A Mother's Fear and "if only I had..."

The past two weeks have been a bit out of control. My job becomes a total stress fest with back to school registration. To make matters worse, we had commitments on the weekend.
That meant (God forbid) I could not be the usual "June Cleaver" mom who bakes and cooks scratch cooking for her family. Instead, I found myself picking up "bake it yourself" pizzas, foraging in the freezer for whatever I was smart enough to prepare and freeze for the nights I came home dragging my knuckles.

The dust has settled at my job, but my fear factor is still there. That is-- fear for my son.
How is B? Well, that's a million dollar question. I can't tell when he's using, most times. Sometimes, his eyes seem heavy and his mouth is dry and he won't stop talking. That's when I know he used heroin and he's coming down-- or so, that's what B says. It's been ten days since I noticed it, and he admitted he used.

Otherwise, my son has openly admitted that if he puffs "a hit of weed", he can sleep and it keeps him from using heroin.

I can already here the groans. I don't condone pot smoking! Living in California, it's legal and not too hard to get a card that allows you to buy weed at clinics. I think my son is still finding bandaids to try and stay sober.

Just last week, my son was lamenting, "if only I had an X-Box" and how it would keep his mind busy and entertained.

I reminded him that he's own three of them, and sold them all to buy drugs.

"If only I could just go to college..."

I reminded we tried that THREE times and he never finished.

"If only..."

There are times when I just want to cry and my heart aches in a way that parents of non-addicts cannot understand. Like this Friday, when I arrived home from a hellacious day at work. My son was in a great mood (he wasn't loaded, either), folding his laundry. He had tidied up around the house. The three of us sat down to dinner (which my husband and B helped to make-- BBQ burgers). We felt like a normal family, having a normal conversation about things in general.
B cleaned up the kitchen, without being asked. Later, the two of us sat in the living room and talked about pleasant things. We watched a little television together.

That's when my heart aches, wishing...no, PRAYING, for a miracle. My son still knows and accepts that he has to move out at the end of the month.

That, my friends and family, rips terror into my heart. My son does not earn enough money to live on his own. My son does not have survival skills. At least, knowing that he's at home, where I know he's safe and sound I feel some comfort. Sadly, many parents of addicts say that knowing their loved one is incarcerated gives them a sense of knowing they are safe. Isn't that sad?

I wish I could complain about the typical things that 20 year old kids do-- like forgetting to lock a door, or finding dishes in the bedroom when they know eating in their bedroom isn't allowed. I wish I could just worry about mundane things, rather than worrying how my son is going to make it on his own. IF he finds a room to rent, that will leave him less than $300.00 a month to eat and pay utilities and everything else.

My husband and I are doing okay, in our marriage. At times, I just can't talk about my son and his addiction. If I do, any slight feelings of joy vanish in a nano-second. My fear factor creeps up and I just want to cry.

In the last eight months, my son has caused me so much worry and pain. His lies... finding the drug paraphanalia and all the drama that comes with addiction-- the debt, and my inability to believe anything he says. Then, there are days when my son opens up to me. He tells me things that I know are true, but they are painful to listen to. He tells me the "war stories" about drugs. It pains me to no end. I have photos of my son, hanging in various places in our house. I look at them, and wonder why my son took a different path down an evil and dark road. I pray every single day, that God would free my son of the bondage of addiction. Then again, my son isn't really trying to receive God's wisdom. B won't go to church. I can only hope that my son is praying. But, is my son listening or receiving God's answers?

I doubt it. There are days when my son blames me, or other circumstances as to why he's in debt or why he hardly has any friends. I can't begin to tell you how much that hurts me. It makes me sad to think of ANYONE yelling at my son, or parents not wanting my son anywhere near their kids. I know that it hurts my son's feelings. He tells me, so.

I can tell that B is feeling very scared about having to move out. I know that that cookie cutter answer is that my son needs to find BOTTOM and that he should be in a one year program.
I wish it was that easy! What will it takek for my son to reach bottom? Incarceration? I don't wish that on anyone. A dear friend is living that hell with her own son, and I canNOT imagine what it must be like. I don't want to know.

No matter what anyone says to me-- there are times when I want to yell "shut up and mind your own business" when they cooly and calmly say he needs to move out. That's easy for them to say! This is my son they are talking about?

I try to remind myself, and I pray to God, that my son moving out is all part of God's plan. I pray that good will come from this. I pray that my son will find a perfect place to live, that he can afford. I pray that B will learn how to manage his life.

...and then, I realize that my son has NO concept on how to manage money. He spends it as soon as he gets it. Worse, he borrows money from friends-- always paying it back-- but then he has to borrow more because he's living beyond his means.

It's a viscious cycle.

That's aall I have to say, because I need to get back to my desk.

No time to proof read again. I'm just typing and hitting SEND.

How am I? Dreading the end of the month, loving my son and praying that I will have the strength and courage to watch my son leave.

I will grieve for him. I already am.