. . . . How the "tomorrow" went

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.