I have never committed this story to writing. I am doing it now because I think it should be told. God help me (its T minus 1 hour and counting b4 I have to be clocked in!!) I have often thought of putting this all down but haven't done it because of the emotional tax that has to be payed recounting it. I haven't yet been able to tell this story without seeing red and getting sad/mad/hateful/suicidal and tearing up

In '94 I was living with a woman (we will call her A)for a few years when she tells me that she cheated with a person who she didn't really know, and could never locate since he was from another astate and it was a one night stand. She also told me she was pregnant. I was upset to begin with, but after I cooled down, the thought of her alone with the baby was something I wanted to avoid. I still had deep feelings for her. The baby, regardless of how it arrived, was blameless. I stayed with her every step of the way throughout the pregnancy, all the DR visits, every pre-natal exam. I was there for every second of the delivery. I left only to go to the nursery and see the baby, who I will call D. I fell in love right away. It didn't matter to me any more that I was not the biological father. I saw a little boy who needed me. I remember him lying his incubator in the nursery, I came in and was stroking his little head, whispering to him. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I vowed to him I would be the best dad in the world. I would never leave him, a promose I was forced to break. I did something I am not proud of and would come back to bite me and almost derail my relationship with my father. I told my famaily that the baby was mine. It was either that, or tell them what happened and get pressured into leaving her or at the very least treating D as an outsider. Im ashamed of this and if I could do it over, I would tell the truth. I did come clean and tell them after the fact that I had lied and why I lied. We had decided to likewise tell D, at least in the beginning, that I was his father.

We took him back home a few days later. She had some post postpartum depression issues but I was there and took excellent care of our newborn. After the depression, I just continued to get up at night for feedings and changings. Truth be told, I loved it. I didn't mind. At the time she was going to a local university for nursing degree and I was D's full time care giver during the school year working night time as a temp, doing whatever I could to keep our heads above the water…selling plasma to pay for the diapers was a regular thing. I was right there for every single one of his firsts. I took him everywhere I went and we were inseparable. He got sick a few times, he had some asthma as a small child. I was there by his side the entire time in Children's hospital, I never left him until it was time for him to be released. This happened 3 separate times. When he was about 5, his mother started acting strangely. She would leave and not come home till later and later and later until she started not coming home for days on end. She had become involved with some other guy I found out. We wound up separating and I kept our son with me most of the time so he wouldn't get confused while she got her life straightened out. I got an apartment for us and we were doing pretty well until the building caught fire and we lost most everything we had. A friend took us in, gave us a room, watched my son while I worked. During this time, I had D-----, his mom came over to visit him once in awhile but for the most part I had him with me. About the time that A started not coming home, I met a woman I will call K, who had a daughter named L the same age as D. She would look after D while I went to give plasma or to work , fed us and made sure we were okay. D and L became very close but there was never anything between K and myself until years after I had lost D.

A wound up marrying this person and at that point, she started taking our son more often, keeping him with her. She told me that she was living in her Dads house and there was a room for our son, and this was to be his address now. I could still come get him (that lasted for a few weeks) and got harder and harder to do until I was being told to just leave when I came to pick up D. I got a summons a few days later to appear at a clinic to undergo paternal testing. I knew what hat meant. I was being dealt our of my little boys life. A few weeks later, it was a matter of fact I was not his father. I had no legal footing whatsoever. I got a lawyer and I fought, but in the end, I was not his biological father. I was not married to his mom. The only thing I had was my name on his birth certificate. There was one incident that stands out in my mind. I was awarded visitation at the beginning of the legal process. I was also to get D for a special weekend that was planned. I had the court order in my hand as I went to pick up D from A's mom. I was denied by her mom and so was nto able to get D for the amusement part trip we had planned. In the end I lost my son. The court saw no reason for me to be involved in his life. The last time I saw my son, he was telling me that he had a new dad, and he was supposed to call me by my name and that I was not "dad" any more. ( this was a few weeks before I lost all rights to see him, I had come over to see him on his birthday, he told me he couldn't take the present I brought ( I still have it) and his mom let me know that his name could be getting changed (he was named after my brother and father). I made the decision to not fight any more. The look on his face, the tone in his voice, his overall confusion about what was happening, all told me that it was time to stop fighting and let the inevitable happen.

My family adored her (before she took D) and D, My father sent her to Toronto to see Phantom Of The Opera, paid for it all. Threw outlandish Christmas and Birthday parties for D. My brother would make regular trips to town to see us. And even took us up to his house for a weekend. After A and I broke up, my friend K and I took D and L to my dads for xmas and birthdays.

I cannot convey the feeling of loss. There are no words that comes close to expressing the utter sense of hopelessness. The thought that my little boy needed me but I could not even see him. I was not going to see him grow up. I was never going to hear his voice again. It was as if he had died. I wanted to die. I didn't. Id like to say that it has gotten easier to live with. It hasn't. I have thought about him every single day since then. I celebrate his birthday. He turned 18 this year. It would be nice to talk to him but I don't know where he is. I intentionally made no attempt to locate him since I wanted to stay out of his life so as to not confuse him. It sure would be nice to talk to 18 year old D , but as for 5 year old D, he is gone forever. What did I learn? What was my lesson from this? Tell the truth. To yourself and your family. Also, if you don't try to be a Good Guy Greg, be a Scumbag Steve or you might find your self a Bad Luck Brian.

Proof