I have a 15-year-old daughter. My hope for Cathy is that she will understand her innate value, and not attach to the crazy pressures our culture puts on girls and women these days. When I am not wearing my addict-mom identity, this is my passion — helping women know their natural value as God’s creations! In doing this, perhaps I can set a stage where my daughter can flourish in her life.
To that end, I will sometimes post links to sites that support us ladies as we walk through this often crazy world. “50-Something Women” is one of those blogs: http://50somethingwoman.blogspot.com.
Let’s grow strong together!
Or in this case “NIMFY” (Not in my front yard) or “NOMS” (Not on my street)!
I got home from choir practice tonight to find Dan’s car parked out in front of my house with him and five of his “old” friends sitting in it. I recognized those faces. And the scene seriously triggered panic in my soul. I texted him “I thought you weren’t going to hang out with those people anymore and WHY ARE YOU SITTING IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE?” Anyway, he went back to his dad’s and called me (at my request) to talk about it.
I said, “You might not remember much about the last six months but I remember everything. I love you and I want you to be well. If you are going to break your own rule and associate with those people, do not do it in front of my house please.” He apologized. Said he is fine. My stomach is nauseous and I’m still awake at 11:45PM. So easily disturbed, I am.
(I wish I was the ocean.)
This is me today.
I just want to thank everyone who has been showing up to give support as I blog this experience! I apologize that I have not done a good job of returning that support lately. I am working a second job (out of home) and it’s all I can do right now to get here and put a new post now and then. BUT if you need to chat, please email me and I will respond.
I do keep you all — and your children — in my prayers each day. My heart goes out to you, and I applaud your strength and commitment to your addicts and yourselves. Thank you for being here!
Maybe this is it. Dan came over last night. He looked good. i didn’t see any marks on his arms. (I know you can smoke heroin but I also know that his preferred method of use is the needle). I gave him his Christmas gifts.
It was an awkward visit. We’re both trying not to have his addiction be the center of every conversation. And yet, until he gets his life going, there’s not much else to say. So we talked about his recovery: he is wondering what to do with himself since he cannot go back to his old circle of friends; he will start job searching; he is still journaling about his experience; he hopes to get an apartment in a few months — ready to move forward away from his parents at this point.
Positive: I told him I was trying to get through to a program where they’d give him suboxone (a drug that settles the cravings). He asked me to give him the number, and said he would make the calls. That’s a big step in my mind — that he is ready to take the responsibility for his own recovery to that extent. Heck. He’ll be 20 in a couple of months. Mama is learning to let go.
[Note: I really don’t feel as hopeless as this poem portrays; but I have felt like this at certain moments along the way.]
You came home today.
You came home today,
put your arms around me,
said “I love you”
Dried my tears and I am terrified of you.
I don’t know what you’ll do this time.
How often I will see the reaper sneering back at me
through your eyes
before the hatchet takes its final fall.
You don’t live here anymore.
I’ll take your kisses and your hugs
and your coming over for dinner when you’re tired of
your father’s cooking or political debates and
hours of advice from a man who cannot change your choices.
I miss my son.
You came home today and I think I recognize a man
where my little boy used to be.
I wonder if you still eat dirt
And yearn to build inventions out of broken down machines.
Dan came home from Rehab 2 yesterday. Not home to my house though; home to his dad’s. I was nervous. The hardest part is not knowing what to expect. I do see some differences this time though:
He’s not talking like it’s going to be easy. The first time he came out of rehab, he talked idealistically about how he was changing his life. He was full of rose-colored optimism. Constantly reassuring me. And he was lying the whole time. Using the whole time. Now, he’s talking about the struggle. About how he hopes he can make it. How he hopes he can grow strong enough to serve as an example to others. But he knows it will be hard. He told me, “I’m doing my best mom. I hope I can do it. I think I can. But please know that I might mess up.” Realism. A good sign.
He will drive 30 miles to his after care counseling three times a week. He is not arguing against this. Last time he insisted that he didn’t need support. This time, he says he realizes the only way he can make it is to have a support system in place.
So I’m hoping. But there is that little knot in my stomach. The good news — it’s not there all the time. I don’t think about it all the time. I am sleeping. I am focusing on my other children, my job, my house and not obsessing on Dan and addiction all the time. Another new start for Dan. Another new start for the family.
Praying for you all, and grateful for your support!