I just need to get this out, no need to respond, I just need to write this down.
When I was 16 I thought I was pregnant by my BF, I got a test at the FPC (as it was) and was told I wasnt. 5 months later I realised that I was, it was too late for a termination (which I would have had) and I was no longer with the BF. I didnt tell anyone until I was 8 months and obviously pg, when my parents pushed me to answer them. I said I would have him adopted, it seemed so simple. I was pg and I didnt want to be so I would have him adopted, he would get a good life and I could go on like nothing had happened.
Then I had him. As soon as I looked into his eyes I knew he was mine and I could never let him go. My father couldnt cope with the idea that his first grandchild would be given away, he sobbed and sobbed. My mother however pushed me to go through with the adoption for him and me. She wanted me to have the opportunities that she never had and thought (wrongly) that a child would prevent that. She also didnt want her grandchild to be brought up in a single parent family. This was 1990.
I was told in hospital that I was fine and could go home but DS had jaundice and needed to stay in. He had a foster family lined up, so I needed to make a decision. I sat there with mum on one side telling me that I knew what I must do, I should do the right thing for him and me and give him away, and dad in tears. I said "I am keeping him, if that means I have to move out then I will".
I kept him. 23 years later he is still with me. But this week he is moving out. I want him to move out because he needs to move his life on, he needs to find his feet and be his own man.
I cant stop crying. I feel just like I did on that day, sitting on that hospital bed with my newborn son in his crib next to me, with social workers, my parents, the foster parents, the midwives, all waiting for him to leave me.
23 years but it feels like 5 minutes.