Tuesday, May 10, 2011

The empty chairs across the table

When I started this blog on Sunday, I thought I would be seeing my son that evening. He had text me from J2's phone Saturday evening and confirmed the time and place we would all be meeting for a mothers day dinner. No matter how hard it is to see him, I still want to hug him and always let him know he is loved.

Our family all met at restaurant at the planned time. They (J - addicted son & J2 addicted codependent girlfriend) were not there. We decided to be seated and began the evening of texts - where are you guys?

We decided to order - still no J & J2.

We sat and ate, tried to laugh and smile. We looked like the perfect family..except for the empty chairs at our table. I wondered how many times I could casually glance over at the enterance to the resturant without looking like I was obsessing on their absense and the hopeful moment they would walk through the door.

We finished the meal - still no J & J2

My daughter told me she was sorry that I was hurt on another mothers day..I told her it is not the hurt - the hurt is forgiven. My son is sick. It's the worry that eats me alive inside.

48 hours have passed - still no word from him. These are the things families of drug addicts have to learn to deal with. I realized of course that any expectation from a heroin addict (like thinking he would be there) is a disappointment waiting to happen.

I miss him, I want to hug him. I want to save him. I can't help wanting to - I have a mothers heart.

This morning I called jails. This afternoon I text an old friend of his. I still am left not knowing what happened. He hasn't had a phone since March, also the last time I saw him - when we met at a restaurant for his 28th Birthday. I rely on J2s phone (the only phone still in their possession after multiple phones and minute plans purchased by me, his sister etc, all to be sold, pawned, lost) Not buying another phone was a big step in trying to let go for me.

Today I text the phone to tell him no matter what - he is loved. That I am never giving up on him, that there is always hope and its never too late. When I text "the phone", I think of it that way because at any given day I don't even know if they are together. To say this relationship is turbulent would be a severe understatement. They are both so sick, and even sicker together.

Then I spent the day obsessing on doing an intervention. We however do not have the financial means to pay for rehab or a professional interventionist.  Sometimes I am oddly grateful for that when I hear other families spend so much and the addict isn't ready or willing. I am going to do some research. I have to do something - to at least feel like I tried even if nothing becomes of it.

Tonight I am headed to a Nar-anon meeting where I will sit amongst the other broken hearted moms of addicted children and try to learn how to let go. But right now, I still want to save him.

1 comment:

  1. I have not heard anything from my daughter in 3 years. I was hoping again this year on Mother's Day like I hope every day, holiday or not. But nothing. I am about to the point where I say to myself: she is no longer part of my life, I will go on without her. It's not like I haven't already been doing this. I can be quite good at it, however it's the hardest thing I have ever done. I feel your pain. There is nothing easy about being the mom (or dad) of a drug addicted child.