[RavenSong]

Three weeks after I relinquished my son at age 17, I was evaluated by a psychiatrist for clinical depression. By the end of the session, he had decided I was grieving the loss of my son in the same way that I would have if he had died. Part of his theory made sense to me, but much of it didn't feel right.

In the 36 years that have elapsed since my son's birth, I have come to realize that, for me at least, the unresolved grief I dealt with for so many years was actually more akin to the type of grief and despair that people go thru when their loved ones are missing in action or taken prisoner of war. You aren't ever sure if they're dead or alive...you don't know if they're being taken care of properly or being abused. You have no idea where they are living or if they are living at all.

It was the not knowing that caused me the most pain, I think. When my son was a child, I used to go outside every night, and look at the moon and stars. And I would imagine that somewhere in this big world of ours', he was looking at the same sky. For some reason, this brought me a measure of solace.

The other thing that did give me some peace was my belief that even though I didn't know where my son was living, God knew exactly where he was. So I would pray each and every night that God would keep an extra close eye on my boy. And He did....