I was in a state school when I had my son Michael, at the age
of 18. The doctor at the school told me if I didn’t sign
the papers to give up my baby, I wouldn’t get out of school.
I knew right then I couldn’t take care of him… because
I wouldn’t have been given the chance. So I gave Michael
up to another family. At that time you had to do what you were
told. I only saw my son once, when he was one.
I love my son very much. Every time I thought of him I would
cry, wondering how he looked and how he was.
Years later his adoptive mother and father died. I thought he
might need me now. My cousin Emily found his address and I wrote
to him. I gave him my address and phone number. One day I heard
a knock at the door, and when I opened it, there he was! He said, “My
mom the munchkin.” We began seeing each other a lot. I
felt a bit like a mom. He was honest and told me he was a bad
boy when he was young. Well, that was the past.
We had lots of good times together. We especially had fun at
the fireworks in Millbury on one Fourth of July.
I’ll always remember these good times. I wish they could
have lasted longer. For some reason he knew he wasn’t going
to live to be fifty. He died about two and a half years ago.
It’s good that I have a picture of him when he was in the
Navy and I have his cat named “Baby”.
If he had lived, he would have married a good
lady named June. She is still taking his death hard. As time
goes by, it gets
easier. I still cry for him.
So I had a brief time with my Michael and then I had to say
goodbye – for the second time.
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