That feeling in the pit of your stomach

While my friends, in the East Coast, are shivering from cold-- here I sit, in a library during my lunch break...just a few miles to the ocean. It's a gorgeous day, outside, but I need to journal and share my feelings and updates on how my son is doing.

I have a few new blogs that I've subscribed to, via RSS feed to my google reader (I just love that feature). The postings are just so sad and they are heart-breaking. While I feel a sense of companionship with other parents of addicts, I couldn't sleep soundly last night. I have posted links to a few of these blogs and I hope that other bloggers will post my link to their blogs. We need each other.

I am feeling on edge... with that feeling of "doom". I am struggling against that gut feeling that my son is not being completely honest with me, let alone himself.

Let me backtrack to Super Bowl Sunday. I am not a football fan-- not in the least. My son is a HUGE fan of football and my husband enjoys it. It's my tradition to make my special recipe for Chili and a few new dishes. I love cooking-- it's my therapy, passion and hobby. I decided to prepare Super bowl food so that my men could enjoy the game and feel pampered.

As I shared, yesterday, B joined us at church. Actually, it was B who led us to this church about three years ago. I had belonged to another one, but he promised me that this was THE church. Ironically, he has barely attended since we started going, but my husband and I attend every Sunday...pretty much.

While C was outside, working in the yard (on a gorgeous sunny day) I was inside doing my typical routine-- tidying, cooking and spending time on my laptop in spurts (I time myself so that I don't spend too much time online. If I'm not careful, I can waste too much time surfing the net.)

B felt chatty, and the next thing I knew, he was sitting across from me and we started talking... REALLY talking and LISTENING. I was telling B how I had discovered a family of bloggers and I shared some of their stories to them. He looked really sad and then his face changed to being very pensive. Our conversation led to me telling my son that I plan to share my blog with him, someday. I also encouraged him to journal his own thoughts. Maybe, I said, we can exchange journals one day. Maybe our journals can help us better understand the affect that his drug addiction has brought into our home and our lives.

Those of you who have a good relationship with your child can understand when I say that I felt a connection-- a moment where I felt that B was seeing me as a mom... a person who has wisdom and who genuinely loves him. He shared some very personal issues with me.

B told me all the wonderful hopes and dreams that he has. He said that he can hardly wait to start college (today). He said that he accepts that he won't be able to drive his car in a couple of weeks-- when his insurance lapses. He said that he plans to disconnect himself from any friends that he used drugs with (praise God). He said a lot of things, and they all sounded good.

But, that feeling in the pit of my stomach cannot help but wonder-- is he trying to talk himself into believing these things? Is he really going to do them?

I think that B really got the message-- that I had put myself out for my son...that my husband is willing for me to give B one very last and final chance. I think that B understands that I am not kidding. At that moment, I finally felt the tears come and my throat felt as thought it had completely closed.

"It's okay to cry, mom" he said.

I can't weep in front of anyone. I used to, a long time ago. At that time, I used weeping to impose guilt on someone. It was my way of saying "I'm hurt". I learned that from my mother, who was quite the Drama Queen.

But now, I cannot cry that easily. I seem to have gained supernatural strength to find composure when I feel sorrow and then the sense that I'm about to start wailing. I hear that it's highly therapeutic to have a good cry. Sometimes I wish that I could find a place to cry until I think there's no more air in my lungs. The last time I felt that way, was the day that I held my mother's hand and it was limp-- she was dying. She was taking her last breaths. That was in 2003. Sure, I've cried. But it lasts a nano-second and I prefer to do it in private. It embarrasses me-- and I wish it didn't.

That is not to say that I don't show my feelings. I don't think I'm a cold person. My eyes do water and the pain shows. I know that. But, I can't have a good cry-- yet.

Sorry. I got side-tracked again--

Before I went to to bed, B wanted to write three things that I reminded him needed to be done-- three things that are vitally important for him to take care of today.

Why do I have a feeling he isn't doing them? Here I am, working at a high school and loving my job. It's a gorgeous day. I have the most wonderful and loving husband. I have wonderful friends. I feel blessed. Instead, I feel worry creeping into me and my shoulders are turning into tight knots.

To you parents of addicts-- you know what I'm talking about, don't you? It's like we're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I am going to test B very soon. Very, very soon. He says he's ready.

I'm scared to death that he will test positive.

That's when I have to do that hardest thing that any parent should NOT have to do-- second only to burying your own child.

I believe that these kinds of negative thoughts come from a Darkness. I need to cling to the hope that God loves us all-- and that he is the God of Hope.

Lunch is over. Time for me to get back to work.