It's a new day. I went in for another group session at Changes, still without Ethan. Last night, he was texting with me and annoyed that I wouldn't just come pick him up and see him where he was. I told him that if he wanted to see me, I would be at Changes and he could find a way to get there if he wanted to. There was no way I was going to drive almost an hour away, in a town I know nothing about, to God knows what kind of a house and situation I might find. Lord knows I've been in some scary situations with him in the past! I will never forget the time he was kicked out of the trap house he had been living in, a meth house, and he was a tweaking mess, but had nowhere to go. I certainly wasn't going to let him come home. After a couple of anxious hours. I ended up calling the guy who ran the house and begged him to take Ethan back in. Yes, I begged for my child to be readmitted into a meth house. As insane as it sounds, that was the safest place for him. There is a very lengthy list of "things I never thought I'd do or say." Anyway, there was no way I was going to meet him anywhere I had questions about. Finally, he said he would meet me at 3:00, wherever I wanted.
We agreed on a public place to meet. As he walked up to the restaurant, we both just couldn't wait to hug each other. It felt so good to hug my child again! I held on to him for dear life, marveling in the new form he had filled out in this last year of relative health. As I've said before, the downs of this last year have nearly killed him, but he is still immensely healthier than he was when I last saw him. We cried, we hugged, I wanted to slap the shit out of him for the pain of the last few days, but more than anything, I just couldn't stop holding him. As any parent knows, it doesn't matter how old your child is, it's still your baby, and I was finally getting to hold mine.
We had a good talk for a couple of hours. He explained what he wanted to explain, and I explained how I felt about it. At this stage in the game, after so many years of "I know what I'm doing Mom," "just trust me," and "I've got this, Mom," I don't trust much of anything. It's just impossible to until I see the proof of it. All I could give him was, "I pray that you are doing the right thing." I can't agree with it, I can't feel comfortable with it, and I can't just casually accept it, but it is what it is. He appeared to be relatively stable, but had been without his meds for a few days, so there was that, but he was enough stable that I agreed to take him back to the half-way house he claims is legitimate. I pray that it will be enough to do what will keep him clean and that HE is able to do so. I don't trust any of it, but what can I do about it? He's there, he's not on the streets again, and for the moment at least, he's pretty stable. Of course all I have to compare his current situation to is what he left in Texas, so yes, that's better. I could NOT leave here without seeing him. I now had that. Not like we'd planned, but I had it. Again, those damn expectations! I'm coming to visit my drug addict son who has been in adult treatment for nearly a year following five years of useless, sometimes damaging juvenile incarceration, hospitalizations, etc. Did I really EXPECT everything to go smoothly and as we planned? Stupidly, I did.
But now, I've seen him. He didn't ask for anything but my love, and that's all I had to give him. All I can do is wait and see what he does. My anger of the last few days has dissipated. There's no point in hanging onto it. It's done. There is no point in holding on to the pain I felt the last few days. I've seen him now, he's not strung out, and I have done what I came here to do as well as I could. Holding onto the pain, anger, frustration, and fear is only damaging me, nobody else. I had a major breakdown in group this morning, just hit me like a wave, but perhaps that was the catharsis I needed to really let it go. I try to turn it over to God and distance more, but it's so damn hard. I can talk a good talk about doing it, but I haven't approached anywhere near perfection of it. Another forced lesson on the practice.
Tonight, I sat on the beach (finally, after two days) at sunset, enjoyed the soft, warm sand, and calmed my soul to the sound of the waves coming in. I watched the nearly full moon shine over the water, felt the strong wind clean my pain and sadness. I thought about the beauty of the Atlantic coast of south Florida. I was glad that Ethan is here. He can never go back to Texas. It's fully behind him now. I can see that. That's progress. I can let that go. He's almost 20. I have nothing else to give to help him grow up. He is going to have to continue to figure it out on his own. It's in him, and I hope he taps into it full force. He has ALWAYS done everything full force! I constantly pray that he will choose a full force life of sobriety and joy. There's so much potential in him. It is only a miracle that he has survived to this point, so I can't help but sincerely believe that he has more to do in this world. I will continue to pray that he sees that. Do I expect more downs to come, yes, but perhaps this time my expectations will be beautifully crushed. The life of an addict is a struggle. It's not just the drugs. There are so many layers of it and to those of us who don't have the disease, it's easy to sit back and be mad about the complete illogical nature of addictive thinking. It's easy to believe that every action is a conscious choice, and easy to believe that addicts do stupid things to hurt the people who love them. The truth is, addicts have screwed up thinking. We all have our own screwed up thinking, but addictive thinking is truly a beast of its own. My son is an addict and I must accept that his thinking will likely never be the same as mine. I can pray constantly, and that's all I can give him, along with my love. I love my son.
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Yesterday and today . . . maybe tomorrow
After much planning, begging, and borrowing of various sorts, I managed to plan a trip to Florida to see Ethan. I haven't seen him in nearly a year since that painful day I got him on the plane to Miami for another attempt at rehab. Since being here, he's had many ups and downs. Those downs have nearly killed him, but the ups have been huge. He is no longer the emaciated, lifeless skeleton I last saw. I know this because people have been kind enough to send me pictures of him over the course of the last year. I simply couldn't wait to see him!!
Then yesterday, I was in the middle of class, but caught a text come across the screen of my phone. Caught my eye, and I thought something must be going screwy with my phone because this looked like something from a while ago. The bell rang, my lunch period, alone in my classroom, so I read the whole thing: "I left Changes Mom. I didn't get high. call me when you can. I need something different. I love you." WHAT???? I'm leaving for Florida in six hours, how can you take off???? Completely crushed. That's the only way to describe what I felt. The plans were made, the hotel was already paid for, the flight arranged . . . . I had no choice but to still come, but I refused to see him if he was high. I simply couldn't do that anymore. The rest of the day was kind of a blur. I was a basket case. Couldn't stop crying. Couldn't handle my classes. Was fortunate to find a colleague to take my last two classes for me so I could leave. Couldn't bear to tell Asa because I knew how angry he'd be, and how worried about me he would be all weekend. A friend drove me to the airport, which was a good thing because I couldn't think clearly. I was really in a complete state of shock and just couldn't stop crying. What a mess. It was all just a mess. But, I knew I still had to go.
Just to add a little misery to it all, the flight was delayed for over two hours as we sat on the plane and waited while there was a fuel pump problem. Got into Ft. Lauderdale at 2:30 a.m. Rental car took forever. Got into my hotel room around 4:00 a.m. Exhausted, puffiest eyes in the world, emotionally, physically, mentally drained. Didn't know what I'd be facing the next day.
Today, I went about what I came here to do, even if it was without Ethan. Went to group meeting at Changes, met Ethan's counselor, Rob, Diane, Arthur, and all the people who had kept Ethan alive and making some progress over the last year. They all told me how excited Ethan was that I was coming, that he had planned on us each reading one of our blogs to the group and he had picked out which ones. I think everyone was in shock, but they all welcomed me in, hugged me, and gave enormous support! Another young man had his mother there visiting and they each got to read their impact letters to the group. It was really wonderful. I felt so cheated that I wasn't getting that opportunity. Yes, I was thinking about myself, but at that moment, I believe I had every right to. We tried to talk to Ethan on the phone, but he was adamant about staying where he was. Says it is a halfway house and he's still clean. I won't go into the specifics of why he felt compelled to leave. That's his story to tell. I only know how it all hit me, right in the gut. As has been my philosophy throughout the past six years of this scourge, just keep going, moving forward, forget about expectations. Still, I was so crushed.
So today, I went through two group sessions at Changes. They were two different groups, so in each I read the blogs of mine that Ethan had chosen and someone else read the one from his blog that he'd chosen. Lots of tears each time, but they certainly weren't all mine. Every person there genuinely cared about Ethan and everyone was so upset, angry, and sad that he wasn't there. They had been hearing about this for weeks! It was a good, but tough morning for me. Good to be with all of them, but so unbelievably unfair that I didn't have MY kid there. I spent the evening with another group in their meeting and then yet another meeting at the residence. I listened to the stories each person told, and I've never seen such courage, fear, pent-up anger, and mostly, sadness. The things some of these young people have experienced in their lives, in their early childhood, is unconscionable. It broke my heart. I also listened to the thought process they described. I will never fully understand the brain and thinking of an addict. I'll NEVER know that daily struggle. The screwed up thinking. The expert self-saboteurs that they are. Some have been clean for much longer than others, but it's all still there. Not just daily struggle, but minute-by-minute. Their stories of using are Ethan's stories. Their impulsive decisions are his impulsive decisions. Their disappointment with themselves after relapse is Ethan's disappointment. I also saw a group of wonderful people, people with huge amounts of potential, and it made me so sad that they couldn't necessarily see it in themselves.
My plan was to do all of that with Ethan, but I'm awfully glad I did it myself anyway. I was able to talk, cry, and talk about how his addiction has affected my life and the lives of those who love him. All of those people have seen him in a better way over the last year than I had seen since he was about 11 years old. I really, really wanted to see him!!! I MUST see him because I fear that if I don't, I may not get the chance again. That's how scared I am right now.
Then yesterday, I was in the middle of class, but caught a text come across the screen of my phone. Caught my eye, and I thought something must be going screwy with my phone because this looked like something from a while ago. The bell rang, my lunch period, alone in my classroom, so I read the whole thing: "I left Changes Mom. I didn't get high. call me when you can. I need something different. I love you." WHAT???? I'm leaving for Florida in six hours, how can you take off???? Completely crushed. That's the only way to describe what I felt. The plans were made, the hotel was already paid for, the flight arranged . . . . I had no choice but to still come, but I refused to see him if he was high. I simply couldn't do that anymore. The rest of the day was kind of a blur. I was a basket case. Couldn't stop crying. Couldn't handle my classes. Was fortunate to find a colleague to take my last two classes for me so I could leave. Couldn't bear to tell Asa because I knew how angry he'd be, and how worried about me he would be all weekend. A friend drove me to the airport, which was a good thing because I couldn't think clearly. I was really in a complete state of shock and just couldn't stop crying. What a mess. It was all just a mess. But, I knew I still had to go.
Just to add a little misery to it all, the flight was delayed for over two hours as we sat on the plane and waited while there was a fuel pump problem. Got into Ft. Lauderdale at 2:30 a.m. Rental car took forever. Got into my hotel room around 4:00 a.m. Exhausted, puffiest eyes in the world, emotionally, physically, mentally drained. Didn't know what I'd be facing the next day.
Today, I went about what I came here to do, even if it was without Ethan. Went to group meeting at Changes, met Ethan's counselor, Rob, Diane, Arthur, and all the people who had kept Ethan alive and making some progress over the last year. They all told me how excited Ethan was that I was coming, that he had planned on us each reading one of our blogs to the group and he had picked out which ones. I think everyone was in shock, but they all welcomed me in, hugged me, and gave enormous support! Another young man had his mother there visiting and they each got to read their impact letters to the group. It was really wonderful. I felt so cheated that I wasn't getting that opportunity. Yes, I was thinking about myself, but at that moment, I believe I had every right to. We tried to talk to Ethan on the phone, but he was adamant about staying where he was. Says it is a halfway house and he's still clean. I won't go into the specifics of why he felt compelled to leave. That's his story to tell. I only know how it all hit me, right in the gut. As has been my philosophy throughout the past six years of this scourge, just keep going, moving forward, forget about expectations. Still, I was so crushed.
So today, I went through two group sessions at Changes. They were two different groups, so in each I read the blogs of mine that Ethan had chosen and someone else read the one from his blog that he'd chosen. Lots of tears each time, but they certainly weren't all mine. Every person there genuinely cared about Ethan and everyone was so upset, angry, and sad that he wasn't there. They had been hearing about this for weeks! It was a good, but tough morning for me. Good to be with all of them, but so unbelievably unfair that I didn't have MY kid there. I spent the evening with another group in their meeting and then yet another meeting at the residence. I listened to the stories each person told, and I've never seen such courage, fear, pent-up anger, and mostly, sadness. The things some of these young people have experienced in their lives, in their early childhood, is unconscionable. It broke my heart. I also listened to the thought process they described. I will never fully understand the brain and thinking of an addict. I'll NEVER know that daily struggle. The screwed up thinking. The expert self-saboteurs that they are. Some have been clean for much longer than others, but it's all still there. Not just daily struggle, but minute-by-minute. Their stories of using are Ethan's stories. Their impulsive decisions are his impulsive decisions. Their disappointment with themselves after relapse is Ethan's disappointment. I also saw a group of wonderful people, people with huge amounts of potential, and it made me so sad that they couldn't necessarily see it in themselves.
My plan was to do all of that with Ethan, but I'm awfully glad I did it myself anyway. I was able to talk, cry, and talk about how his addiction has affected my life and the lives of those who love him. All of those people have seen him in a better way over the last year than I had seen since he was about 11 years old. I really, really wanted to see him!!! I MUST see him because I fear that if I don't, I may not get the chance again. That's how scared I am right now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)