. They have also told me that when he does come asking questions, they want to be able to tell him “exactly who I am and where I am”. Keping a connection open is important for them too.

I don’t know what he knows. And frankly, that sucks.

I could say more, but this is probably long enough.

Well, there it is, one of my best kept secrets. It is incredibly hard for me to talk about this, but it’s something that is such a huge part of me, that I can’t ignore it. For reference, this post took me over 3 hours to finish.

I want to be as open as I can be with this, because keeping it in, not talking about it…it hasn’t gotten me very far.

I miss him always, but sometimes I miss him extra.

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