I will write the memories of
these last 7 years as they come to me.
Today I feel I should share this.
I always pray that I will share something that will help someone. I had an idea to write something completely
different today. Then I decided to tell
this story.
My son started his drug
addiction at age 14. He had always been
a “handful” kinda like raising a bull calf.
He is bright, handsome, funny, charismatic, super smart, athletic. Not just because I’m his mother…he really is
all those things. However, he is also,
short tempered, very impulsive, quick to get into physical confrontation, and
struggles with empathy for others. He
has always been an adrenaline junkie. He
loves mountain biking, motor cross, snowboarding, wrestling, MMA fighting. He fears nothing. I have long admired him for that. I feel I go through life afraid of a lot. He has the spirit of a warrior. I think he was born in the wrong time really.
I think he would have loved running
through the woods in a loin cloth with a spear in his hand. I told him once that being his mother was a
lot like being on a roller coaster ride.
Most of the time you just gotta close your eyes and hold on!
There is also something so
noble about him. It isn’t apparent to
everyone. But, those that really know
him, see it. He feels deeply, deeper
than most. Maybe, because of that, he
struggles hard to cope with those feelings.
He was approached by a friend
when he was in 8th grade. The
kid offered him marijuana. He said no
several times but, the friend persisted.
So, he tried…and he was hooked.
You can never, ever, convince me that marijuana is not addictive. It makes my blood boil just typing those
words. He was smoking weed for about a
year before I knew. He was good at
hiding it. Also, I wasn’t imagining that
it could happen, so I wasn’t watching for it. He had been through all the
school programs. The “Say No To Drugs”
program. Since my Mother was an
alcoholic, (that could be another blog all by itself) I had always talked to my
kids about drugs and alcohol. I tried my
best to put the fear of it in their hearts since they were little.
It is a long story and I will
tell little by little in this blog. He
has told me lots of things I want to write about. But, today, I will tell the story of when I
knew he would die soon if something didn’t happen.
It had been a terrible
winter. He had been in and out of the
house for months. One day I noticed a
red mark on the inside of his arm. I
thin red line right over his vein. I had
been trying to get him to go to rehab for a year. I knew he was using heroin. I thought only smoking it. I asked him about it and he quickly made up
some story. The next day I saw the same
mark on the back of his knee. I was
panic stricken. That night I prayed to
know what to do. I had a feeling that I
should go down to his room and look under his mattress. You see, I still didn’t want to believe
it. I went to look under his mattress
and found a needle. I picked it up and
slowly walked into my husband’s office.
He looked up at me, our eyes met, and we both began to cry. We knew he wouldn’t be here long if something
didn’t happen.
He came home that night. I told him he would have to leave. I told him that he was going to die if he
didn’t get help. He left that night.
Two days later he came back
to get some things. He had short sleeves
on. I saw the track marks all over the
inside of his arms. He was totally
wasted. He didn’t even try to hide it. As he went to leave, I felt that I would
never see him again...alive. The emotion was uncontrollable. I ran after him and spun him around. I grabbed his arms and stroked the inside of
his arms with my hand. Then, I did what
I had never done before. I begged. I cried and I begged him to get help. As the tears streamed down my face I begged
him. I said “Please, let’s get help
Mitch…” I didn’t yell, I just kept saying
it over and over again. At first he
tried to break free from me. Then we
made eye contact. Even though he was
high….I saw into his heart for that moment.
He saw me, I think for the first time in a long time. His eyes filled with tears. Everything faded away for a few seconds. I was pleading for his life…and he knew
it. I saw how scared he was. He knew he was in serious trouble.
He left that night. Two days later, he knocked at the door. There he stood, so thin, clothes hanging off
him, with a baseball hat on. He started
to cry…and said…I’m ready to go to rehab.
That is not the end of the
story. But, that was a good day.
