Category Archives: Recovering Child

Moving Forward/Letting Go

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.

Poem: “You Came Home”

[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.
Or when.
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.

Another New Start

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!

Hope Walking

My son is going back into rehab.  And I have written this poem, tentatively titled:  “Hope Walking.”

Hope Walking
by onemomtalking 

No white wrappings to cover his skin,
No ebony coffin holds him in.
No Devil demands his bloody jowl,
No minions applaud his muddy scowl.
No crucifix hangs above his bed,
No ebony hood drapes over his head.
There is no funeral for the walking dead.

His mother cries where no one hears.
His father sheds dry, weary tears.
His sister hardens her heart too soon.
His brother prays by the earliest moon.
Though angels hover above his bed,
His skin is white, his eyes are red …
Continual grief for the walking dead.

Redemption awaits for the sound of his call,
God mediates both the rise and the fall.
The requests of the blessed sing heavenly songs,
One warm mustard seed, planted deep, rights his wrongs.
With Love as his blanket and Faith as his bread,
His thirst slowly quenched and his hunger soon fed,
There is hope and new life for the walking dead.

 

Those Sad Days

Today is one of those sad days.  It was preceded by happy days.  I had stopped writing here for awhile because things were going along fairly smoothly and I was happy to take a break from defining myself as “the mother of an addict.”    But here I am again.

Today my ex husband discovered that there were checks missing from his checkbook.  He called the bank and yes, indeed, my addict son had stolen checks from his dad and written them to himself and cashed them.  Then my ex realized he had a box of checks up in his closet.  He took a look for them and found that one whole set of checks was missing.   He called the bank and closed his account.  It’s a sad day.

My son called and cried when he realized we knew.  There are two of him.  The real one and the addict.  And we see who’s winning.

My prayers are continual.  And I feel like … I feel like my son has died, and yet there can be no funeral.  As if he has been kidnapped maybe; only there is no ransom we can pay to get him back.