The impact that happens to parents of addicts is just as devastating as the addiction itself. When my boys first started in drugs, I was a happy, glass half full kind of person. I was so fortunate to be a mom. That’s all I ever wanted to be. They were beautiful boys. Full of promise and life. Each having unique qualities, Each one with so many beautiful gifts to give the world. I had no doubts they would be successful.  I knew this time would fly by, so we cherished each and every moment. Every year a little older, I was happy at the prospects of what new opportunities would be presented to them, but I would grieve for the year past.

They flourished in all aspects of their lives. Like all boys, they were adventurous and full of energy. Smart and gifted in so many ways,  They made friends easy were well-liked and all in all happy, well-adjusted kids. Trailing after each other, they experienced and learned the support brothers have for each other, and I loved seeing the comfort they would give to one another.
To say I was content with my life is an understatement. I filled my days with school parties, field trips, room mom, baking, and organizing fundraisers. At home, we had chores, homework, and dinners every night together. Sundays were “Family Day” we spent reconnecting from a long week.
I’m not so sure they enjoyed this as much as me, but I knew how important it was to try to keep that family bond strong.  I had hoped one day they would look back on Family Day and cherish the memories of furniture pushed back blankets and pillows from wall to wall watching favorite movies, eating popcorn. Yardwork done together. Many sprinklers and leaf battles went on. Forts and club- houses built — projects in the garage. Concerts in our living room as music blasted throughout the house.
Thank God we have our memories because, in just a few short years, everything would change.
Life completely shifted, and the happy, carefree family we once were died. When our first son got into drugs, we were hopeful we could get this fixed. When the second ensued, we were shocked, and when our third quickly followed, we were terrified.
How could this happen? All three!!! At this point, I began wondering what had we done wrong. What could have changed our beautiful boys into the monsters they would become. I could not bear what they were going through and true to myself I took on their addictions as if they were my own. I emersed myself in literature. I  educated myself on addiction. I met with counselors. I went to parent meetings at rehabs. I supported 90 meetings in 90 days. Sponsors. Curfews. I watched who they associated with — all the dos and donts. I was text- book.
Yet nothing worked. Year after year, rehab after rehab. Jails, cops, raids. One drug led to another — each harsher and more consuming. What was left of our family was fear, guilt, anger, and most days, I felt I was fighting alone.
Eventually, we broke. Our family tree was damaged like a storm raged through and uprooted our life.
Each of us destroyed in different ways. Drugs corrupted every aspect of our lives. I never gave up trying to save my boys, which is why I never saw the toll it was taking on me.
I was a shell of who I once was. Dark and depressed. Anxiety ruled my emotions. Numbness and hate for life had taken over my once happy existence. I could feel nothing, wanted nothing, hoped for nothing. Waiting to die physically because emotionally, I was already dead.
Finally, after years of giving myself to the cause of saving my sons, two of them recovered. No thanks to my attempts, they did it on their own. I did not know all I as doing was the exact opposite of achieving sobriety.
Not a moment could I share thanks or give hope because, by this time, I was so far gone any strength I had left went to my youngest son who was still in it. I could not fight for myself. I did not see myself separate from him. We were one entity battling for his soul; I poured what was left of my life over to him. I became a sober version of his addiction. I was consumed and haunted. Withdrawing from control and jonesing to fix.
There wasn’t much difference between him and me at this point. We were losing the battle, and I didn’t care if it killed me if I could save him. Days were dark, and to just make it to bedtime was my only goal. Waking each morning sent fear through me as I did not know what catastrophe would be waiting. Phone calls sent me into a panic the moment I would hear the ring. Knocks on the door sent me scrambling to the bathroom to hide. Panis attacks were the norm. PTSD was my new best friend.
My life could not get any worse. I begged and pleaded with God to help me over and over again. I never felt more alone. God had left me in this hell, and I would never get out. If only God would save my baby, I would gladly give up. Trade me for him.
What I didn’t realize then and only now 16 years later was that God never abandoned me. I was never alone. It was strength being built. Torn down to rise back up. God would show me more in those 16 years about myself than I ever knew. Things that I never realized were haunting me served me in fueling my son’s addictions. I had to deal with my ghosts to stop aiding in their nightmares. Relinquishing my rights to dictate their lives released me to focus on myself and, therefore, be the only thing I could be for them, MOM.
Handing over my hat as savior, judge, and the jury gave me my objective back and helped me realize if I stand in to save them, I am blocking the only one that can.
Id like to say we are beyond all this now, and all are living a happy life without the effects of addiction, but as with most trials, we face its one day at a time. Our family bond has lived through this, and we have gained a strength most families are not able to hang onto.
Would we be this close had it not been for addiction? Would we know and have the kind of empathy you can only acquire from this kind of ordeal? I don’t know. I’m scared to think that maybe without addiction, we would have gone on with our lives separate from the others. Not realizing how precious this life can be. How quickly you can lose it and who is important enough to share it with. Maybe I’m still not getting it or maybe my glass is just finally half full again!!