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.