I have also chosen to go anonymous to answer this question.I got pregnant the second time I ever had sex.I was 14 years old.I came from a “good” family, and had good grades and lots of friends. Sex was something I thought you did to keep a boyfriend, I certainly didn't enjoy it back then - there wasn't much to it. I didn’t know anything about birth control and even if I did, I sure wouldn’t have known how to get it back then and this was well before the days of Plan B.I had a feeling fairly quickly that something was amiss - so my two best girlfriends and I played hooky from school and took the bus to a nearby city to a Planned Parenthood office to take a pregnancy test. I remember us joking and laughing in the waiting area until the nurse came to get me. She took me into a private room and talked to me about my options - I could keep the baby if my family was willing to help me (I was too young to apply for any kind of government assistance), I could have an abortion, or I could give the baby up for adoption.The first was out. I knew there was no way my family would allow me to keep a baby being so young myself and my mother would be very worried about what other people thought, but I didn’t feel right about having an abortion so I chose to have the baby and surrender.My mother was enraged when I told her my decision - I’m sure partly with concern for how difficult it would likely be for me, but she also couldn’t handle the stigma of having a pregnant teenaged daughter. My dad told me that whatever choice I made, he would support me. I found a maternity home about an hour away and my parents shipped me off there around my 15th birthday. Luckily, I would up with a very compassionate ob/gyn who took exceptional care of me and treated me with kindness and respect.When my son was born after a very long, difficult labor, he immediately put him in my arms as I had asked. I had 6 days to feed and hold and love my son before the provincial papers to surrender were signed. On that day, my parents came up to get me (and my mother probably wanted to make sure I didn’t change my mind) I loved my son with every part of my being, but I could see no way to care for him and give him the life I felt he deserved. I signed the papers.It was a closed adoption, so though I was allowed to name him, I knew his name would likely be changed. I wrote a letter to him and another one to his adoptive parents and hoped one day they would let him read them. Just like the other poster (so far) on this question, I never stopped thinking about him and also struggled with the heartbreak and depression of the loss. I spent most of my high school years numbing myself with booze and pot, but I remained a good student, so most people didn’t see how deeply distraught I was.From the day I surrendered him, I began counting down the years until I could try to see him again. I felt that I would wait until he was 18 before I registered with the provincial registry as they would only give me non-identifying information before then. I did register on his 18th birthday but he hadn’t yet registered and I wondered if he knew about me or ever wanted to meet me. When my family mentioned it at all, it was generally to remind me not to “intrude” on his life. I was expected to get on with my life and forget about him and though I became very successful in my career, I never married and never had any other children.Eventually, by the time he was in his very early 20’s, the province that I live in opened up their records so that birth families and adoptees could find each other more easily. I could now access his identifying his information if I wanted to, but he could chose to veto my search if he wanted to. He didn’t. I was able to find him very quickly when the paper work finally arrived. By then I had the internet to make my search easier.I finally worked up the courage to call him one Saturday afternoon. I gently explained who I was and who I believed him to be. He was overwhelmed and seemed very happy to hear from me. I fell to my knees on my floor just to speak to him. It was the most emotional experience of my life. We talked for a few hours and then I wrote him a letter to fill him in a little more on the missing pieces. That same night, his mom called me to introduce herself and, most wonderfully of all, to welcome me to the family. She had raised our son to know he was adopted, and always promised him that if he ever wanted to find me that she would support him and help him.She told me all about him - funny little details about his childhood and his pets and his friends. It was incredibly touching to have her support and it made our reunion so much easier for everyone. I met with her first, along with her daughter (my son’s younger sister). Perhaps they wanted to size me up first, but I really didn’t mind. On that first meeting they gave me a photo album crammed with pictures of my son throughout his life. It was an incredible gift.Finally, a few weeks later I drove to the city where my son lived - the same city I surrendered him in. He and his mom met me for dinner. I was so nervous and so was he. She was funny and warm and made it a little easier. The three of us spent the evening together getting to know one another. At the end of the evening, when I got out of the car in front of the hotel I was staying in, my son jumped out and hugged me. It was magic. I felt I had waited my whole life to hold him in my arms again. He was just over 7 pounds when I said good bye, he was a grown man when I held him again. It was beyond anything I had ever experienced or could accurately describe.The next evening just he and I went out. He showed me the letter I had written to him the night before I surrendered him as a baby. His parents had given it to him when he was 15 and he kept it safely pressed in a book since then. I told him I was sorry if I caused him any pain by surrendering him, but that I felt I had no other choice and I wanted the best for him. He said he understood and that he had a good life and knew he was loved by his family, but also by me, that he understood how much I must have loved him to have let him go.Since then, we’ve just continued to grow our relationship. His mom and sister now live in the city I live in, and we see each other as often as our schedules allow. My son and I did some travelling together and spent more time getting to know each other and see how much alike we are - both ridiculously stubborn and opinionated, both loyal, both with a love of travel and cultures. His mom often laughs at how similar we are. A few years ago, he married a fantastic girl and we all welcomed their first baby into the world just after Christmas.Now, surrendering a child is not an experience I would wish on anyone. Neither would I wish being a pregnant teen on anyone. No matter what choice you make, the consequences are difficult and lifelong. For many, many years, I felt isolated from the rest of the world because I didn’t share this truth about myself, or if I did, it was with a sense of shame and loss.When I found my son, I had to find some way to integrate my life with my found son and his family and somehow get everyone in my world to understand why this was life and death important for me and they could either support me or lose me. For some, it was easy, for others, far more difficult, but I am glad we all found a way to make it work. Families are built in a number of different ways and I am grateful to be where I am now. I know how lucky I am.