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.