- J
My name is Maria Rivera. I am fifty-three years old, married, and the mother of five sons.
In October of 2013, my life changed in a way I once believed would only bring good.
When I was eighteen years old, I gave birth to my first son. I loved him fiercely, but I believed with all my heart that he had a greater purpose in life — one bigger than what I felt I could provide at that time. Through my church, I made the hardest decision of my life and placed him for adoption.
In doing so, I helped fulfill the dream of an incredible woman, Clydie Wakefield. But while I helped her become a mother, I quietly carried years of guilt and loss of self-worth.
I moved forward. I married young, later divorced, and in 1998 married my current husband. Together we had four sons. With the birth of each of them, I cried the first time I held them. My family believed those tears were joy. In truth, they were filled with longing. Each time I wondered how my oldest son was doing.
Every August on his birthday, I called the adoption agency hoping he had searched for me. Every year I was told no. When he turned eighteen, I was told I would have to wait until he was twenty-two to search for him myself. Years later, I would learn that information was incorrect — but at the time, I waited.
In August 2013, I began my search.
By mid-October, I learned his name for the first time: Jared Wakefield.
In December, my husband and I flew to Provo, Utah, to meet him. We ran toward each other in the airport, and he lifted me off my feet and spun me around. Someone once asked me if I regretted giving him up. I said yes — for twenty-two years, three months, and nine days. Not from the moment that I held him, but from the moment I met his mother and saw the beautiful life he had been given.
The day after Christmas, Jared flew to Virginia to meet his four younger brothers. We rang in 2014 together as a family of seven. That spring he returned, bonding deeply with his brothers. We were already planning a summer beach trip with all five of my sons.
When he left that spring, my youngest cried at the airport and said, “Mommy, that’s the last time I’m ever going to see Jared.” I reassured him it wasn’t.
But it was.
The week before Father’s Day, Jared went to the dentist. As he came out of anesthesia, he coughed and inhaled a piece of gauze that had not been accounted for. He choked. In the attempt to intubate him, the gauze was pushed farther down. Jared went into cardiac arrest. His heart stopped for thirty-seven minutes.
When I walked into the ICU, I knew.
There was no brain activity.
His family looked at me and said, “He is your son. We will support whatever you decide.”
And once again, I had to make a decision no mother should have to make.
I chose to let him go.
In his passing, Jared saved multiple lives through organ donations.
After his death, I fell into darkness. I drank. I raged. I woke up angry that I was still breathing. I didn’t care about myself, my marriage, or my family. I felt empty and black inside.
Then someone asked me a question that changed my life:
“If the roles were reversed, how would you want Jared to live?”
I answered immediately. I would want him to live boldly. Fully. Proudly. I would want him to see everything, touch everything, taste everything.
And then he said, “Don’t you think that’s what he wants for you?”
That question saved me.
I chose to live in the light.
I rode camels in front of pyramids with my sons. I watched sunsets in Dubai. I swam with whale sharks in Mexico. I stood on the Spanish Steps in Italy and professed my love to my husband. I put my feet in the waters of Oman. I stood inside a centuries-old mosque in Istanbul. I jumped off the Stratosphere in Las Vegas. I walked Bourbon Street during a hurricane. I froze overnight in New York City to hold a sign on the Today Show for my boys.
I built a life Jared would be proud of.
But in building that life, I neglected something deeply personal: my health.
After the trauma of losing Jared in a dental procedure, I developed severe dental anxiety. I avoided care unless absolutely necessary. Over time, infections, broken teeth, and emergency extractions left me with only one front tooth remaining on the top.
I am embarrassed to admit that — but I am more tired of hiding.
Because of the shape of my palate and a severe gag reflex, traditional dentures are not an option. The recommended solution is All-on-4 dental implants. I have been quoted as much as $70,000 after insurance. I have saved and lost savings when life demanded that we care for family. I have researched endlessly. I have postponed as long as possible.
Now I am at a point where my ability to eat, speak comfortably, and smile without shame is affected daily.
This is not about vanity.
It is about health.
It is about confidence.
It is about living fully — not hiding.
I fought to survive losing my son.
I fought to rebuild my life.
Now I am asking for help so I can smile in it.
Any support — financial or simply sharing my story — means more than I can express.
With gratitude,
Maria Rivera