It was merely eleven days ago I did a posting on my son’s forty second birthday, celebrating his now clean and sober life for the past four years. 

That was then, less than two weeks ago.  Today I know he has relapsed and taken his girlfriend into the addiction hell with him.  I am angry, hurt and wondering how I could have missed it.  But I know how, because enough time had passed with him being straight we let down our guard, we trusted him.

But isn’t this what you do when enough time has passed; quit dwelling on the negative and begin to focus on the positive?  When it involves you own flesh and blood you have to start to trust again at some point.  At least as a mother this is what I felt.

What I have learned in the past twenty-four hours is twofold; I love him unconditionally, in spite of his struggle with addiction and secondly, I must stay vigilante if I am to protect the rest of the family from his addiction problems.

What I never mentioned in the previous post,  about celebrating my son’s life, was I had a younger brother who was a drug addict.  Brian’s fifty-forth birthday would have been on May 5^th...if he had not blown his brains out on the Fourth of July, just after his thirtieth birthday. 

The shock of  Brian’s cocaine addiction was only eclipsed by the call from my mother, “There has been a tragedy...your brother committed suicide.”  They lived in Orlando at the time.  In a whirlwind of packing and flying to Orlando I can remember vividly the numbness when I finally arrived and was met by my parents, holding the hand of his beautiful five year old daughter, now motherless and fatherless through no faults of her own.

On the morning he killed himself, our parents were away for the long weekend.  Brian worked as a cook and took his daughter to daycare before work...just like he normally did.  His last words to his daughter were, “Good luck kid.”   Then he came back to the house, sat down in the bathroom, did some drugs and put a shotgun to his chest and pulled the trigger.  My mother found him in her bathroom when they returned.

 A year later I gave my brother's ashes to my then teenaged  son and asked him to paddle out in the surf, beyond the beach in Hawaii where his Uncle Brian had loved to play, and spread his ashes in the ocean.  I felt sure knowing that his uncle was dead from drugs at the young age of thirty, would leave a lasting impression and a distaste for drugs.  I know it certainly would have made an impression on me feeling the ashes of one I loved slipping through my fingers...dead for no good reason.

Is it any wonder I have alternately feel relief when my son is straight and out of rehab, to despair when I hear of his relapse?  This is the third relapse for him, and for the life of me, after watching him crying and emotional across from me at the dinner table last night, I can’t help but wonder what is in store for him.  He is “sorry”.  I am sure he is.  

I have to wonder, after going through all he has gone through, doesn’t there come a time when you have the choice in front of you; get high and face the humiliation and suffering, or say “no”, this will lead to no good?  He should know because it has every time he said, “yes.”  How can this one “high” make him throw away all of the good things he has for a few moments of feel good, to be followed by days, months and years self-loathing?  He is a grown man now, what can we do but give him love and support should he choose to go back to rehab.  It seems he battles his own demons, we all do.  When will enough be enough for him?  Will it ever?

My husband and I feel hopelessly inept, and totally heartbroken...again.  I am angry for so many reasons, not the least of which is how my son has endangered himself and his family by his actions and associations.  I fear for my son and his future. 

I feel for every person out there who has to deal with the scourge of drug addiction in their family.  But most of all, I fear I may have to take another phone call, “There has been a tragedy...”