I don’t feel like writing today

I really don’t.  My son was arrested.  Old charges, but still.  I really believe jail is saving him from himself, but still.  I prayed for this, but still.  I don’t really want to carry this burden today.

You feel like people are thinking, “if she’d been a better mother,”  “if she would have gone to church more,”  “if she wasn’t an alcoholic,”.  And, maybe they are.  And, maybe they are right.   I don’t know.  What I know is, he was a cool kid.  He loved baseball and his baseball team more than life.  He knew every player in the NHL when he was 5 years old.  He loved giving hugs.  He had the sweetest voice.  He is really smart.  And he is weird in that “believing in aliens and ghosts” fun kind of weird.

He was my big elephant in the room yesterday at our family Easter gathering.  Not that others weren’t missing.  But they weren’t in jail.  For heroin.  I put every effort into being present for my family that was present.  My heart was with the one that needed me though.

If a mother’s prayers get answered, this kid (who is now a 28 year old man) is going to come out of this bigger and better and stronger than ever.  If a mother’s prayers get answered,  his struggles with addiction will help him carry an important message to other addicts.  If a mother’s prayers get answered, he will find a path he can stay on.  If a mother’s prayers get answered, he will get to enjoy his daughter growing up the way we enjoyed him.  If a mother’s prayers get answered I won’t be burying my son.

6 thoughts on “I don’t feel like writing today”

  1. At 28 he’s a grown man and his choices are his own. I’m heartsore for you but this is such an epidemic in this country that it’s terrifying. No one should judge because it could so easily be their kid. Hopefully he’ll learn to make new friends and avoid the old ones. Working in a staffing agency I saw so many youngsters go to jail for drug related issues and come back into the same lifestyle. It’s doomed to fail. Hopefully he realises that and steps away from those friends. I’m thinking of you

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  2. The ache of what you’re dealing with was so evident in your post. The memories of a time of innocence. The difficulty of trying to treat a family gathering as if everything is normal, when it isn’t. Shame. Hope. Letting go. You said a lot in a short post. Thank you for your willingness to share with us. There’s courage there.

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