I am a mother in a Middle-America, double income family that consists of my husband of 30 years, my daughter age 27 and my son age 21. I grew up in the inner city where I met my future husband in high school; we married after college and moved to the suburbs to start our family. This is the story of my son's drug addiction that started in his teenage years told in six parts.
I describe the events leading to my realization that I had lost my teenager to drugs and the steps I took to cope with that realization, get my son help, and rebuild my family with our new adult son in drug recovery. I am offering my story to help raise the awareness of the teen drug problem, to help destroy the stereotype of the drug addiction as being an inner city issue, and to share some of the lessons I have learned with the hope that they may benefit you and your family.
“So my son is a drug addict. He will hopefully always be an addict living in drug recovery, but he will always be a drug addict. He hopefully will never again be an actively-using drug addict, but he will never be a used-to-be drug addict. He will always be a drug addict and I must accept that. “
Part Three (click here for part 2)
There are many memories that we have never shared with our teenager, high school memories, memories about their friends, and friends that never were. However, I think some memories are harder than others. My son played hockey, and for me those memories are the ones I miss the most.
I think it will always be hard to accept these missing hockey memories. Some of the other missing memories will eventually be replaced with new ones. My son’s high school commencement that never happened will hopefully be replaced with his university commencement, and I can get his “senior” pictures then. Maybe even have that party. But there will always be a void where the hockey memories should have been. A few weeks ago my son was discussing other possibilities for universities, and one had a hockey team. And before I could catch myself I heard my words say to him…“Maybe you can play hockey again?”
And he reiterated over and over again, “Mom, my hockey is over. I will never play again. You must accept that……I had too!”
Yes, he had too. He had to let go of his teen years, of his dreams that drugs had stolen from him. His drug addiction didn’t allow him to be a teenager and he had to accept that he could not recapture those teen years. They were gone forever. My son will never experience being teenager and I will never share those years with him. They belong to his past now and he gave them away to drugs.
So regardless of how hard things are for us parents to accept those years that are lost, it is harder for our children. I once asked my son about the years he spent doing drugs and if he considered writing down some of his memories so that others could understand. He said that he couldn’t, because he can’t remember much. And after a few days of thinking about this comment, I began to realize how sad this statement is, so very sad. His teen years, that should have been some of the best of his life, can be capsulated in the simple statement, “I can’t remember much.” At the young age of 21, his drug use represents about 40% of his life, of which he has little to no memory. His teen years that should have cultivated his future, his dreams, and his adulthood were lost, because he can’t remember much. And it will be this statement that will paint his reflections of his teen years forever, “I can’t Mom, because I don’t remember much.”
As his mother, this is too much to take in; That his teen years to him are almost non-existent. In recent weeks, he and I have talked about all that we have missed and his comments indicate how he didn’t know much at the time either. He didn’t know that it was his birthday, that his why he wasn’t home. He didn’t know that it was Christmas, and that is why he still left for the day. He often didn’t know what day it was, in fact, I know there were times he didn’t know what month it was. That is how he will remember his teen years and it won’t be much.
What little my son will remember about his teen years will be of his drug use; For he spent his time with his drugs. He didn't spend time with the family. And he didn't spend time with me. It was drugs that he shared his life with. It wasn't me. It was drugs that influenced him. It certainly wasn't me. It was drugs that had a relationship with my teenage son … and it most certainly wasn't me! It was drugs that stole away my little boy, and they claimed his teen years. Now those years are over and we will never have them back. I will never have a relationship with my teenage son. He is gone. But what is truer is that my teenage son wasn’t really ever here, he never really was, and he never will be.
And I really do know why I picture my son as 9 years old. It was at that age where his height still placed him just below my chin. So when I hugged him, he was a good fit against my body and I would rest my chin on the top of his head while I teased him that he wasn’t permitted to grown any more, so that I could hug him like this forever. And he would laugh and say he would try, just for me. I always wanted to be able to submerge him into my arms where I believed I could protect him and keep him safe. I wouldn’t let anything hurt my son.
But I did. I did not or could not protect him from drugs and they claimed my teenager. And I certainly could not save him, no matter how hard I tried to protect his life. I wanted so much to believe that I could reclaim his teen years and give them back to him on a sliver platter as if the drug use never happened. And I failed at that too. I did allow something to hurt him. To hurt him very badly, and I still want to grab my little boy, hold him close and make it all go away. To turn back time and take those demons of drug addiction from him; To give him back his teen years and those dreams that he lost. If only I could change it so he was no longer an addict, like the drugs never existed. But I can’t now and I couldn’t stop it then. I was never able to stop it.
So my son is a drug addict. He will hopefully always be an addict living in drug recovery, but he will always be a drug addict. He hopefully will never again be an actively-using drug addict, but he will never be a used-to-be drug addict. He will always be a drug addict and I must accept that. He is not that 9 year-old little boy anymore. I will never be able to re-do those years and I would never have been able to stop this from happening. I cannot take this cross from him, and he must bear it for a lifetime. And I must deal with the void in my arms that my 9-year-old son has left, and accept the reality that this is all that remains of my teenage son.
End of Part 3. Come back next week for Part 4.
A brief preview of next week:
“My so-called guidance that I inflicted upon my son was really enabling his addiction, because I was there to save him from the harsh reality of recovery. I didn’t understand that the road into and through recovery is brutal. … and most of all; I didn’t want to believe that it had to be me that brought this bottom (of the road) to him. “
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