Words can’t even begin to express my thoughts and feelings at the moment. Through a lot of effort and turmoil I finally know my son is alive. I’ve found him. At least I'm 99.9% sure it's him. I know his name and I’ve seen pictures, I have sat and stared at those pictures with a mixture of so much relief and yet pangs of agony. For so many years even the knowledge that he was alive and well was asking too much. Relief because he appears healthy and happy and over the period of a few minutes I was able to find out more about him than I’ve known for over 18 years. From what little I can garner about his life he appears to have a good one. He seems healthy and well-adjusted, and although that makes me so amazingly happy, it’s also a bitter pill to swallow. Does that mean that he was better off without me? I’d like to think not, that he has had a good life so far and was raised by wonderful parents, but that it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have been a good mother to him all the same.
I haven’t contacted him, and probably won’t, at least not for a long while. He’s only 18 years old and I haven’t a clue what is going on in his life. After 18 and a half years of not even knowing if he was dead or alive I’m not willing to jeopardize a relationship with him by imposing in his life at a time when I’m unwelcome or unwanted. It’s heartbreaking that as the person who brought him into this world, having done what I believed/was told was best for him, and having loved him every day since that I have to worry about that, but I do. However, I know his name, I know where he grew up, and I can look at his face and wonder if he resembles me, things I didn’t know and wasn’t able to do until last week, but most importantly, I know that he’s alive! What sweet relief!