Update

I decided to say nothing to my son last night. My wife and I had discussed talking to him about it, but I just didn't want to deal with it. My nephew from New York is staying with us, and I didn't want a "discussion" about my son's drug habit to escalate into something that would ruin the night for everyone. And who knows? Maybe "The Silent Treatment" will have more of an effect than any sort of discussion would have. Lord knows my kid has heard everything I would've said last night before.

We will discuss what happened. Eventually. But I'm pretty sure that this time any such conversation will end with, "You have until such and such a date to move out of the house." Because I'm done trying to fix things. And I'm done letting my addict son dictate how I feel. And I'm tired of having a black cloud hover over my house and family. I'm just done with it all.

Oh, and I confirmed that the phone calls my son made/got came from his drug dealer. I actually called the number, just because I was curious. It was a cellphone, and the call went to voicemail. The recording said the voicemail box was full. But less than a minute later, the guy called back and I answered the phone. He thought I was my kid, calling me by my son's name. When I told him he was in fact talking to his customer's father, he claimed to have the wrong number. Interesting experience, for sure. It's not every day you get to talk on the phone to your son's drug dealer.

So disappointing

Please be forewarned that this post might be a little incoherent. I'm in kind of a bizarre state of mind right now.

Tonight, after declaring that he was 67 days clean, my kid said he wanted to walk to his AA meeting because he needed to decompress. Shortly before this announcement, he got a phone call. This was right after he had made a phone call. You can probably see where this is going, can't you?

So after he left for his meeting, I checked the caller ID and the last number dialed on the phone. The numbers matched. And wouldn't you know it? The phone number was the number of my son's friendly neighborhood drug dealer. I know this because it's the same number my son called the night he gave us a sob story about owing his dealer money. The night that my wife and I so stupidly gave him the money to pay the dealer back with, thinking at the time that it was the best thing to do. We gave him the money that night, then he called the guy to tell him he was bringing it over. And the number he called that night is the same number he called tonight.

I can hardly wait to hear what my son will have to say for himself when he gets home.

This should definitely make for an interesting holiday around here. Kind of sad that it happened on the night we put our Christmas tree up.

Quote for tonight: "Trust is like a vase. Once it's broken, though you can fix it, the vase will never be the same again."

Thanks, society

Well, that didn't take long.

Last night, my son told us that he really wanted to go out and buy some beer. Because that's what people do when they turn 21. (Thanks, society.) And even though he doesn't like alcohol, he likes the taste of beer. Then he asked why we think he's gonna go out and get "shit-faced"--his words, not mine--all the time.

So, less than 11 hours after I made a blog post expressing fear that my son might want to start drinking now that he's legal, that fear walks right up to me and kicks me in the gut. Hard.

My wife and I tried to explain our concerns to our son. We told him that with his addiction history, drinking probably wouldn't be the best thing for him to do. I asked him why he would even want to start drinking, especially after all he's been through; and after he's seen close up in AA meetings how alcohol can ruin so many lives. I didn't really get an answer, though.

I don't want to sound negative, but I fear that this situation is a timebomb, ticking and just waiting to explode. I think my son thinks drinking beer has nothing to do with smoking pot or snorting heroin. That drinking and drug use are totally unrelated. But with his past history of addiction, I would say there's a very high probability that he's wrong. If he starts drinking, I shudder to think what might happen. Especially with a history of alcoholism in my family.

I also told my son that if he chooses to start drinking, he'll have to do it while living somewhere else. I felt bad saying that, but my family has been through hell and back with the marijuana and heroin use. There's no way we're going to go through it all again with alcohol. We just don't have anything left in the tank. If my son wants to celebrate his entry into adulthood by becoming a drinker, he can become a full-blown adult and get himself a job and a place of his own to live.

Less than 11 hours. Damn. That didn't take long at all.

21 years later

My son turns 21 today. I can't even believe it. It seems like only yesterday that my wife and I were trying to figure out how life works when there are suddenly three of you instead of only two. Now it's 21 years later. Where the hell did the time go?

I think 21 is the birthday that grabs someone who's still pretty much a kid and yanks them into adulthood, whether they're ready for it or not. People mature at different rates, but once you hit 21 you've got the "adult" label on you for the rest of your life.

As my son turns 21, I'm not sure if he's ready for that full-time "adult" status. He may be deemed an adult by the general public, but I know he still has a lot of growing up to do. He probably knows that, too.

Twenty-one is also the "magical" age in our society that allows someone to legally drink alcohol. As I've mentioned before, I'm scared to death that my son might decide to start drinking, even though alcohol has never been his drug of choice. I think he's only drank a handful of times in his life, and he openly admits that he hated it. I hope he continues to feel that way.

While I can certainly hope for what the future holds, there's no way I can control it. Lord knows I've been reminded of that on more occasions than I can count. But for today I'll revel in the fact that my adult son who lives at home will most likely spend his evening taking 21 shots at enemy troops in some video game he'll be playing on his new PS3 instead of trying to down 21 shots of alcohol in some bar or dorm room.

When you become a parent, nothing is guaranteed. You hope that your children are healthy and intelligent, and grow up to be fine adults. But if there are a few bumps in the road along the way--like addiction and depression--you have to improvise and ad lib to the best of your ability in order to help everyone--most importantly, your child--get through it. There's no owner's manual. It's like trying to figure out the most complicated computer software known to mankind just by sitting down and playing around with it. Trial and error. Over and over and over again.

All this somehow brings me back to what I think is the most powerful passage in David Sheff's remarkable book Beautiful Boy: A Father's Journey Through His Son's Addiction. It is a passage I quote with much frequency:

"Our children live or die with or without us. No matter what we do, no matter how we agonize or obsess, we cannot choose for our children whether they live or die. It is a devastating realization, but also liberating."

Yes, our children our "ours," and they always will be. But at some point, the responsibility for their lives transfers over to them, and we as parents just have to sit back and watch. Watch and hope that they can figure things out for themselves.

So, as my son turns 21 today--actually, at 9:57 pm tonight--I will celebrate his passage into "official" adulthood; not by taking him out for a beer, but by cooking him a birthday meal at home and eating some cake and ice cream with him and the rest of our family. And while he's making a wish and blowing out the candles on his birthday cake, I'll be making a secret little wish of my own.

Happy 21st birthday, son. I love you more than words can say.

46 days

My son had an appointment with his addiction specialist today. His drug test was 100% clean. He has been totally drug free for 46 days. That might not sound like a lot to some of you, but it is monumental in our world.

Congratulations, son. I'm so incredibly proud of you.

It cuts like a knife

One of our kitchen knives is missing. It's a knife from a nice Hoffritz set my wife and I got as a wedding present, but that was almost 22 years ago, so it's not a huge loss. At the same time, though, it was a knife I used very frequently, so I'll miss it. It wasn't even a regular knife. It was a small knife with a curved, almost hook-like blade. I used it for lots of things, including opening packages. I have no idea what could've happened to it. Maybe it'll turn up somewhere.

The reason I bring up this missing knife is because it brings back memories of some of the worst of times involving my son. A few years ago, not too long after our son's unsuccessful overdose attempt, another one of our kitchen knives went missing. We looked and looked, but couldn't find it anywhere. Eventually, though, we did find it. My son had it hidden in his bed. He was using it to cut himself. "Cutting" is something that is more common among troubled teenage girls, but some troubled teenage boys do it, too.

We were pretty alarmed to discover what our son was doing. It was another one of those "Where did we go wrong?" moments. It's tough to see the self-inflicted, bloody letters that spell "SIN" cut into your kid's bicep and not feel at least a little bit of guilt about it. That incident led to my wife and I actually hiding all the knives in the house for quite some time. We were terrified that the cutting would lead to something worse.

In any case, I was doing dishes a while ago and was washing some knives. While I was washing the knives, I kept thinking about my son and the cutting incident. This happens pretty much every time I wash the knives. Or use the knives. In fact, just seeing the knives triggers the memory. The same way that just hearing the name of a certain restaurant triggers memories of my drunken father getting into a horrible argument with my mother at that restaurant when I was a kid. Or the way the smell of an idling lawn mower brings back happy memories of my maternal grandfather--one of my favorite people ever and my son's namesake--who owned a lawn mower repair shop.

It's fascinating how the mind works. How little things can trigger memories, good or bad. I love to cook, so I use those damn knives a lot. So I think about my son's cutting a lot. Which kind of sucks. I wonder if that trigger will ever stop. Somehow, I don't think so. Oh, well.

Teens hooked on heroin

Thanks to another parent of an addict for posting this 20/20 episode on Facebook. I hadn't seen it. It's worth watching to see how heroin use is exploding amongst young people these days. Very sad. But very true.

Teens Hooked on Heroin on ABC's 20/20

The inconvenience of addiction

As I type up this blog post, it's 2:20 on a beautiful Friday afternoon, made even more beautiful by the fact that I took the day off of work. It would've been nice if my lovely wife and I could've gone out to lunch today or something. Instead, my wife is 30 miles away, with our son, sitting in his doctor's waiting room.

You see, in order to get his Suboxone prescription refilled, my son has to see this addiction specialist every other week. And although the doctor does take some appointments, they book up quickly and we usually miss out on getting one. So instead, my son has to be seen on a "walk-in" basis, which means really, really long waits. Sometimes three- or four-hour waits.

My son will be 21 in December, but he still doesn't have his driver's license. His life issues kind of got in the way of getting his license. As a result, we end up driving him to a lot of places: school, doctor's appointments, therapy appointments, meetings, etc. I don't even want to hazard a guess on how much time my wife and I (mostly my wife, bless her heart) have spent doing this over the last five years.

Yes, it would be great is my son could get to these places on his own, even without being able to drive. But the public transportation system around where we live is pretty awful. So for now, we'll keep playing chauffeur. And watching the minutes tick away on the clock. I'm just hoping the huge investment of time we've made pays off someday.

UPDATE: My wife and son got home at 5:00 PM. They were at the doctor's office for more than five hours. A few minutes before they got home, my other son and I got home from his therapy appointment. Thank God it's Friday.

Why are some people such assholes?

My kid went to an AA meeting tonight but came home early--and very upset--because an old-timer there accused him of being high and asked him to leave. Are you kidding me?! This pissed me off so much.

Addicts attending AA meetings is a very touchy subject with many AAers. Some AA members are "old school" and don't like or want addicts at their meetings. They want the addicts to go to NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meetings instead. "Alcohol might be a drug, but drugs aren't alcohol," some of them say.

While I can sort of see their point, I have to believe that alcoholics and addicts have more things in common than they don't. And AA and NA both use the same 12-step program. The fact of the matter is, there are very few NA meetings in decent neighborhoods in close proximity to where we live. So it's easier for my son--who doesn't drive--to attend AA meetings.

I would've hoped that someone in recovery would've been a bit more sympathetic towards another person in recovery, regardless of whether that other person was recovering from an addiction to beer or wine or vodka or Vicodin or marijuana. I guess I'm expecting too much of people, though. I guess some people are just assholes. Period.

For the record, my kid wasn't high. But the side effects from Suboxone can often times make a person look like they're high. Just another obstacle for a recovering addict to overcome.

WTF? (Part 2)

Today marked Day 7 of my son's Suboxone withdrawal. Unfortunately, Day 1 through Day 6 were pretty awful for him. Like I said earlier, it wasn't quite heroin withdrawal, but that doesn't mean it didn't suck real bad. Body aches, pains, fatigue, insomnia, sweating, dizziness, headaches, etc. You name the symptom and my kid probably had it. And there were no signs of any improvement.

Finally, last night, after seeing our son be miserable for almost a week, and after he missed a full week's worth of classes, we decided that we'd call the doctor's office today and ask if there was anything that could be done to ease the pain of the Suboxone withdrawal. When my wife called the doctor this morning, they told her to bring my son in.

The doctors at this particular office are addiction specialists, and today they were only accepting walk-ins. No appointments. So my wife and son made the trip out to the other side of town and waited to see the doctor. Unfortunately, the long wait they encountered forced us to have to miss a family session with my son's therapist late this afternoon. But what went down at the doctor's office was definitely interesting.

Today my son didn't see his usual doctor. (FYI, his usual doctor is the one that gave him the "stop smoking pot or lose the Suboxone" ultimatum.) He saw a different doctor, and this doctor was brutally honest about the Suboxone withdrawal. According to my wife, the "new" doctor said my son was weaned off the Suboxone too quickly, and that if he continued not taking it he would probably "be sick for a year." Of course, my reaction to hearing that was, "What the fuck?"

Evidently--and this is just speculation on my part--my son's usual doctor was trying to teach my kid a lesson by taking my kid off the Suboxone as quickly as he did. My kid didn't quit smoking pot, so Dr. Hardass figured he'd show him. OK, doc. You made your point. Thanks for fucking up my kid's world--and his family's--for a week. Now, can we move on?

The new doctor suggested that my son go back on the same Suboxone dosage. Then, after he stabilizes, the doctor will wean him off the drug at a much slower rate, which should limit the pain of withdrawal. Granted, the new doctor also told my son that he has to give up the pot smoking. And that he has to test clean very soon or risk losing the Suboxone again. But I think this doctor is a bit more sympathetic. At least I hope he is.

Let me stress that I totally understand the doctors' ultimate goal here: to get my son to stop smoking pot, which has been the gateway drug for him since he first started experimenting with drugs way back when. I certainly applaud that. But as a doctor, shouldn't your first concern be the health of your patient? You can't prescribe a drug to someone and then suddenly take it away as a punishment. A punishment that makes that person so physically ill that their whole like pretty much comes to a complete halt for a lengthy period of time. What sense does that make? Needless to say, I'm pretty pissed off at that first doctor.

So that's where things stand right now. My kid is back on Suboxone, and says he's committed to giving up the marijuana. Let's hope so. If not, the pain and misery of Suboxone withdrawal will re-visit his world again in the not-too-distant future. And that's something I don't want to be around to see.

A clarification

I want to clarify something: I love my kid. More than life itself. In fact, I've often said--probably at least once or twice somewhere in this blog--that I would give my own life in a heartbeat if it meant having my son "cured." So if anyone ever reads something here and thinks I don't love my son, they're dead wrong. Am I angry? Hell yes, I'm angry. I'm also disappointed, terrified, worried, sad, frustrated, exhausted, emotionally drained, and a whole lot of other adjectives. But that doesn't mean I don't love my son. Loving someone doesn't mean you can't feel all those other things in connection with that person. And I do. Lord knows, I do.

WTF?

My wife and I certainly didn't sign up for the situation we're in. But there's really not much we can do about it. There's no magic wand, no time machine (hot tub or otherwise), no special pill to make everything better. I wish there was, but there isn't. We just try to make through life one day at a time. This weekend has been a bit of a challenge, though.

Friday night, right before dinner, our son tells us that he owes money to the guy he buys his pot from. That the guy gave him pot the last couple/few times "on credit," and that Friday was the day the money was due. Fuck. The last time this happened was a couple of years ago when our kid owed his heroin dealer money. I must say, it's kind of surreal when your kid drops this kind of news on you.

So my wife and I had no idea what to do. Give our son the money so he can pay the guy? Don't give him the money and risk trouble for him (or us...or both) because the guy gets pissed off? And, of course, there's the wondering if our kid really did owe the guy money, or if he was just making up that story so he could get money out of us and go buy more pot (or whatever). I can't tell you how sad, disappointed, and angry I was. I took Friday off of work because I really felt a need to de-stress. And then, right before dinner, this shit hits the fan.

To top it all off, our son is pretty much going through withdrawal because he's stopped taking Suboxone, the opiate "substitute" he's been taking for the last couple years. His addiction specialist wouldn't refill the prescription for Suboxone. Why? Because our kid is still getting high by smoking pot. That was the ultimatum from the doctor: Stop smoking pot or lose the Suboxone. Well, he didn't stop using pot, so the doctor cut down his dosage of Suboxone and then finally stopped it altogether. I don't know what this will do to my kid. He was sick all day yesterday. It's not as bad as when he kicked heroin, but it's no fun.

So that's how the weekend has gone so far. Such is being the parent of an addict. Oh, and by the way... We gave our kid the money. And he supposedly went and paid the guy. But who really knows? We told him he'll be drug tested in a month, and if he tests positive for anything...Well, then he's in for some heavy duty shit. Assuming my wife and I don't wimp out again.

It's incredibly hard having a person who suffers from addiction in your life. It's about a million times harder when that person is your kid.

20 years smoke free

Today marks exactly 20 years since I quit smoking for the final time. It was at 11:40 a.m. on October 11, 1990--7,305 days ago--that I had my final cigarette. I was 29 years old and had been smoking for about 15 years. I had quit a few times before, but those nasty cigarettes succeeded in luring me back each time. But October 11, 1990, was different.

I had gone to the doctor that morning because I had a cold. The doctor looked in my throat and asked me if I smoked. "Yes," I answered. He responded with, "Quit. Now. Not tomorrow, not a week from now. Now." That doctor's directive, coupled with the fact that my first-born son was 10 months old and starting to watch the things I did very carefully, was exactly what I needed to quit for good.

I left the doctor's office, went back to my office, went into the men's room, and lit a cigarette. "This," I told myself, "is my last cigarette." And that was it. Not once in the 7,305 days since then have I touched a cigarette. From somewhere within, I mustered up all the willpower I could imagine and stayed a non-smoker.

Quitting smoking is one of the accomplishments in my life that I'm most proud of. That might sound a bit hokey, but smoking is one of the hardest things in the world to quit. Nicotine puts its grip on you and doesn't let go. Even now, 20 years later, I still get cravings for cigarettes. But I will never ever give in to them. Smoking is a dangerous, nasty, dirty, expensive habit that I'm glad to be rid of.

Ironically, my oldest son, who was a big part of the inspiration for me quitting cigarettes, is a smoker. I hope and pray every day that he will see the light someday soon and join me as an ex-smoker.

2 years

I celebrated 2 years of sobriety yesterday. I think that's pretty impressive. That's the longest I've gone without an alcoholic beverage since my mid- to late teens. I continue to try and set a positive example for both of my sons. I've also learned that drinking is overrated. You can enjoy life without drinking alcohol, even if others around you in social situations are drinking. And you save a lot of money, too.

I quit drinking because the family therapist at my kid's rehab facility told me to "Be the change you want to see in your son." And I'm glad I did. Especially since I'm the son of an alcoholic father, and I could definitely see myself starting to go down the wrong road with regards to alcohol two years ago. As my son's condition worsened, I started to use alcohol as a crutch. I was self-medicating to help me forget about my son's self-medication. How fucked up is that? In any case, I credit my wife for noticing that my wheels were starting to come off. I needed to quit drinking. Period. Yes, the family therapist's suggestion was the final motivation I needed. But my lovely wife had already seen evidence of a problem.

Thank you, honey. Thank you for caring about me.

Somebody pass the root beer.

Day 602

Monday was my 600th consecutive day without a drink. So I guess that makes today day 602. Yay for me, the "example setter." Unfortunately, my son recently relapsed, which is very frustrating. I do everything I can to set an example and help him out, but the "To use drugs or not to use drugs" decision is ultimately his. I have no control over it. I realize that. But it's still so heartbreaking. And I still feel a lot of guilt. He's my son. My first-born. My flesh and blood. A part of me. And I love him so very much. But I can't fix him. He must do that himself.

(I know I haven't posted anything in a long time. Posts will probably continue to be very sporadic. Just a lot going on in my life right now between work, home, coaching Little League, etc. I may even shut the blog down soon. We'll see.)

Day 500

Today marks 500 days since I last had a drink. "Be the change you want to see in your son."

I am far from anything even remotely close to perfect, but I am trying my best to set an example, not only for my oldest son, but for my youngest son, too. It's the least I can do.

Powerful, powerful words

On my way home from work today, I was listening to From a Late Night High Rise, the fine 2006 album from Matthew Ryan, one of my favorite (and one of the most underrated) singer-songwriters. The last track on the album is called "The Complete Family," and it's a spoken-word "song" that Matthew wrote about his older brother, who suffered from addiction and is now serving 30 years in prison. There is one part of the "lyrics" that totally mirrors how I felt when my wife and I picked our son up from rehab (both times):

"Now I remember that day you had just gotten out of rehab.
And I was happy to see you.
Happy to hope.
That from that point forward.
All would be better.
And I was proud of you.
And we were going home.
The complete family.
A complete family.
Just you and me.
Mom and Dad.
A complete family."

The other passage that crossed my mind today is from the book called Addict in the Family by Beverly Conyers, which I've quoted in my blog before:

"Some family members admit to harboring a secret wish that the addict would die. 'At least I could mourn him and get on with my life,' they may reason. 'She's not really living anyway. God might as well take her so I can stop worrying,' they say. 'Don't I deserve a little peace of mind before I die?'

"Such sentiments are indicative of the deep suffering that many families of addicts experience. A sense of hopelessness arises when every conceivable effort to save the addict has failed. When families have given everything they have to give, and when the only result seems to be endless unhappiness, they may long for an escape no matter what the cost."

There aren't words enough to tell you just how much both of these passages move me.

Thinking and driving

Because I left work a little later than usual today, my drive home was a little bit slower than usual. I spent a lot of time stopped in traffic or driving very slowly, which allowed my mind to wander a bit.

While I was giving my brain a workout, two questions popped into my head and wouldn't leave. They are actually questions I've been asking myself a lot lately:

1. Will I ever be able to trust my son again?

2. Will my son and I ever have a good relationship again?

Those are incredibly huge questions for a father to ask himself about his 20-year-old son, and it hurts me to have to ask them all the time. But I really don't know the long-term answer to either one. Right now, the only answer I can give for either question is, "I hope so."

-----------------------------------

For a good portion of my long drive home today, I was listening to my favorite sports talk radio station. They were ragging on former St. Louis Cardinals slugger Mark McGwire pretty good for having admitted yesterday to using steroids while he was an active player. The radio guys were questioning McGwire's sincerity and one of them was mocking McGwire for crying while reading his statement. "When was the last time you cried," the radio guy asked his fellow talking heads, as if to say, "What kind of man cries???" For the record, the "When was the last time you cried?" question was--unlike those other two questions I mentioned earlier--a very simple question for me to answer. The last time I cried was this morning.

What happened?

What happened?

I ask myself that question a lot lately. I just wonder where things went wrong with my son. It's been more than five years since his troubles began, and there doesn't really seem to be an end in sight. Never in a million years would I have expected things to be how they are today. My son is 20 years old, doesn't have any friends, doesn't have his driver's license, has never had a job, and struggles in school. He's still severely depressed and still has issues with drug use. And nothing seems to help. Hospitalizations, therapy, rehab, intesive outpatient programs, 12-step programs, etc. My son's been through it all. But there has been very little progress.

What happened?

0 for December

Not a single blog post in December? Wow. It's definitely been awhile (again) since I've posted here. It's also kind of weird that the post that broke a six-week absence from blogging was one that covered my favorite music of 2009, and had nothing at all to do with what's been going on in my life or my son's life. That's not to say that there hasn't been stuff happening on both those fronts. Trust me. There's been a lot going on. It's just that I've struggled with actually sitting down and writing about what's been happening. Hopefully I'll be able to get back in blogging mode soon. In the meantime, happy new year. I hope 2010 is a better year for all of us.

My favorite music of 2009

These are the 15 albums from 2009 that I enjoyed listening to the most. The ones I went back to continuously and that stuck with me for some reason or another.

1. Matthew Ryan: Dear Lover
2. Robert Francis: Before Nightfall
3. Buddy & Julie Miller: Written in Chalk
4. David Bazan: Curse Your Branches
5. Gregory Alan Isakov: This Empty Northern Hemisphere
6. Ryan Bingham: Roadhouse Sun
7. Dave Rawlings Machine: A Friend of a Friend
8. Neko Case: Middle Cyclone
9. Patterson Hood: Murdering Oscar (And Other Love Songs)
10. Phoenix: Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix
11. M. Ward: Hold Time
12. A.A. Bondy: When the Devil's Loose
13. Wilco: Wilco (The Album)
14. William Fitzsimmons: The Sparrow and the Crow
15. Rhett Miller: Rhett Miller

Favorite Song:
"Chalk" (Buddy & Julie Miller)

Artist I Was Happiest to Discover in 2009:
Gregory Alan Isakov

Favorite Reissue/Box Set:
Do What You Want, Be What You Are: The Music of Daryl Hall & John Oates

Favorite Music Video:
Matthew Ryan: City Life

Favorite Live Show I Attended:
Kathleen Edwards w/ Clare Burson @ The Magic Bag, 2/4/09

Hyped to High Heaven, But I Like Their Earlier Albums Better:
The Avett Brothers: I And Love And You

Biggest Disappointment:
U2: No Line on the Horizon

Album I Just Didn't "Get" (And Still Don't):
Grizzly Bear: Veckatimest