it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: A message from an a mystery woman

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: A message from an a mystery woman: This week I received a note.  I have read this note fifteen times.  Here it is. "I too had a son who became involved with pot while in...

A message from an a mystery woman

This week I received a note. 

I have read this note fifteen times. 

Here it is.

"I too had a son who became involved with pot while in high school.  He never actually went to summer camp but there were traffic stops, tickets, court appearances and attorneys.  I felt so many of the things you talk about in your blog and reading your blog brought memories of those feelings.  The fear for your child and the desperate feeling that you HAVE to do something, anything before it gets any worse was so paralyzing at times.

I lost both my brother and my sister to drug involvement.  My sister lived her life involved with drugs, hard drugs.  She suffered a massive coronary at age 36.  My brother was murdered when he was 24 years old because he went to pick up a friend who was hanging out with a group of pot smokers one night.  My brother said something one of them did not like.  He was stabbed in the heart  and died before he reached the hospital. 

My son looked so much like my brother.  I kept picturing my son laying in the casket instead of my brother.  I was so frightened for him and his future.

This was a few years ago.  Now he is in his second year at college and is on the Dean's list.  He lives on his own and he is responsible and aiming for a future.

I guess I wanted to share that there is a HOPE.  I pray that one day in the future you will look back on this and it will be no more than looking back."

Okay, "so you go to the market with your troubles in a bag....you will come back with your bag".  I have read this fifteen times.

And it made me think...Why, as a nation, as a country, as a state and a community are we not crazed by the drugs and the abuse in our country?  A group of replacement refs make a bad call in the end zone and our nation goes crazy for a week.  We were consumed by the call.   One woman loses and brother AND as sister and we don't talk about it.  One bad call and we go bizerk.  Over thousands of young deaths and nothing.

The small county that I live in has the HIGHEST prescription drug abuse deaths in the state and nothing.  I tried with town hall meetings but my kids were bullied and the "button" was pulled out of his car at a red light and threatened. 

Kids are dying from drinking energy drinks.  Try and get your child in a a rehab center...there are "no beds available". 

This is so serious.  And so sad.  So very, very sad. 

I don't know the lady who sent me this note.  What I do know is I felt every word she wrote, to the very core of my soul. 

The worse feeling in the world is when your kid doesn't get off the school bus or he leaves in the car as a new driver and you hear sirens...multiply this fear by a trillion.

And yet, she talked about HOPE.  That word again.  So tiny and so powerful.  HOPE.

A student in Tennessee died because of butt chugging (enemas filled with booze, absorption into the body is faster and a parent cannot smell alcohol) and another girl in California died because she drank hand sanitizer. 

So sad.  I am sure that if my son could high from bird seed he would be standing under the bird feeder flapping his wings.  We have a society of substance abusers.

My friend lived in NYC for years.  Suddenly, she moved.  Her reason was this, she wasnt' affected by the homeless any longer.

Maybe that is the deal.  Maybe we just accept it.  Maybe we don't care.  Maybe we don't think it can happen in our homes. 

And if it does hit your home, I can assure you, you will care.

I have thought so much about this woman and her journey and if her mother had to bury two of her children, and what was the magic that turned her son around.  I think about her strength.  I think about her courage and the guts it tool to reach out to me. 

And I think about that word that she wished for me, HOPE.

I hope that as a nation, we can focus on getting our citizens well.

I HOPE that she has peace in heart and I hope that others who are struggling, find peace as their new substance as choice.

The smallest of comforts

When I started this blog, it was truly meant to help other families and perhaps other children.  And oh yes, somewhere along the way, it became great comfort for me.


But my comforted was never my intent.  Truly, it has been to help other families.  I have had several woman call me, email me privately, sit on my porch or just write me to get their "load off."  And I do think that this blog has made a difference.

In the last few weeks, several things have happened.  I have gained strength that I didn't know possible.  And, I have had a few people say some crazy things to me.  "You make me uncomfortable when you refer to the button, like, when the button played baseball...."  I looked at my friend and said, "he's not dead."  He is still my son. 

And there was this comment made about 50 times, "I would really like to just beat the hell out of him."  Okay, if punches get to be thrown, I am pretty sure that Franklin and I get the first swing.  "I am just so mad at him."  These are the comments that have been made to us and we understand.

Long gone are the questions, "what is his address, can I write?"  The support has left the room.  And I get it,  I totally understand.  Totally.

But yet, we are still the "elephant" in the room.  I still hear the whispers and people grab my hand and tilt their heads and say, How are you?"  It cracks me up.  I so appreciate the support but I am not the first person to have a "troubled" child.  I don't spend my days in the hospital or a physical therapy center and as much as I loathe summer camp, I can see my child without tubes in his mouth.

But still, after 7 arrests in 14 months, it appears it is a lost cause. Understandably.

On Friday night, I was driving Walker and his bff in the car.  Walker pulls out the "button's" knife that he made during his wilderness trip.  Hmmmm, this was not a good thing.  And I said the "button's" name and how in the scheme of things, you should not touch something that doesn not belong to you, let alone take it for the weekend.

The little 10  year old beside me, looked up, as genuine as could be with his enormous brown eyes and asked, "so how is the button?"  No elelphant in the room, no tilt of the head, just a straight out genuine question.

"Well, he's fine as he can be."

"Good, do you get to talk to him or see him?"  I kept my eyes on the road as much as I wanted to look in the rear view to see the look on Walker's face, but I kept my eyes straight away.

"I can see him on his visiting day and he does write, in fact, we got a letter today."

"Really, what did it say?"

"Well, he said to Walker and Addie that they should learn from him.  Don't ever drink or try drugs, it isn't worth it.  Nothing good will come out of it and it is not worth it.  Learn from him."

"Well that is good" said the 10 year old who is wise beyond his years.  And then he tells me this, "my dad just picked for jury duty and I was glad because now he can be in the courtroom with the button and he can help his case."

I love young innocence. 

I laughed and told him, "it doesn't work that way but thanks."

"Well, when you see him next time, tell him I am routing for him."

Seriously, my heart grew as big as the earth at that moment.  And I wanted to look at my son and see his face after hearing that from his bff but I wanted Walker to have that peace all to himself. 

And, as young and innocent as that little guy is, he gave me great comfort.  And a smile.

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Sweet n Low

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Sweet n Low: I used to think that my life was divided into segments. Segment one=youth Segment two=college Segment three=first marriage Segment four...

Sweet n Low

I used to think that my life was divided into segments.

Segment one=youth
Segment two=college
Segment three=first marriage
Segment four=everything else afterward.

I have changed the segments.
Segment one=youth
Segment two=college
Segment three=first marriage
Segment four=Mary Tyler Moore days
Segment five=Married with Kids
Segment six=summer camp drama

The path between Segment Three and Segment four was incredible.  I will state for the record that my first husband and I both acted poorly.  Repeatedly.  But, we hung on.  Over and over and over again.  Tears, fights, crap.  It was not good.

Until one morning.

The Sweet and Low morning.

My first husband would take TWO sweet and low  packets every morning, rip them open, and only dump HALF of EACH packet into his coffee.  Now, I know that I am not good in math, but, isn't that one ENTIRE packet?.  No, there we two halves, ripped open, with four pieces of pink paper on the counter with the artificial sweetener residue on the counter EVERY MORNING for me to pick up. 

This was our toothpaste argument.  But, it was more than that,  Every morning there was a mess presented to me, to clean up.  Every morning.  And I would say, "hey, why don't you try one packet, and dump the whole thing in?" or hey, how about throwing this in the trash afterward?" or "hey, you made this mess, clean it up?"

One morning, after a bad night with my ex-husband, you know, "i will change, I want this to work, I promise I will do better, blah blah, blah, blah blah blah, I entered the kitchen.

And there they were.  The two pale pink packets, ripped in half, left over artificial sweetener on the counter and I knew.  What my mother couldn't tell me, what the shrink couldn't tell me, what my brain could not absorb, was there,  On the counter all dressed in pale pink.

I knew then my marriage was over.  Nothing was going to change.  Nothing.  No more tears, no more falling apart.  Just composure and moving forward for myself.

Last week, chance and business put me in Beaufort during visiting hours at summer camp.  I decided to to go the Used Book store and buy some books.  I did.  Look, if your continuing education means summer camp, you might as well learn.  And, honestly, it was important to Walker.  And when I dropped them off, the man said," Mrs. G, you are on the visitation list."

For those of you who haven't had the privilege of ever visiting summer camp...you have to be on the list.  If you are not on the list, you do not go up.

Hmmm. I was on the list.  I looked at him and said, "not sure that glass is strong enough."  He says, "look, this is none of my business, none at all.  He put your name on the list.  When I took him his books last week and he saw they were from you, his eyes welled.  Go up."

I shook my head and went outside.  I didn't know what to do.  I really didn't think I was ready.  And then it hit me, God put me here.  Go up.

I went.  He came out.  Okay, once again, nothing prepares you to see your child like this.  Nothing.

He sat down and said, "I shouldn't be here." 

He  might as well have been dressed in pale pink with artificial sweetener coming out of his mouth.

I very calmly and sternly asked, "And what behavior DID YOU HAVE TO PREVENT THIS?"

And when my "button" FINALLY looked at me and said, "I am an alcoholic and a pretty big drug abuser" I just looked at him and said, "then YOU will have to get the help, the tools and the care you need.  This is your deal.  You need to clean it up."

I was poised, calm and filled with composure.

And shortly after I finally heard the confession I needed to hear, I got up and said, "i have to go see a client." 

There it was, the "sweet and low" moment.  It finally happened for me.  I cannot help him anymore.  He has to do it himself.  I cannot clean it up, I cannot fix it, I cannot do it anymore.  My addiction to cleaning up after my son was over.  At that moment.  And I felt better.

And now the acceptance process starts.

And this week, when visitation hours rolled around, I didn't go.  I didn't drop off any books either.  I wrote a letter instead. 

What really bothered me the most was I finally heard what we have been telling my son all along and he finally got it.  That should have been a "sweet" moment.  Instead, it was a very "low" one.

I

I'm just sooo mad.

I'm just so mad.  Seriously, mad.

I want to scream, I want to break something and I want to be alone.  I am just so mad.

But, I am a mom, if I break something, I will have to pick it up, I cannot let my kids see me like this so I am keeping my emotions grounded.  I am breathing love in and anger out.

And then, I get a call from the school.  You know how you feel when your called id lights up and you see the "school".  You know that your child has either puked or gone to the principals office.  One is less messy but both make you feel the same.


Walker.  He was sent to the Principal's office.

When I was in school, you learned to spell PRINCIPAL that way because the PRINCIPAL is your "PAL".

I always thought that was cheesy.  Really cheesy. 

Let me just say, that if I ever ran for President, the first two people who would get a raise would be teachers and nursing home employees.

The principal tells me that my son was acting out and she took some time and chatted with him.

She says, "what is it really?  really?  Is it because your brother is at summer camp again?"

"Yes and I am just so mad."    Well put Walker.

The last words that Walker heard from his brother was "I will come over and cut the grass, you can be my wingman."


He is mad and I can relate.  He asked me the other day, "do you even care about him anymore?"  Yes, I care. 

I would care more if I didn't have this huge chip on my shoulder named "mad".  I would be less mad if I could let go of the disappointment and shock.

Mad is one of the stages when you grieve.  It sucks.

Being mad when your heart is broken because you love someone is the worst.  The absolute worst.  I would rather have a sore throat, stomach flu, shingles and a pap smear all at the same time instead of this broken heart anguish.

And I am 51.



Imagine being 10?.  You still think that there is the possibility of Santa and the magic but the kid you admire the most may not be returning until you are 15.  Five years.  Remember how long five years seemed when you were 10?

And so you are left with the one emotion that you know, "so mad."

When I called my husband to relay another PRINCIPAL story, I lost my composure.  I am so mad, that somebody, anybody made my son, so mad.  And then I remember the source, and I so very mad.

When I got back to my desk after my call with Franklin I took a moment.  I let peace enter my heart.  And I took a few minutes to think and reflect.

And I hit me, that after all these years, the PRINCIPAL really is my PAL.

a letter from a sister

Last night, during the homework, dinnertime hustle and bustle, Addie was busy at work on my laptop.

It wasn't until later that I had a chance to see what she was doing.  No wonder I have shingles.

Dear Button,

I really miss you alot and I have been praying for you.  I'm really mad because you knew you were going to get in trouble and you need to stop hanging out with those friends.  Who knows when you will get out of jail.  You need to stop behaving like this.  I love you with all my heart.  I think about you all day long.  What I'm mad about is why did you do this?  I was worried.  You could have got drunk and people dared you to jump of the pier and die.  I am really sad and I miss you so much.  Everyone says oh your brother is in jail.  You were on the news so everyone knows.  I am so embarrassed.  Why did you do this.  I'm sitting here in the living room crying to death.  We love you so much.  I know you have what you have but you do what you do.  I'm so sad.  We all love you.  We care about you.

Love,
Addie I really love you.

This is when I come undone.  And this is when I want to grab EVERY SINGLE PERSON who says "it is only pot" or "it is just a few beers" or 'well I drank when I was their age."

This is the letter of what substance abuse does to a family.  Nobody gets up in the morning and says, "hey, you know, today is the perfect day to become a substance abuser."  It happens over time.  And it happens when others enable others to take part in this and never have the courage to say, "hey dude, you need to stop."  Or, how about, "dude, this is ruining your life, STOP."

This is also the letter they I would love to send to the young folks who thought it was just a joke and that  "it is not big deal' and "I will have a blunt waiting for you when you get out." 

This is also the written from the heart of a little girl who has learned more than she should have at age nine.

  And this is also the letter from a young girl who has my permission to clobber someone over the head when they ask her to smoke a joint.

If you know someone with a substance abuse problem or suspect they are at a crossroads, please share this letter with them.  It is the only reason I have published something so personal.  It may save another person, another family or another sweet sister.