The heartbreak

R was always a quiet child, though in the right group of people he could (and still can) be gregarious and extremely funny.  He has a knack for problem solving, he intuitively knows how things work.  From toddler hood on he was fiercely independent, "I can do it myself" was his mantra and he meant it!  He has a natural athleticism, he taught himself to rollerblade, to ride a bike, to ski.  Much of my "parenting" of him was watching him struggle to do something until he mastered it, my offers of assistance were always refused.  He has a easy going manner, he is compassionate and accepting, which made him a magnet for some of the kids who were on the fringe and social outcasts.  Though he had hordes of friends from all circles and of all social strata, I think he also felt very alone much of the time.  He has such a gentle and loving spirit, animals and children are always drawn to him.  He was constantly bringing home animals, baby birds that fell out of the nest, injured rabbits, stray dogs and cats, we had them all.  He could approach and calm almost any animal, he was the "horse whisperer" of all species.  Children too, he is the pied piper, they clamor for his attention, which he provides patiently and willingly.  When R is around, I am chopped liver to the dogs and grandkids, he is the star in their eyes.

He is gifted musically, he can play 5 or more instruments.  Some, such as piano, he taught himself to play, but is still very good.  He was invited to join the high school marching band when he was in junior high.  He did take trumpet lessons, but I felt guilty for not being able to provide more instruments and instruction.  Sports was another thing he excelled at, even as a toddler he had superior coordination and ability.  He picked things up quickly, but he also worked very hard at them.  While other boys had dads that coached and tossed with them, R only had me.  I did sign him up, pitched to him, played catcher to his batting, I was always the "team mom" and later always the score keeper.  I just couldn't offer him much instruction or demonstration, I also was not a dad.

I think one thing that is plentiful to single moms is guilt.  As hard as I tried to be both parents and the breadwinner, I could not.  R's dad was not involved or available.  He never paid any child support and showed up or called less than once a year.  While it was very hard on R, it was for the best, his father had his own problems, his own addictions, and just didn't have it in him.  I guess I always hoped that not being exposed to his father's demons would somehow sever the inherited predisposition for substance abuse.  I also knew that nurture contributed as much as nature and I nurtured the best I could.  I also worked...a lot.  I worked enough that I did not see the early signs of his straying off the trail and experimenting.  Maybe I did not want to see it, but he had been the one I was least worried about.  He had so much going for him and he was always extremely mature for his age.  We were very close too, he usually told me everything, even things I didn't want to know.  He never told me he was using, not until he was caught and it was too late.  Not until he was in over his head and even I could not get him out.  That is the thing about addicts, no matter who loves you or how many people, or how many resources you have, only the addict can do something about it.

I was so clueless that I was in denial even after his arrest.  But once he was back home and on house arrest it was hard to not see the elephant in the room.  He would sneak out, he stole money from me, his anxiety level was extremely high since he was not using all the time.  Slowly the truth began to emerge.  I became his probation officer, interrogator and a private detective.  I also still supported him, loved him and cried over him.  It is very hard to balance the hurt the addiction causes with the love you have for your child.  It is hard to continue to support, love and fight for their life and not enable them.  It is hard not to resent the turmoil that has been brought into your life.  It is hard to realize that a mother's love and hugs and kisses cannot make things okay.  It is hard to believe that there will ever be an end to the lies, and the hurt, and that one day your son might be back and this stranger will no longer be in your house.  It was reminiscent of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers"; someone had come into my house and stolen my son and replaced him with this alien, this addict.

When I started writing this, I thought I could just sum it up and dash it off in a post.  As it is, I am having trouble keeping it from being a novel.  I do not feel bad leaving you all hanging again, especially since you know the end and it has turned out well.  So once again, to be continued...

Heartbreak and gratitude

For a large part of the past two days, I have spent reading a mother's blog.  Not just any mother's blog, this mother is grieving for her son, who died earlier this year (actually on my birthday).  I was transfixed, I could not stop reading.  At times, I could barely see through my tears to read,   She is eloquent, honest and she exhibits a serenity and grace that I would find impossible to achieve.  Her son, Henry, was only 18 and apparently had been struggling with addiction for several years.  My own son, R, battled addiction during his teenage years, I stood by him, encouraged him, prayed for him and lived with a very real fear that it might kill him.  As morbid and pessimistic as it sounds, I often had thoughts of how I might deal with his death.  I also thought about not losing him to death, but losing him to the addiction.  Those thoughts haunted me during that dark time in his life.

My son won that battle.  I have watched him grow and mature into a wonderful and caring young man.  He has broken free from the prison the drugs made for him.  Even during those difficult days, he was loving and sensitive.  The biggest part of that struggle was the fact that he knew his actions and addiction hurt the people that loved him.  The guilt he felt over that confirmed to him what a failure he was.  He felt worthless.  I learned that the addiction is an illness and you need to look hard and see the person behind the addiction.

Reading her words took me back to that time.  I remembered the fear and the anger I felt.  Sometimes I was angry at him, but mostly I was angry towards the illness, the addiction that gripped him and pulled him away from me.  It is a horribly helpless feeling to see your child hurting and dying before your eyes.  For a period of time I was oblivious, I used to wonder if I could have stopped it if I knew from the beginning.  After he was in treatment, I learned that he began experimenting with drugs when he was 12.  I watched him try and fail, time and time again, from the first time he was arrested until he finally completed a program, and more than that, he overcame the death grip of the drugs.  Even more than relating to her account of Henry's addiction and her grief, I saw so much of R in her descriptions of Henry.  They both were handsome, smart, athletic boys, involved in sports and other activities.  They were both musically talented, both very sensitive, both very loving.

R was 15 when he was arrested, although he was a teenager he was far from being grown.  He was still my baby, my child.  I cried all night the first night he spent in jail.  The only thing consoling me was that I knew where he was and he was safe.  It was just the beginning.  I found out my insurance, despite what my policy said, did not pay for any kind of substance abuse treatment.  He started two different programs and failed at both of them.  I discovered he was stealing and dealing drugs to support his habit.  I also found he was being threatened by a 34 year old drug dealer who was using him and several other young boys to distribute drugs for him and operate a theft ring.  The police refused to help me, even after this man called numerous times a day and came to our home.  They even knew who he was and he was on parole at the time, they asked if my son could give them information on him or anyone else.  He didn't know anything of value to them, they told me if he "could think of anything else" to let them know and they would see what they could do.  I began to gather information on him and confronted him on the phone and on the street in our neighborhood.  I threatened him, he laughed at me, but I told him I had a gun and if he came to our house again, I would kill him.   I also told him that I knew people who would make him very sorry that he ever messed with us.  He might have laughed, but he also left us alone after that.  People who prey on children are usually cowards.  I found another treatment program, still outpatient (I could not afford any kind of residential program), which was intensive (4 days out of the week) and incorporated several counseling techniques.  I took out a sizable loan (which I am still paying on) and gave my son the option of participating or being in jail.  I also participated in the program, one night in a parent group and one night with him.  In the beginning he was sullen and resistant, he continued to fail drug tests.  After he spent another weekend in jail for failing a drug test, he started trying a little more.  By the end of the treatment he was involved, committed, clean and proud of himself. 

to be continued...