Letting Go Without Giving Up Hope
The first miracle I ever noticed was the birth of my son who became our foster child at the age of 2 days old. I was 44, and I had found out the previous year that I was infertile. I had always wanted to be a mom, ever since I could remember. There were lots of moving parts that needed to fit just so, for our son to land in my arms. I had been laid off with full pay the previous week, so I was able to say to the Foster Care Social Worker, “I can hold a crying baby in my arms for a week.” I figured he would be crying, because he had tested positive for drugs at birth. That was 30 years ago.
The early years were a delight for me, even though he was hyperactive. He was so curious and industrious that my life was so stimulating, never boring. We were able to adopt him after several years. I was a fairly overprotective mom. I knew his friends, teachers, and the head of each school he attended.
His best friend tattled on him after his first drug use at the age of 14. He had started hanging out at a couple of places in the community. His drug use didn’t seem to escalate that young, but I did join an Alanon Family Group primarily for parents, referred by a new friend. I was a very slow learner. I felt his feelings. It was as if our blood vessels seemed to be attached together for the rest of his high school years and beyond and I didn’t, yet, know what was going to clobber me over the head. My friends had told me that I had started in Alanon and other programs so early in his drug use, that he would be fine. Write up contracts and give him consequences and he would be fine.
Even though I had been a Clinical Social Worker for most of my early work life, I was ignorant about addiction. I thought my son would never give up driving our car or sleeping in his bed (some of the consequences for using substances and staying out late). But I didn’t have any idea that the pull of using would be stronger than his own hopes and dreams, and his relationships with everyone especially me. His drugs of choice became methamphetamine and benzodiazepines. We helped enroll him in his first few rehabs, starting at 18, and he stayed as long as his insurance would keep him, about 30 days at first, and then shorter after he relapsed which makes no logical or clinical sense. He would then have to transfer to outpatient, and we would have to pay for sober living homes. Nothing makes me angrier than how Mental Health and Addiction Services are meagerly doled out by insurance companies. It is very shameful. There is no other disease that the patient is blamed for the disease, and therefore, our culture believes it is okay to limit the use of life-saving therapies. The entire rehab industry had to develop strategies to help patients have them financially covered. Most of the people I know in Parent Alanon have paid huge sums of money for recovery programs.
My son has been in and out of rehabs and sober living for the last 12 years. No matter how long his stays have been (once for 14 months), his drug use escalates after each relapse. This is a fact of addiction. The most recent time, he was paranoid and psychotic and had to have his beautiful long curly hair nearly shaved because of some foreign object that couldn’t be removed any other way. I sobbed uncontrollably when I pictured him in this very dangerous state of body and mind, but there was not one thing I could do that would help him in his recovery. Keeping him safe, with a roof over his head had been my goal for the last few years. I stopped asking questions or trying to control his use, because nothing had ever worked, even a little. I remember saying to myself that I would give him my last kidney, but then he would damage it and we would both die.
I have stated the facts of his drug use, but I cannot really tell his story, because I don’t know what he has been thinking or feeling. He doesn’t share these details with me. Let me share, though, about the family disease of addiction that has brought me to my knees.
Up until his age 23, I thought I was his savior. It was my job, and I was failing at the most important task of my life. I was connected to him by cell phone at any hour of any day. I was thankful that he primarily used away from home. There were only a couple of times he was incoherent in my presence, yet he just didn’t show up for family functions and holidays. Once, we had been waiting for him on my birthday, when we learned that he was in jail for the first time. The truth is the family disease of addiction took my child from me. As he is still alive, there is always hope for him and for our family, but we have missed so much. He was an incredible worker, and yet he has lost several jobs in the last year and, at this time, he has no means of financial support. The drugs cause instability of mood and behavior that he had worked so hard to stabilize and control.
I have learned true powerlessness recently; nothing I can do can change the behavior or the life of another person. And it has been impossible to keep a roof over his head and food in his stomach without supporting his drug use. What a horrible dilemma-having to take away support when he needed it the most. I know now that even though I had been trying for years to allow him to have full control over his life, I was too scared to take away his support. I have heard people say that my financially supporting him could keep him in his disease or even kill him. I have decided that I am strong enough to get out of his way, although we continue to pay for his insurance and medical care, which helps me as much as it helps him. Thankfully, I have an entire posse of Parent Alanon pals who understand, and who will hold my hand and dry my sobbing eyes as I walk my separate life and offer him love for his journey.
Liz Siegel Mullen
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