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...