he is home

he is home.
it’s been scary and wonderful and a little bit of exciting all mixed up together.
i have had one time when i blew it, over-reacted, certain he had failed and he calmly called me on it.
i understand it is my problem, not his. i apologized, frustrated at myself for hanging on to conditioning from my past.
he is good. great even. he has found some new friends, found a young AA meeting to be a part of, found a sponsor and continued to see his therapist.
he is sober and i am not fearful today.
my son came home.
my boy is back to who he was before he ever began using, only somehow he is a better version of that. adult, calm, self assured, self confident and courageous.
he is home.

September 7th - Release from Rehab

His plans are:

* 90 meetings in 90 days, which he asked his father to help him find some good ones

* Look for employment

* Touch base with his probation officer the first day back and his therapist the second day

* Eat a really good hamburger with a milk shake

My plans are:

* Not smother him

* Stick with my program

* Buy him that hamburger and shake

* Take it a day at a time

Hope finds a way or my goodbye post

The time for this place and my writing here is past and I have moved on to other areas of my life that need my attention. This will be my last post here, and I will leave the site open for others who stumble upon it searching the web late at night for an answer or a connection or just to know that they are not alone, because that is after all, how I started out.

Thank you to everyone who has commented and opened up my world in a whole new way, thank you for the encouragement and the support, the understanding as well as the open ideas expressed here with sincerity. This part of my life, this writing and sharing with you all has made the difficult times easier and has helped in more ways than any words I can write could ever express.

I wish you all the very best and wanted to leave one of the most important things I have learned here on my page:

There is always hope, even when we feel there is no more room left in our hearts to hold onto it, hope finds a way.

If you are new to my site, my story starts with Coming Soon.

PTSD. What it is like.

Black tendrils of this old
familiar monster
hunt and search for a spot
to land,

to take hold of me.
Like foggy mist
it floats
hunting out
old familiar
unpleasantness,
memories of days gone by
memories of midnights

early mornings
looking, longingly out the window
waiting, hoping

that everything is
OK.
Gone are those days
and yet,
my mind brings me back to
that place
allowing the monster to touch
my head,
my heart
with fear
as if it were only yesterday
and not many, many years.

On Chess & Life

Last Saturday I went to see my oldest and stayed the full 5 hours for visiting time. It was just he and I. I was looking forward to spending the time with him all to myself but I was worried, would we run out of things to talk about, so as an afterthought, before I left home I grabbed our chess set and brought it along.

I taught my son how to play chess around 8 or 9 years old, he would play and play and I would win and win, until on occasion he would see an error on my part and win the game. Chess is a game about thoughtfulness, careful contemplation, and looking at all of your choices before making your move. My son, of course having nothing to do but read, play cards and chess now has surpassed me in skill and I won only one game against him, out of four we played. But in my defense one was a draw… however the boy is getting skilled and on the train ride on the way home, I had time to contemplate how chess is like life and came up with the following.

Take a look.

An interview with All Treatment

Read about it here.

There are words

Some days words are my closest of allies, they are able to articulate what is hidden deep within, and in fact I find that words are never a problem for me, rather vocalizing them is where often times I fail myself.

Words help me create a picture of what I see in my head or my heart even. Words assist me in offering up love and comfort, confusion and apprehension. Indeed words rarely fail me, but rather fall short on my lips half spoken.

When the judge asked me about my oldest son, after he tested positive for DXM and pot while on probation for violence against his father, (due to an episode where he was high), I was not failed by words, but confounded by the moment. My son looking to me, to stand beside him, to be on his side and my own need to have him back, as he once was, before the DXM abuse, before the change. I stammered for the moment and suddenly no longer felt sure of my words, I was clumsy and they caught in my throat, as I spoke them; “My son needs help, and I cannot give him the help he needs.”

That day, I held back tears as I heard the judge sentence my son to in-patient rehab. My son looked at me as his betrayer, and he was hurt and so was I. Eventually I stopped questioning my own response to that question, and I began to understand that anywhere my son could be held in-patient, sober had to be better than where my son was then. My son needed help that I could not give him. It was just that simple for me.

So I believe that some days there are words to ask for help, when you can no longer will things to happen. When a loved one needs more than you can give, there are words to communicate your love and affection at the same time, express hopefulness for the future. Maybe the words I plan on saying sometimes stop short of my lips, but always, always there are words.

Update. He is at the half way point now.

My son had a six hour pass this past weekend. I loaded up his brother and his BFF and we took the train to visit. His time away, getting clean has helped me to better see who he was before the drugs. His personality the boy I knew before the DXM abuse, is peeking through here and there. It sounds silly to say my heart sings, but that is about the only way I can describe it. Something inside me is lifted or filled up because of being able to see the wonderful stuff that makes up this boy. I knew it was always there, underneath, but it has been years since I have seen him like this, and it feels good remembering and seeing him at his best again.

To thine ownself be true

(Photo Credit: Zacker Aitken age 5 - David & I at the Cabin)

Have you ever noticed that fine twine when pulled tightly feels almost like silk, yet when unraveled loosely can feel like course wool, prickly and uncomfortable. I liken it to my family being a strand each of this twine, sometimes being pulled tightly, feeling as smooth as silk yet at other times as course and unwelcoming as a porcupine. In most families I imagine this is the dynamics, it’s not always wonderful and not always terrible. If we are lucky we get a fair amount of days that are just right. For me as I age I see that there is much to be said about my own attitude in my perception of others and likely this goes both ways.

When I was younger, I thought that little white lies made me feel better. When my mom, red- faced and puffy came to pick me up at the school yard, I remember saying that was my aunt and not my mom. I was embarrassed that she was large, red faced and sweaty, but I also did not want others making fun of her, because as much as I was conflicted about my own feelings of her at 8 years old, she was my mom.

As I grew older I began to understand how important staying true to myself was and how when I told those little white lies, a piece of me was chipped away bit by bit and I felt less, instead of more.

I am the daughter of a wonderful man, who was at times both mother and father to me growing up, but who was by no means perfect. My father taught me about unconditional love and that nobody was perfect and that doing the best you can was the best you could expect from yourself on good days. He also taught me about people being equal without consideration of their race or religion. So it may come as a surprise to you that my father is a gay man. He is married to the most wonderful man who is also a big part of my family and who I love dearly. Not outing my father as a gay man in a long term relationship initially kept the need for anyone else judging my beloved father harshly out of the way. But it also did not tell people who I was or where I came from and it did not tell people what kind of a person raised me and helped to shape my world, neither does knowing he was gay. People are so much more than their sexual preference or addictive tendencies or religious views.

The other day one of the doctors I work regularly with asked about my oldest going to college and graduating I stammered initially, explaining he was in Lake Villa, wondering how much to share, how much I could get out of my mouth about my son. Then, I went on to say he was in a rehab facility there, and that the hope was he would be home before he turned 18 in August.

Because he is my son and I will stand by him no matter what, because of all that I have learned about myself and what “doing the right thing" means for me I was able to open up. I am not embarrassed by my son, I adore him and I know that all of his missteps now will add up to parts of him later on in life that will make him a better person. This is just a rung on his ladder of life and he has a long way to go til the end.

Friday Flash 55

Rodger,
It has been
18 years since
I said
I do
And so did you
18 years since
we had
no children
no dogs
no cats
no real responsibilities
and sometimes
no real sensibilities
and
after all this time
I can tell you true
I would not change a thing
cannot imagine life without you.