Reflection of adoption

It’s coming up for the most hated time of the year for me. It will be 44 years on the 3rd August that my son was born and it doesn’t get any easier. I shouldn’t let it get to me so much yet it still does and I still can’t talk about it either. It probably comes down to I was expected to carry on as normal as if nothing had happened.

I can still remember my son being born as is it was a recent event. There wasn’t anybody to celebrate with and my tears were of pain and sadness not happiness. I insisted on seeing him and that was the only time I felt happy knowing how beautiful he was. At the same time I knew deep down that this was one battle I wouldn’t win and I wouldn’t raise him.