Your loving son,

B

This is how my 12 year old son signed the letter he just wrote to his drug addicted father that he hasn’t seen in almost a year.  

Last December, I arranged a meeting for him and his older brother to meet their dad for the first time in 6 months at Caribou.  He was bringing them some Christmas presents from their grandmother: Guitar Hero, the game of the season.  We wait 45 minutes and he finally shows up, obviously impaired.  His eyes are very blue from the opiates and he is slurring his words.  He has cirrhosis and when he is using or drinking, he kind of does a little shuffle/Charlie Chaplin walk.  (I read once that an awkward gait is a symptom of liver decompensation.)  I sit protectively in the parking lot while they have some hot chocolate. The visit is short. 

My ex-husband relapsed in 1999.  In 1986 he quit drinking and using, returned to school, started a family and had a successful career.   He had been recently diagnosed with cirrhosis and had quit going to support programs several years earlier.  He believed he was going to die and that the only option was to use and drink.   Within a few weeks, he was out of his mind.  He refused to get help or leave the house.  Powerless, I was the one who had to leave our home with my children, ages 3 and 11, to save them and me from the craziness.  

In the last 9 years he has been institutionalized more than 30 times.  I stayed married, but separated, for the first 4 years, hoping that "this time" he would hit bottom and stop.  There were a few periods of sobriety: 6 months the first time, 3 months another time.  He even got on the liver transplant list at one point.  Then years of nothing but addiction.  During this time, we lost everything.  I went from stay at home mom, den mother and pta volunteer with the house on the golf course , to sole provider,  moving 6 times in 5 years and no credit.  I filed for divorce and got sole custody.  No child support for 4 years, but his wealthy parents paid for his apartments/furniture/treatment centers/cars.  Finally, under threat of jail, his trust fund started sending $1000 per month.  When I asked for the back child support and attorney fees, his dad said, “Call off your lawyers, or you will get nothing.”  His parents blame me.   I had shitty lawyers.

I told him he had to have a year of sobriety in order to see the children, thinking that would motivate him.  He was removed from the transplant list.   After 3 years, I realized he would probably die before he ever had a year of sobriety and re-established contact.  Better my kids know him for who he is, I think, than wonder their whole lives who he was.  My friends have opposing views.  I argue with them and tell them they don't understand.

My oldest son (20) had agreed the month before to fly back to Texas with his father to see his grandparents after Christmas.  I thought it was a bad idea, but he is a young man and I respect his decisions.  I bought his best friend a plane ticket so that he would have some moral support and reluctantly drove them all to the airport.  4 days later, the trip ended early with a call at 2:30 in the morning.  My son whispered in a terrified voice, “Mom, we’re locked in the bedroom. Dad just punched me and knocked me down and I am bleeding.  He says he is going to kill me!”  I could hear his dad yelling in the background; his grandmother would not wake up.  I am shaking.  Insanity over the phone line 1500 miles away.  I can’t find her new address.  Where is her phone number?  I am digging through my address book.  I tell the boys to hang up and call 911.  I find her number and call the house phone.  She finally picks up and I yell at her, " Wake up! There has been a fight, you have to go out in the living room!”    She hangs up, but I am still on the cell phone with my son. 

I can hear her in the background, “Is that your mother?  She doesn’t need to be on the phone.  What have you done!!  Have you called the police? Hang up that phone!!!”

The police help them out of the house and a taxi takes them to the airport.  

I have always forgiven my ex-husband.  I believe in the disease of addiction.  I know that it is only by God’s grace that I have been sober for 23 years and that this could have been me.  But that was until he assaulted my son; my sweet kid who had been battling a platelet disorder for the past 12 months.  This head injury, while not severe, could have caused internal bleeding if his platelets were low.   He could have died.  This did it for me. I will never forgive him for hitting him.  I severed the relationship completely.  All hope is extinguished.  Hope for his sobriety, hope for my children to have a relationship with their father.  The man I married, the father of our children, has really been dead for many years.   This person is a monster.  I now have come to believe that some people’s bottom is death.

Both boys have not had contact for the past year, other than some random calls to my oldest asking him to sign papers to drop the assault charges.  He signs.   He just wants it to go away.  He has a 3.8 in college.  He is enjoying his life. This is distracting him.

 2 DWI’s in the past 3 months- I read the police blotter and see his name.  Thank God he is off the road.   We talk on the phone.  His Lexus is impounded by the state and he is facing prison time.  He is 55 with cirrhosis, (the liver is a remarkable organ to have him live this long) so the judge allows him to go to a residential facility for a year.

 I am driving with my little guy and I tell him I have something to tell him about his dad.

“Is he dead?” He asks matter-of-factly.

“No, sweetie.  I would tell you if that were to happen.  No, he got some DWI’s and is going away to treatment again.  This is the best thing for him to have a safe place to be.”

“How is his kidney?”

“His liver.”

“Yeah, his liver.”

”He is doing OK.”

“Good.”

A couple weeks later and a letter arrives.  I can tell by the handwriting that he is sober.  I screen the content.  "Hey, you got a letter from your dad.”

He opens it up and reads it.   “Well, it sounds like he is doing good.”   

“Yes it does.” I said, “You can write him back if you want to.”

He rushes to my office and grabs a piece of paper and writes:

Dear Dad,

I read your letter and am doing very well.  Your words of wisdom are very wise and my mom thought it was funny when you said not to talk to strangers.  She said after you leave and get your own place we could switch back from house to house during every other week. (I meant that he could visit, but no need to make a point.) The sport that I am playing is wrestling and I am on my middle school team. I have my first match next Wednesday after school.  I really miss you and I wish that you and mom never separated and got divorced.  I hope that it feels better to be sober and off drugs.  I love you very much and worry about you.

                       Your loving son,

                                       B

PS  we can play guitar hero if you get sober and I really liked it when you gave it to me for Christmas.

He asked me where the envelopes are.  “What corner does my address go in?” 

I get out the stamps.  “Do you want to use one of the Star Wars ones?”

“No, this one.” He peels off a generic Liberty Bell, licks the envelope and seals it. 

I open it later, and stick a note inside.   At the last minute I print off a contact sheet of photos from the past 12 months and enclose it.  Spring soccer, first buzz cut, sand castle, rock climbing, new puppy, Obama rally.  We have a good life, my boys and I.  The life that he missed.  Tragic for my kids, for him, for all of us.  I seal it again and secretly hope that maybe his bottom won't be death.  Maybe "this time" he will make it.