Loving a Heroin Addict is NEVER Comfortable

No one ever expects to raise a heroin addict. I will never forget the day I found out I had done exactly that. April 5, 2016. My 52nd birthday.

I also remember exactly where I was. In my car, at a red light, at the intersection of Alameda and Ohio. Sam had called to let me know he had progressed to heroin.

My world changed that instant. It was like someone flipped the light switch OFF.

My disdain and fear of heroin has been prevalent since the time I have known it existed. It was always a dirty, filthy, scary drug to me. I knew it as the drug we lost so many well-known and talented souls to.

I was not prepared for the front and center seat heroin would take in my life. For some reason, I thought I had more control over my children. I assumed MOST people, especially my own kids, felt the same way I did about heroin.

As Sam’s 20th birthday came and went this past week and I thought about the first time I held him as a newborn, the same thought went through my mind over and over: I am his mom. I was supposed to protect him from things that would harm him.

Do I blame myself for his addiction? No. Do I constantly wonder if I could have made different choices that would have lead to different outcomes? Every single day. Those thoughts do not control my life but they are always present.

As I watch my other three children thrive, I wonder what the difference is. I suppose the difference is Sam and how the combination of his genetics, upbringing, attitudes, and decisions have affected him to this point.

The day Sam was born was one of the most incredible days of my life. I believe with all of my heart that if I had known what his future held I would have done everything in my power to prevent it. I suppose every parent of a heroin addict feels that way. It’s hard to prevent the avalanche you don’t know is looming.

Since Sam’s incarceration and now prison sentence, I think I have been waiting for the elusive peace I used to feel whenever he was attending an inpatient rehab. There, the goal was always recovery and it was always Sam’s decision to be there. In prison, the goal is survival. Keeping the sanity in check as you count the days.

I don’t feel peace at all. Or comfort. Or joy. It simply does not make sense to me that my son, one of my four greatest loves, chose to stick a needle in his arm and therefore has changed the course of his entire life. Yes, I believe addiction is a disease but it is a disease with choice.

Some heroin addicts choose to stop. Others don’t. Sitting on the sidelines waiting to see which decision the heroin addict you love will make is mind-numbing.

Now that I finally have my blog up and running, I realize how long it's been since I have written and also just how crappy I feel. I am glad to be back to writing as it is my best tool to process the life of my son. I also would not change the consequences Sam faces. I believe he is where he needs to be. He chose to rob a bank to feed his heroin habit. Twice. He needs to do the time.

It doesn’t actually make my life better though. I didn’t stick a needle in my arm and rob a bank but yet I also face the consequences of Sam’s actions. Just as he can’t get out, there is no way I can provide him with the life he is missing. Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by that thought that I put my head in the sand and don’t communicate with him at all. Once again, I must be in the running for "Mother of the Year".

Sam’s cousin recently got married, he should have been there. His little brother (also his biggest fan) just graduated from high school, he should have been there as well. His grandparents aren’t getting any younger while he is behind bars either. He should be enjoying them and learning from them while there is time.

I don’t think I am alone when I say that as the mom of a heroin addict, I feel so much conflict regarding my own feelings. Almost a form of guilt. Just like when Sam overdosed two years ago, there are people I love who are fighting for their loved ones lives due to medical circumstances so far beyond their control. They are always in my prayers and thoughts.

I feel a little bit like my existence rests on one very difficult but simple decision by Sam. How easily I get sucked into his vortex again and again. I remember, before Sam’s fall, hearing of people dying of drug overdoses and feeling a sense of callous indifference. I had no idea what it is like to live where I do now.

Although I am feeling nostalgic and empty, there is great news from Sam. He has completed 3 of his 4 GED tests from prison! It shows he is on the right path and taking initiative. I can’t ask for anything more than that right now. I know for sure (I think) that if he is currently using drugs in prison, he would not have the initiative to work towards his education. I am so incredibly proud of him right now.

As always, since the night Sam overdosed two years ago, I live in parallel universes. One where I am a mom of three other kids, yoga teacher, homeowner, lover of trails, new blogger, fun, funny, and excited about life.

Then there's the other universe, where I cannot settle or become comfortable. Where I become easily angered and frustrated and my patience is tested every single day. Where I feel alone and I realize it’s because I am alone. No one can sit beside me as Sam’s mom. That is the blessing and the curse of motherhood. There is nothing more wonderful and also potentially nothing more painful.

Which universe do I live in? The one I choose to focus on that day.

Where there is life, there is hope. #Nomoreshame