A Memoir From Christmas 2012 - The Addict's Mom
My memories of Christmas for 15 plus years is "A child, a
child, stolen from my life. Do you hear
what I hear?"
A very silent
night. Do you know
what I know?
My son drags
around his addiction like chains, but only he can turn things
right.
I'm an addict's mom and it's another Christmas! ‘Tis the season
to be jolly, and I’m trying, but while roasting chestnuts and jingling bells, I
grieve for my son and his very tortured life. The joy of the season and the
pain in my heart are like a tangle of tinsel, or competing garlands of flashing
lights. This year, yet
again, my youngest daughter will be home for Christmas, but her brother will not.
My son's stocking
is no longer hung by the chimney with care, and none of the wrapped
presents tucked under the tree are for him. Long gone are the days of toy
trains and blocks, jammies and robes, designer clothes and gift cards. Long gone are the days of
giving gifts safe for an addict―gifts my son couldn’t sell for cash, or fall off
of while drunk, or cut himself on while high. Gone, even, are the days of
giving a gift certificate for addicts know how to turn a gift certificate into cash for their next high.
The last time
my son was in rehab, I collected photos of the people and places he loved more
than anything in the world (well, until he loved the things that fed his
addiction even more). Happy memories, warm memories, I carefully placed them
into a shoe box and carefully wrapped the box in any Miami Dolphin's Christmas wrapping paper I could find, hoping my gift would touch God's heart as he heard my prayer day after day. I was hoping this would be the Christmas, God would pull him back. But, before I could put my Christmas gift under the tree, another phone call or news of my son would shake my reality that another Christmas would pass and his carefully wrapped gift full of memories would one more year represent his turning his back, yet again,
on the help and the hope and on a family who loved him! The carefully wrapped box would sit
on a closet shelf collecting dust one more year!
Sadly, visions
of sugar plums and those childhood memories were no longer what danced in my son's head. On
Christmas, he will be far away. My heart breaks just a little bit more just thinking of
this. But Mandi, my youngest child will be there and maybe my oldest son; and eventually years passed and the grandkids were home. We will
tear wrapping paper and toss bows and eat too many cookies, toss dinner rolls and watch movies and
play games―we will be making new memories, and those gifts of time are the
ones that really mattered. I don’t get to make new memories with my middle son,
though. The memories I have of him, of us, are old and dusty like the Christmas gift abandoned on the shelf.
All I ever wanted for
Christmas was my son back from the "drug" who stole him, but that’s not a gift I
expected to find under the tree year after year. Instead, I tried to wrap myself up in the
peace of the season. Instead, I tried to disguise the pain that threatened to consume my life! I hid in a bottle, In my work, behind a smile, I denied myself happiness! I became the phony, the broken person behind a fake smile!
Christmas
became a day stuffed with unspoken disappointment, anger and fear rather than
too much pie and good cheer. We all waited for the phone call to let us know that this Christmas day the son, the grandchild, the brother and eventually the father , was alive and made it to one more Christmas. Some years I had a good working number to try and call and other Christmas's I had none.
Retreating to different parts of the house, we all avoided the sadness and phony smiles until our traditions forced us to sit down at the table across from my son's very empty chair. We never forgot the reason for the season, but our hearts ached for the boy who no longer sat at Christmas dinner!
For parents living in the place where love and addiction meet—a place where help enables and hope hurts. For parents trying to figure out the difference between helping their child to live and helping him to die. For parents grieving the loss of a child who is still alive. For parents needing to find a recovery of their own, every day we hold on to the "hope" of Christmas!
For too many people, stigma and shame have them suffering in silence. When addiction grabs a child, it chokes a parent. I know the life-draining squeeze of its grip. I’ve never felt so incapable and
helpless, so sad, so lonely. Such fear. My child has been stolen
from me—stolen from himself—and I mourn his loss and suffering
from a very lonely place.
My baby grew up to be an addict. There was a time when I believed
a mother’s love could fix anything, but it can’t fix this. So, there’s a
gaping hole in my life where my son should have been. Falling in
the hole or filling it up were my only options, so I had to take steps
to fill it or let myself drown in it!
I choose to
honor my son with my words and my actions―not the addict and not the drug! This doesn’t
mean I didn’t care. Or that I didn’t hurt. Or didn't cry. It just means I had to fill the
hole in my life where my son should be with goodness, not badness. Kindness, not
madness.
I’m not ashamed
of my son; I’m sad for him. And, I learned not to be ashamed to be the mother of an addict. Instead, I was ashamed of me, for letting my family down, the people who needed me! I could help them, I couldn't help my son! So I
decided on one cold blustery Christmas day, I will no longer behave as though addiction is a dark secret and I’m not going to
live like a cockroach hiding under a rock. My son the addict wouldn't care, but my son would!
I want to be open
and honest about what addiction has done to my son and to our family, hopefully
helping some people along the way. Like my son, I
have choices. And I choose to live life.
I didn't know where he had his last Holiday dinner. Or if he had one at all! I didn't know if he was spending Christmas outside in the cold or if he had a warm bed to sleep in! I didn't know if it was true he was sober or he had a needle hanging out of his arm. Many times I didn't know if that Christmas Day, like so many other days if he was dead or alive! I had to adjust to the Holidays the way it was and stop wishing for the way it should be, but time never took away the hurt — or the hole where my son should be. Instead, over time, I grew stronger. I became strong enough to face the hurt rather than stuff it away. So many times I wished I could close my eyes never to awake again to this emptiness and fear!
In my darkest hours, my weakest moments God gave me a glimpse of my son! A phone call to allow me to say I love you son! A phone call that says even if for one brief moment, I'm ok mom and I miss you! These brief phone calls let me live each time one more day! Each time they gave me moments of HOPE! Yes, they were brief moments but eventually I became strong enough to fill the hole with things that made the day better, not worse. That means facing reality, not trying to re-create what can’t be re-created, starting new traditions, and spending quality time with some happy old memories and the family who needs you!
This Christmas I spent it with my son - he is SOBER! That's all every addicts mom wants for Christmas! And this Christmas my prayers have been answered! I can't predict the future, but this Christmas, my son is SOBER, in a warm bed, with a roof over his head, eating Christmas dinner, and laughing and laughing and laughing! We are making new memories this Christmas and that old wrapped box that made it under my tree year after year of yesterday? I pulled it from the shelf and cried because not only did it hold memories for my son, it represented years of addiction and loneliness, Guilt and Fear, Loss and Tears, and my little boy who grew up to be an addict. I threw it away this Christmas, because it represents the past and we spent this holiday in TODAY representatives of Love and Hope, and thankful for each day of SOBRIETY!
This Christmas we fall on our knees, with outstretched arms and Thank our God for his blessings as we celebrate the birth of Jesus, the reason for the season! I’m thankful for that. And I’m thankful that my son is alive.
May your Christmas be filled with Hope!
By Addict's Mom - June Amaral
COPYRIGHT ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 2015
Duplications and Publish requests must be in writing.
Deliverable June Amaral: junannamaral@gmail.com
