Earlier this year — Easter morning to be precise — I first discovered that my two teenaged boys (17 & 19) were using heroin. WHAT???
“Yes ma’am. I’m sorry to tell you. We found it in his car.” HEROIN??? “Yes ma’am. Are you okay?”
My glasses weren’t okay. I had thrown them across the room. It was 4:30AM. I was scheduled to sing two church services and had bought a lovely new dress. All three kids said they’d join me at church. The family was coming for dinner. But now… Was this real? My boys? Heroin? It was so far from my comprehension; I felt like I had been assaulted.
Easter has always been my New Years — the day I considered my new start. No matter what had happened the year before, Easter wiped it clean and reminded me of our potential to begin again.
Now, I do my best to see each day as a beginning. Sometimes each hour. I am not the addict. I am the parent of addicts. Five months from that first phone call, I am just able to claim this and not nearly close to understanding what it means. This is my story. Our story. One Mom Talking.