Pregnancy is a blissful time. When pregnant with baby number three the blissfulness of it all just runs right through you. Today May 10th, 2006 my son was born. Although it was an emergency c-section he was brought into this world screaming and purple after being almost strangled to death by the umbilical cord. I had my son. My family was ecstatic and my dad was the proudest Papa in the world. Things were hard but I never gave up and always tried to do what was best for my family. I did the best I could with what I had to work with. Around three months old we started noticing freckles all over my son's body. He got hot very quickly and didn't tolerate the sun very well. He was diagnosed with XP shortly before his third birthday. He had his first plastic surgeries to remove cancerous growths just days after he turned three. I felt helpless. I couldn't fix what was going on internally with him. I couldn't make it all better. I learned everything I could about his unique medical condition and persued every avenue I could to help him to have and be a normal kid. I questioned why him, why my family. When we saw the geneticist he had an explanation. Both of my son's grandfather's had been in Vietnam both had been exposed to Agent Orange. This could be a result of the long ranging effects on my husband's and my genetics. In order for our son to have XP both parents are carriers for the recessive gene. One in a million chances of our son having this condition is what we were told. Clearly I was scared to death. We were poor and did have a lot of resources. My family helped all they could. Finally things got better, only to turn worse again. In October 2009 my father passed. His last request to me was to ensure my son got to his appointment at the NIB. We never made the appointment. Life snuck up and but me in the butt. Within a month of my father's passing something terrible happened. My husband and children were taken. My middle daughter had told at school that her father had been touching her inappropriately. My husband was arrested and charged and my children were taken by child protective services. My son was returned in three months and my middle daughter was returned four years later. My oldest daughter came to live with me right before the start of middle school. My mom came to live with me. She babysat while I worked 60 hours a week. We had a good thing going. Then I met my second husband. In the beginning things were okay. I'm not going to say they were great but he did help me through a lot of heartache and helplessness. I had two pf my kids at home and worked hard to get the third one home. Before my dad passed he talked to me. One thing he was very adamant about was to remember it's not the material stuff that's important, it's the people that are the most important. So I did everything that was asked of me. Everything I needed to do in order for my daughter to come home. All the while I watched at each visitation her bragging about her new family, her new toys, her new clothes. Hoping and praying she'd come home. Finally she did. Things were crazy. She had a sleuth of pills and appointments. Her behavior was erratic and she had long term psychological issues associated with the abuse she had endured. Four years of foster care didn't help either. She was in 14 different homes during that time. Finally she was home. I was ecstatic about her being with us. Then shortly after she came home things started deteriorating. My second husband was controlling. Things had to be his way or no way. Personally I don't think he was mentally able to handle all the chaos. We didn't even make it a year with her home. It was just after Halloween when the straw broke. She ran away and again this time to the police department with horribly wild allegations of things she had done. Child protective services came back again and this time they took them permanently. I remeber kneeling on the floor to look onto the scared face of my son and i told him "you have to go with them, you'll be fine and home soon I promise." Now all these years later that conversation with my son still haunts me. I did everything they asked again. I drove hours to visit him. Every time we'd meet he'd beg to come home. I reassured him he'd be home soon. I remember the call. It was a Saturday our trial was to start on Monday. My attorney called. His news was devastating. He told me we were going to lose our case. He said to me you need to decide now you can go forward and end up in prison or allow them to terminate your parental rights. I remember just collapsing on the porch shaking and just sick to my stomach. He needed to know my answer before court on Monday. Three hours later I called him back. I had to make the hardest decision of my life. I had to give up. I chose instead of the court terminating my rights I would volunteer to terminate my rights to my children. I was in anguish. I had never backed down from a fight, I had never given up hope of getting my son home. In three hours I chose to do something that would affect me and my children for the rest of my life. Over the next few days I was in a haze. Then the court date came. I put on a brave face and stood before a judge and terminated my own parental rights. I fell into a depression I couldn't shake. I even contemplated suicide. The only thing that kept me going was knowing when the kids turned 18 and were adults I would get to see them again. My dad was right. It's the people that matter. My oldest daughter hates me, my middle daughter spent years locked up in a mental facility because she was a danger to herself and others, and my son well....the last time I saw him was his 10th birthday. He just turned 12 in May. Not a day goes by that I don't regret my decision. I still punish myself daily because of that choice. Yes there were a lot of factors that led up to the destruction of my family. My need to have all my kids under my roof, my poor choice in a controlling man, an attorney who was spineless and a system that was hell bent to destroy the family I fought so hard to reunify. Over the years the heartache has been pushed to the back of my mind. It's still there waiting for me to become weak and to succumb to the anger and helplessness. My mom gives me updates on the girls but hasn't heard anything about my son in over a year. I miss them everyday. My oldest is 19 now she's going to be 20 in a few months. She's in the Navy and although I can't tell her how proud I am of her I hope one day she reads this and knows I've always been her biggest supporter. My middle daughter has been bouncing around in foster care, mainly shelters, youth homes and mental facilities. I know she's a good kid she's just confused on who she is. My son used to tell me not to cry and he loves me. I hope he knows in his heart I will always love him and I cry everyday. I just can't help not to. I hope wherever he is that he is safe and loved and knows I won't ever stop looking for him. Transformers was one of his favorite movies. His favorite character was Bumblebee. Cars was another of his favorites and Lightning McQueen and Mater were his favorite characters. He loved the movie Sharkboy and Lava Girl in 3D he'd stand so close to the tv i was afraid he would go blind. A lot can happen over the next six years, but I'm looking forward to seeing him and hugging him and hearing all about the last 8 years. One day I will get the chance to tell him all of this in person. I just want all three of my kids to know I love them.