To my son; Happy 35th birthday. I love you.

35 years ago, today, at 8:09 a.m., the world received a beautiful baby boy. His head was covered in shiny, dark, straight hair and his eyes were showing flecks of gold and brown. He weighed exactly 8 lbs.

The refused to let me see him; the powers that be *my parents and the doctor that would later sell him to the highest bidder in his wealthy circle of friends* but one 3rd shift nurse whom refused to violate Pennsylvania state laws with the risk of losing her nursing license, took me down to see him at 3:00 a.m. in the morning of March 3 - he was almost 2 days old. Because I was weak from being so ill and my body being so stressed, she had to wheel me down to the nursery in a wheelchair. Western Pennsylvania Hospital in Pittsburgh had A LOT of babies in that nursery! As we walked down the hall and passed by the dozens of babies in the nursery, I saw a nurse standing near the door, feeding the baby she held in her arms - I knew, in that instant that he was my son. The nurse wheeling me laughed and said "with all of these babies in here, you think that's yours?" Crying now, I said "Yes. He's mine."

We get to the entry into the nursery and another nurse comes to the door to greet us. My nurse tells the nursery nurse that I'm here to see my son. The greeting nurse enters the closed door into the nursery and speaks to the nurse feeding the baby and, to the shock of the nurse that wheeled me down, the nurse holding my son walks to the doorway and introduces me to my son. Now, the delivering physician had tried to do everything within his power to keep me from meeting and seeing my son - as per my parents request - but laws outweigh adult's instructions, thank God, and I was allowed to hold, kiss and speak to my son, although it was brief, I'll never forget the way he felt, the way he smelled, the way he looked and the noises that he made when I held him...like he knew it was me, too. *I know now that he DID know it was me*

It's been 35 years and not a day has gone by that I don't think of him, wonder about him and send him love. Not a day. You see, I loved my son. I WANTED my son. But, at 16 years old, with a family like I'd had, my choices were to be homeless with a child in Pennsylvania or to not fight and have a place to live. Having BEEN homeless while pregnant, I didn't want to EVER have my son in that situation because of me so I gave in. I sat through the adoption hearing, listening to the lies my parents and the doctor had made up about my not knowing who his father was so that they wouldn't need to find him and fight for consent - sobbing. I could barely utter a word because the sobs wouldn't stop.

Some birth mothers never care about the child after she's given them up *like my birth mother* but I'm not one of those first mothers. I loved my son from the moment I realized that I was pregnant and have not stopped for 35 years.

So, who ever he is, where ever he is, I hope he 'knows' that he WAS loved.....still IS loved and always will BE loved.

On the eve of my son's 35th birthday; Whomever you are, where ever you are, son, I love you. Always have. Always will.

Well, here I am. Into the day that I was admitted into the hospital and a little less than 31 hours before my son was born. It's been 35 years. 35 years of wondering. 35 years of worrying. 35 years of wishing I could go back and could change what happened.

Not a day has gone by in the last 35 years that I haven't wondered and worried about my son; did he have the same bad luck that I'd had in being adopted by cruel, hateful, unloving people or had he been luckier than I had been? Looking over the medical records from my stay in that dreadful hospital and reading about his birth transports me back - like time travel. I can see his beautiful little face and his head FULL of dark, shiny, straight hair. His eyes already turning brown. If I close my eyes, I can feel his warmth on my arms as I held him for those brief seconds a lifetime ago.

Adopted children are often told stories of terror about their first mothers and, I'm sure, some of those stories are true, but our story wasn't one of his being 'rescued' from some horrible, irresponsible teenager. Our story was one of love, loss and heartbreak. My entire life all I had wanted was to be loved. When I realized that I was pregnant, I knew that the baby I was carrying would be my chance at FINALLY being loved. He had been created out of love so I knew that he'd BE love. I fought. As hard as I could. But all I could think of was what it was like to be a homeless, pregnant teenager - alone, hungry and cold in the forests of Pennsylvania - and I KNEW that I couldn't allow my unborn child to live that way. Adding that I didn't want those whom had raised me so viciously, heartlessly and without love to be anywhere NEAR him; I wouldn't let them do to him what they had done to me.

I was promised by Dr. Norman E. Scott, my mother's friend and the delivering physician that 'arranged' *a.k.a. sold, according to his first wife* my son's adoption that my son and I would be brought together once my son turned 18 and Dr. Scott kept that charade going until shortly before he died. It was only as he laid dying that he admitted that he had lied to me for over 17 years in telling me that he'd introduce me to my son. Dr. Scott added that he fed me the lies to keep me from 'making any trouble for his *adoptive* parents' because there had been so many violations of Pennsylvania laws in the adoption of my son; ie: they ALL lied on the birth certificate and the adoption papers in telling the authorities that I didn't know whom had fathered my son when they knew full well whom had fathered him - all so that they wouldn't have to locate him and get his consent.

35 years and it still hurts like it was yesterday. My life has never been the same. I have never been the same. I'm blessed with two amazing, intelligent, kind and compassionate,beautiful daughters and a step-son whom I love like he's my own but nothing can replace my first born son. Nothing. The hole will be in my heart until the day I find out he's been loved and cared for through his childhood as he grew up. My daughters can't wait to meet and get to know their big brother.

Another year. My heart and mind say 'maybe this will be the year!' Maybe THIS will be the year? I love you, son. Who ever and where ever you are. Happy 35th birthday from your first mom and your sisters.