I took my 22 year old son to rehab the other day. I never thought I'd be saying those words. How did we get here? Did I discipline too much, too harshly? Did I not discipline enough? Less junk food, more vegetables? Should I have made him study harder, study less? Been more controlling, been less controlling?
I was calm. I'm not the type of parent to go off on a ranting rampage on my child. So when he came to me and said, "I need to go into rehab. I've been buying IV Meth online and using it", I was calm. Inside, my heart was shattering for him, but I was calm.
Coming from a family background where alcohol abuse was typical, I always knew somewhere in me that it would rear its demonic head in someone I loved. I knew he had a problem with binging on alcohol. He was unable to have one drink, but had to finish a bottle. I knew I needed to hide things like OTC sleep aids, or he would work himself up to taking three or four a night, and then ask me why they weren't working well. But meth? Pills? Bought online of all places, where God knows what you're being sold, and you certainly have no proof of where you got it if you get ill from it. It's not like you can leave a Yelp review, "This dealers meth put me in the hospital. Don't buy from him." Or heck, maybe you can. I don't know. I'm out of my depth here. I guess I'm naive when it comes to modern day dealing. Back when I was a kid, growing up in Chicago, you knew where to avoid, because it was "a drug neighborhood".
Once upon a time, this was the teen who had his own prayer closet, and could be heard at night praying to God about anything and everything. His bible was always with him, and he was constantly studying it. When did he decide that drugs could help his pain more than God? When did he decide that drugs could help his pain more than talking to ME?
Pray without ceasing. The Bible tells us to do that. Not just in bad times, but all the time. I talk to God a lot, good times as well as bad, but right now, all I seem to be able to get out at night, lying in bed, is "please don't take him from me. Please help him find his way back to You. Please don't take him."
The first day we were supposed to go to rehab, we went to Starbucks to get coffee. While we were waiting, I saw him kind of spin around with a glazed look, then fall to the ground, banging his head hard on the ground before immediately going into a Grand Mal seizure. There is NO way to explain what it is like to hold your childs head in your arms to keep him from head butting the floor, as his body seizes, he is foaming from the mouth, and turning blue because he is not able to breathe well. The doctor said it was due to withdrawal and may happen again. At least 3 or 4 times a day, I see it again, and the prayers start once more.
Needless to say, rehab didn't happen that day. We were able to get him in the next day, and it was a world that I had never expected to see. The incoming residents chatting with the others about the many times they had been in rehab, and what drugs they used, and how many times they had been jailed. One person going in talked about how sad and ashamed he was, how he had just gotten out of jail the night before, and had decided to try rehab again, and turning in both crack and heroine to the staff, ONE day after getting out of jail. When I left, I gave him a hug and told him I believed in him, that this was going to be the time he succeeded. I pray I'm right.
How do you end up on this road? What makes someone be so desperate to kill some pain that they are willing to risk death to do it? I hurt for my son. I hurt for the people in rehab with him. I hurt for everyone who is homeless and using, the children of the addicts who live in a world that must be terrifying, the fear the addicts themselves must feel most of the time, whether they are high or not. I hurt for those living with the pain, and those who died because of trying to numb it the wrong way. The mother in me wants to take them all in, give them milk and cookies and a hug. But I'm not dumb. I know that's not enough.
I'm drowning here. So is my boy. I want to help him, but I know that ultimately, it's up to him. Please God, don't take him from me. Please help him find his way back to You."
