My son is someone I hardly know since he was taken from me by the department of health and human services almost six years ago. He first was put into a foster home with his younger brother, and that did not pan out for whatever reason. Then, he and his brother were separated for awhile and eventually were able to see each other, but, that did not last very long either … Now, he is living in Florida somewhere with friends, (I hope). He was living on the streets for awhile and sleeping where ever he could, and through all of this turmoil my oldest child is dealing with, my hand are tied.
His so called father, a term I use loosely, because he never really wanted my son, whom I will call J.P. I love my child, don’t get me wrong, but as a parent, you try and teach your children to respect themselves and to love who they are as a person. I feel as though I have failed as a parent. J.P. is going to be turning eighteen soon and I have recently learned that he might be a father himself soon. I am not ready to become a grandmother at forty-one. I know that I did my very best raising him and that I gave him the best childhood I could and with that, I know that he will straighten his life out and be the man I know he is capable of becoming.