Back in September of 2008, I sat in a family therapy session at Brighton Recovery Center with my son and my wife. My son was 18 at the time and in treatment for heroin addiction.
During that family session the therapist looked at me and strung together a 10-word sentence that would end up being some of the greatest advice anyone has ever given me. Advice that would change my life forever:
"Be the change you want to see in your son."
Her message? Don't tell your son not to self-medicate if you yourself are self-medicating with wine or beer or bourbon to take the edge off after a long day of work. Or when you're feeling stressed. Or just for "fun" on weekends. Or at parties. Etc.
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I would do anything to help my son in his recovery and quitting drinking seemed like a very small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.
Fast forward 1,826 days: Today I celebrate five years of sobriety.
Being sober has made me a better person. I am more in touch with reality. I've lost a lot of weight and am healthier. I've saved money. I'm happier. I feel much more positive than I ever have before. And--best of all--I've set an example not only for my older son, but for my younger son as well.
I thank that therapist at Brighton for changing my life. Sobriety is only as dull as you make it, people. Not drinking doesn't mean not living. In fact, life without alcohol is...
LIFE.
"We begin to find and become ourselves when we notice how we are already found, already truly, entirely, wildly, messily, marvelously who we were born to be." --Anne Lamott
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Monday, September 2, 2013
14
My son is 14 months clean and sober today.
Every day is a gift from God.
For those of you who have children battling addiction: I pray for all of you every day and night.
Keep your hope alive.
Don't give up.
Things can get better.
Every day is a gift from God.
For those of you who have children battling addiction: I pray for all of you every day and night.
Keep your hope alive.
Don't give up.
Things can get better.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Fighting another battle
I've found myself fighting another battle with another store that just doesn't seem to understand anything about prescription drug abuse. (Remember the Urban Outfitters fight?)
They are actually selling shirts that resemble football jerseys. Except instead of a player's name above the number on the back, they've emblazoned the shirts with "ADDERALL," "XANAX," and "VICODIN." They're charging $58.00 for a t-shirt and $98.00 for a sweatshirt.
I was going to post a photo of the shirts, but decided not to. I don't want to give them any more exposure than they've already had.
I have worked tirelessly over the last several days fighting against these ridiculous, sickening shirts and the store selling them.
After contacting the pharmaceutical companies that own the registered trademarks to Adderall, Xanax, and Vicodin, I am confident that legal action will be taking place. And that "big pharma" will prevail. (Crazy how I'm actually rooting for big pharma, isn't it?)
The store selling these shirts has no absolutely no clue what they're doing. It's so sad.
If you're on Facebook and want to help support my fight, please go to the page I created and "Like" and "Share" it. There is power in numbers.
CLICK HERE FOR THE FACEBOOK PAGE
Why am I fighting this fight? Because of messages like these three, which I received via the Facebook page I created:
"this [is] totally absurd.....and just plain wrong.....to glamorize drugs and drug abuse in any way is just evil. my daughter was addicted to vicodin and soma. her 31st birthday is in a few days...too bad she has been dead for 2 years leaving behind a then 5 year old daughter at the time. I am outraged!!!!"
"Thank you for this page. My stepson died of an overdose in 2011 and these shirts are absolutely horrendous. Not only did it take him away from us, but almost destroyed our marriage. It has been hard and we are just now starting to learn how to live with the pain. He had other substances as well as prescription drugs in his system. They should be ashamed of themselves."
"You are doing a wonderful thing with your page and your fight. I don't know you, but I truly appreciate what you are doing. My cousin passed 9/25/10 at 31 from prescription overdose. I know some people will never understand the fight that is in all of us that have loved ones that battle this disease. But please, keep up the great work. You are making a difference."
Enough said.
They are actually selling shirts that resemble football jerseys. Except instead of a player's name above the number on the back, they've emblazoned the shirts with "ADDERALL," "XANAX," and "VICODIN." They're charging $58.00 for a t-shirt and $98.00 for a sweatshirt.
I was going to post a photo of the shirts, but decided not to. I don't want to give them any more exposure than they've already had.
I have worked tirelessly over the last several days fighting against these ridiculous, sickening shirts and the store selling them.
After contacting the pharmaceutical companies that own the registered trademarks to Adderall, Xanax, and Vicodin, I am confident that legal action will be taking place. And that "big pharma" will prevail. (Crazy how I'm actually rooting for big pharma, isn't it?)
The store selling these shirts has no absolutely no clue what they're doing. It's so sad.
If you're on Facebook and want to help support my fight, please go to the page I created and "Like" and "Share" it. There is power in numbers.
CLICK HERE FOR THE FACEBOOK PAGE
Why am I fighting this fight? Because of messages like these three, which I received via the Facebook page I created:
"this [is] totally absurd.....and just plain wrong.....to glamorize drugs and drug abuse in any way is just evil. my daughter was addicted to vicodin and soma. her 31st birthday is in a few days...too bad she has been dead for 2 years leaving behind a then 5 year old daughter at the time. I am outraged!!!!"
"Thank you for this page. My stepson died of an overdose in 2011 and these shirts are absolutely horrendous. Not only did it take him away from us, but almost destroyed our marriage. It has been hard and we are just now starting to learn how to live with the pain. He had other substances as well as prescription drugs in his system. They should be ashamed of themselves."
"You are doing a wonderful thing with your page and your fight. I don't know you, but I truly appreciate what you are doing. My cousin passed 9/25/10 at 31 from prescription overdose. I know some people will never understand the fight that is in all of us that have loved ones that battle this disease. But please, keep up the great work. You are making a difference."
Enough said.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
The poetry of Anis Mojgani
This is one of those blog posts that has absolutely nothing to do with my son's addiction or recovery; and everything to do with my recovery.
During my recovery I have had "help" from a few incredibly gifted and talented people. Most of these people are either authors (David Sheff, Anne Lamott) or musicians (Kathleen Edwards, Ryan Adams, Matthew Ryan, Jim Bryson, Hannah Georgas, The Bergamot, Rickie Lee Jones). Their works have had such a positive effect on me and my life and have helped me navigate my way through some very tumultuous times.
But there is also a poet who has moved me and helped me in ways I can't explain. His words and attitude on life speak to me like they are coming from some higher place. That poet is Anis Mojgani.
I first became aware of Anis's poetry when I saw this video of him performing his poem "Shake the Dust" as part of the To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA) "Heavy and Light" tour:
I watched that performance over and over again. My mind was blown.
I then started watching every performance of Anis's that I could find online. I bought his books from Amazon. I started reading his blog. I became convinced that Anis Mojgani is a gift from God.
On Februay 13th of this year, me, my wife, and our younger son--who is big into poetry--went to the TWLOHA "Heavy and Light" show at St. Andrew's Hall in Detroit. The whole show was great. Stories and music with a positive message, full of inspiration. "Songs, conversation, and hope." But the highlight for me was definitely Anis Mojgani's performances. Seeing him perform live made his poetry even more moving. It was breathtaking.
After the show, we had the pleasure of meeting Anis, who won back-to-back titles in the National Individual Poetry Slam in 2005 and 2006. Standing next to him I felt like I was in the presence of greatness. Because I was.
If you like poetry at all--or even if you don't think you do--I highly recommend that you check out the work of Anis Mojgani. There's no doubt that his words have made a difference in my life. Maybe they'll make a difference in yours, too.
Here's a great video of Anis performing several of his poems. Check it out. I think you'll like what you hear and see.
"So when the world knocks at your door, clutch the knob tightly and open on up. And run forward. Run forward as fast and as far as you must. Run into its widespread greeting arms with your hands outstretched before you, fingertips trembling though they may be." --Anis Mojgani, from "Shake the Dust" (from the book Songs from Under the River: Early & New Work, © 2013 by Anis Mojgani).
During my recovery I have had "help" from a few incredibly gifted and talented people. Most of these people are either authors (David Sheff, Anne Lamott) or musicians (Kathleen Edwards, Ryan Adams, Matthew Ryan, Jim Bryson, Hannah Georgas, The Bergamot, Rickie Lee Jones). Their works have had such a positive effect on me and my life and have helped me navigate my way through some very tumultuous times.
But there is also a poet who has moved me and helped me in ways I can't explain. His words and attitude on life speak to me like they are coming from some higher place. That poet is Anis Mojgani.
I first became aware of Anis's poetry when I saw this video of him performing his poem "Shake the Dust" as part of the To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA) "Heavy and Light" tour:
I watched that performance over and over again. My mind was blown.
I then started watching every performance of Anis's that I could find online. I bought his books from Amazon. I started reading his blog. I became convinced that Anis Mojgani is a gift from God.
On Februay 13th of this year, me, my wife, and our younger son--who is big into poetry--went to the TWLOHA "Heavy and Light" show at St. Andrew's Hall in Detroit. The whole show was great. Stories and music with a positive message, full of inspiration. "Songs, conversation, and hope." But the highlight for me was definitely Anis Mojgani's performances. Seeing him perform live made his poetry even more moving. It was breathtaking.
After the show, we had the pleasure of meeting Anis, who won back-to-back titles in the National Individual Poetry Slam in 2005 and 2006. Standing next to him I felt like I was in the presence of greatness. Because I was.
If you like poetry at all--or even if you don't think you do--I highly recommend that you check out the work of Anis Mojgani. There's no doubt that his words have made a difference in my life. Maybe they'll make a difference in yours, too.
Here's a great video of Anis performing several of his poems. Check it out. I think you'll like what you hear and see.
"So when the world knocks at your door, clutch the knob tightly and open on up. And run forward. Run forward as fast and as far as you must. Run into its widespread greeting arms with your hands outstretched before you, fingertips trembling though they may be." --Anis Mojgani, from "Shake the Dust" (from the book Songs from Under the River: Early & New Work, © 2013 by Anis Mojgani).
Friday, August 23, 2013
Four years and six days later
Four years and six days ago, I wrote a blog post entitled "I miss my son."
It was a poem of sorts, and I remember how it hurt like hell--and then some--to write it. I remember crying the whole time I was typing. It came from my heart, though, and I had to get it out.
Last night I revisited that post and cried again. But this time I cried tears of happiness.
The reasons for my happiness lie in this excerpt from that post:
Ask me what one thing I would wish for if given the chance.
It's such an easy question to answer:
I want my son back.
I want him to feel happiness.
I want him to feel at ease.
I want him to feel wanted.
I want him to feel like he belongs.
I want him to laugh.
I want him to love.
I want him to live.
I want him to be free of the demons that seem to haunt him.
I read that passage over and over and over again last night.
Then I realized: Four years and six days later...
My son feels happiness.
My son feels at ease.
My son feels wanted.
My son feels like he belongs.
My son laughs.
My son is in love.
My son is living.
My son appears to be free of the demons that haunted him.
And best of all?
I believe I have my son back.
"Don't give up, don't ever give up." --Jim Valvano
It was a poem of sorts, and I remember how it hurt like hell--and then some--to write it. I remember crying the whole time I was typing. It came from my heart, though, and I had to get it out.
Last night I revisited that post and cried again. But this time I cried tears of happiness.
The reasons for my happiness lie in this excerpt from that post:
Ask me what one thing I would wish for if given the chance.
It's such an easy question to answer:
I want my son back.
I want him to feel happiness.
I want him to feel at ease.
I want him to feel wanted.
I want him to feel like he belongs.
I want him to laugh.
I want him to love.
I want him to live.
I want him to be free of the demons that seem to haunt him.
I read that passage over and over and over again last night.
Then I realized: Four years and six days later...
My son feels happiness.
My son feels at ease.
My son feels wanted.
My son feels like he belongs.
My son laughs.
My son is in love.
My son is living.
My son appears to be free of the demons that haunted him.
And best of all?
I believe I have my son back.
"Don't give up, don't ever give up." --Jim Valvano
Monday, August 19, 2013
GUTS
During the last several years, I've read more books about addiction than I can remember. Scientific books, self-help books, memoirs, books about rehabs, etc. If there's a book out there about addiction, chances are I've read it. Or it's on a bookshelf waiting for me to read it because my wife and I have our own little addiction library at home.
The other day, on a day off from work, I finished reading one of the better memoirs I've read. In fact, I read the entire book in one sitting, which is unheard of for me. (I'm a pretty slow reader. I'm a perfectionist and I like to read slowly so I make sure I don't miss anything. It's a sickness, really.)
The book that had me hooked right from the Foreword--and made me spend most of my day off on the family room couch--is GUTS: The Endless Follies and Tiny Triumphs of a Giant Disaster by Kristen Johnston.
Johnston is an actress who is probably best known for her Emmy Award-winning portrayal of Sally Solomon in the late-'90s/early '00s comedy series 3rd Rock from the Sun. She currently stars as Holly Franklin in the TV Land comedy The Exes. She's also a recovering addict.
GUTS is an incredibly honest, sobering (pun intended), and hilarious memoir. Hilarious in parts for sure, thanks to Johnston's wicked sense of self-deprecating humor. But the book is very serious, too. After all, addiction in and of itself isn't really funny.
One of the most serious and honest parts of the book takes place while Johnston is hospitalized in England on New Year's eve 2006:
"....I heard a loud bang. Because I'm from New York City, I almost ignored it, assuming it was just someone being murdered. Then, out of the corner of my eye, a burst of orange. I looked up from my bed out the window, and I saw the most glorious, enormous splashes of color lighting up the skyline. Fireworks! I could even hear the 'oohs' and the 'aahs' floating up from the celebrating crowd.
To this day I don't know exactly why, but for some mysterious reason, this was the moment that sanity finally chose to break through the madness that had held me in its iron grip for so many years. With no warning, I was struck by this thought:
There are people in that crowd who are looking at the same fireworks I am right this very second who are STONE COLD SOBER. There are people in that crowd who don't feel the need to touch the back pocket of their jeans constantly to make sure the six pills are still there. There are people in that crowd who are simply enjoying the spectacle, without wondering if they have one refill left at the pharmacy, or if they would have to call yet another doctor. There are people out there RIGHT NOW who are with their loved ones and are just happy to be alive.
Grief overwhelmed me. True, real sorrow not for me, but for finally seeing the truth of what I was. A selfish, self-serving, loathsome creature who did nothing to better the world. I finally truly felt the weight of all the pain I had caused, all the tears that had been wasted on me, all the gifts that had been given to me that I had just carelessly frittered away, and all of the thousands of hours I had spent obsessing about something as ridiculous, boring, and stupid as me.
I don't want this life anymore, I thought. I can't bear who I've become."
---------------------------------------
That's some powerful stuff, isn't it?
So is this, which is my favorite passage from the book:
"I knew that I needed to start accepting that I was me--and I needed to do it pronto--because life, it is short. And the very notion of spending the rest of my life still desperately wishing I was anyone but me? Unacceptable."
Take it from me: GUTS is a book you'll start reading and won't be able to put down. And when you're finished with it, you'll admire the hell out of Kristen Johnston for putting her addiction, her life, and her soul "out there" for everyone to see. And for helping to break the stigma associated with addiction. ("I believe, without a doubt, that the shame and secrecy that shroud the disease are just as deadly as the disease itself," she says in the book's Epilogue.)
It should also be pointed out that Kristen has donated a portion of the book's proceeds to SLAM (Sobriety Learning And Motivation), a group she formed that is dedicated to starting the first sober high school in New York City/New York State. You can learn more about SLAM at SLAMNYC.org.
"Silence equals death.
I won't stay silent any longer.
I hope you won't either."
(Note: Excerpts from GUTS are © 2012 by Kristen Johnston. All rights reserved. You can follow Kristen on Twitter at @kjothesmartass; visit the GUTS website at http://www.gutsthebook.com/; or preview and buy the book--and read its terrific reviews--at Amazon.com.)
The other day, on a day off from work, I finished reading one of the better memoirs I've read. In fact, I read the entire book in one sitting, which is unheard of for me. (I'm a pretty slow reader. I'm a perfectionist and I like to read slowly so I make sure I don't miss anything. It's a sickness, really.)
The book that had me hooked right from the Foreword--and made me spend most of my day off on the family room couch--is GUTS: The Endless Follies and Tiny Triumphs of a Giant Disaster by Kristen Johnston.
Johnston is an actress who is probably best known for her Emmy Award-winning portrayal of Sally Solomon in the late-'90s/early '00s comedy series 3rd Rock from the Sun. She currently stars as Holly Franklin in the TV Land comedy The Exes. She's also a recovering addict.
GUTS is an incredibly honest, sobering (pun intended), and hilarious memoir. Hilarious in parts for sure, thanks to Johnston's wicked sense of self-deprecating humor. But the book is very serious, too. After all, addiction in and of itself isn't really funny.
One of the most serious and honest parts of the book takes place while Johnston is hospitalized in England on New Year's eve 2006:
"....I heard a loud bang. Because I'm from New York City, I almost ignored it, assuming it was just someone being murdered. Then, out of the corner of my eye, a burst of orange. I looked up from my bed out the window, and I saw the most glorious, enormous splashes of color lighting up the skyline. Fireworks! I could even hear the 'oohs' and the 'aahs' floating up from the celebrating crowd.
To this day I don't know exactly why, but for some mysterious reason, this was the moment that sanity finally chose to break through the madness that had held me in its iron grip for so many years. With no warning, I was struck by this thought:
There are people in that crowd who are looking at the same fireworks I am right this very second who are STONE COLD SOBER. There are people in that crowd who don't feel the need to touch the back pocket of their jeans constantly to make sure the six pills are still there. There are people in that crowd who are simply enjoying the spectacle, without wondering if they have one refill left at the pharmacy, or if they would have to call yet another doctor. There are people out there RIGHT NOW who are with their loved ones and are just happy to be alive.
Grief overwhelmed me. True, real sorrow not for me, but for finally seeing the truth of what I was. A selfish, self-serving, loathsome creature who did nothing to better the world. I finally truly felt the weight of all the pain I had caused, all the tears that had been wasted on me, all the gifts that had been given to me that I had just carelessly frittered away, and all of the thousands of hours I had spent obsessing about something as ridiculous, boring, and stupid as me.
I don't want this life anymore, I thought. I can't bear who I've become."
---------------------------------------
That's some powerful stuff, isn't it?
So is this, which is my favorite passage from the book:
"I knew that I needed to start accepting that I was me--and I needed to do it pronto--because life, it is short. And the very notion of spending the rest of my life still desperately wishing I was anyone but me? Unacceptable."
Take it from me: GUTS is a book you'll start reading and won't be able to put down. And when you're finished with it, you'll admire the hell out of Kristen Johnston for putting her addiction, her life, and her soul "out there" for everyone to see. And for helping to break the stigma associated with addiction. ("I believe, without a doubt, that the shame and secrecy that shroud the disease are just as deadly as the disease itself," she says in the book's Epilogue.)
It should also be pointed out that Kristen has donated a portion of the book's proceeds to SLAM (Sobriety Learning And Motivation), a group she formed that is dedicated to starting the first sober high school in New York City/New York State. You can learn more about SLAM at SLAMNYC.org.
"Silence equals death.
I won't stay silent any longer.
I hope you won't either."
(Note: Excerpts from GUTS are © 2012 by Kristen Johnston. All rights reserved. You can follow Kristen on Twitter at @kjothesmartass; visit the GUTS website at http://www.gutsthebook.com/; or preview and buy the book--and read its terrific reviews--at Amazon.com.)
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Did I just say that?
"My son's addiction has made me a better person."
Wait, what?? Did I just say that???
Actually, no. I just typed that. But I did say it yesterday during a discussion with the headmaster of my younger son's school. And it was the first time I had ever said it to anyone. Including myself. It just came out.
And you know what? It's true.
First of all, let me be crystal clear: As I've said before, being the parent of an addict is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It's not something you ever think about when you have kids.
My hopes and dreams for my older son were definitely in another "bucket." That bucket contained academic and athletic excellence, graduating from high school, going to college, graduating from college, etc., etc., etc. I imagine my dreams for him were the same dreams almost every parent has for their children.
But someone up above had other plans for my son...and for my wife and me.
When I first learned that addiction had overtaken my child, it was pretty much a nightmare. I thought it was a curse. The reason? Because I used to be one of "those people" who believed the stigma that is so frequently associated with addiction. I thought heroin addicts couldn't possibly come from a decent, middle-class, suburban family. I thought that a heroin addict wasn't a worthy member of society.
Boy, was I wrong. And I got educated in a hurry.
I will never say that my son's heroin addiction was a blessing. That would be a ridiculous statement. Certainly I would rather be living a more "normal" life, with memories of my son's high school and college graduations locked away in my mind instead of memories of dishonesty, stealing, heroin withdrawal, rehabs, and the like. That said, though, my son's addiction has turned out--to this point, anyway--to be far less of a curse than I initially thought it would be.
Being the parent of an addict has made me a more cognizant, sympathetic, empathetic, forgiving, caring, understanding, grateful person. It's made me appreciate the little things in life and made me more aware that I should live in the moment instead of worrying about yesterday or tomorrow. (One day at a time, right?)
This might sound kind of twisted to some people, but being the father of an addict has made the current me much kinder and gentler than the me that existed before my son's addiction. Not only am I more willing to help people, I want to help people. I want people who are going through experiences similar to those I went through to know that things can work out. There is no guarantee, of course. But there is hope.
I have also become passionate about working to help break the stigma associated with addiction and depression. I blog about it. I post on Facebook about it. I Tweet about it. I talk to people about it. Addiction is a disease that can happen to anyone.
People I know frequently tell me that they can't imagine how my wife and I have made it through all the stuff we've been through over the last several years. Well, if you would've told me eight years ago what was in store for me and my family, I probably would've said "Uncle" and told you I wouldn't be able to handle it. "No thanks. Give that to someone else, please."
But as I look back today, I was able to handle it. So was my wife. We were able to handle it together. As a team. And I believe that we are both better people because of it. I also believe our relationship with each other and with our children is stronger because of it. It took a while, for sure; but never giving up on our son--or on each other--has paid off.
We may have a few more gray hairs and be much poorer financially because of our son's addiction. But we are emotionally richer because of it. And that's not such a bad thing.
"That which does not kill us makes us stronger." --Friedrich Nietzsche
Wait, what?? Did I just say that???
Actually, no. I just typed that. But I did say it yesterday during a discussion with the headmaster of my younger son's school. And it was the first time I had ever said it to anyone. Including myself. It just came out.
And you know what? It's true.
First of all, let me be crystal clear: As I've said before, being the parent of an addict is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It's not something you ever think about when you have kids.
My hopes and dreams for my older son were definitely in another "bucket." That bucket contained academic and athletic excellence, graduating from high school, going to college, graduating from college, etc., etc., etc. I imagine my dreams for him were the same dreams almost every parent has for their children.
But someone up above had other plans for my son...and for my wife and me.
When I first learned that addiction had overtaken my child, it was pretty much a nightmare. I thought it was a curse. The reason? Because I used to be one of "those people" who believed the stigma that is so frequently associated with addiction. I thought heroin addicts couldn't possibly come from a decent, middle-class, suburban family. I thought that a heroin addict wasn't a worthy member of society.
Boy, was I wrong. And I got educated in a hurry.
I will never say that my son's heroin addiction was a blessing. That would be a ridiculous statement. Certainly I would rather be living a more "normal" life, with memories of my son's high school and college graduations locked away in my mind instead of memories of dishonesty, stealing, heroin withdrawal, rehabs, and the like. That said, though, my son's addiction has turned out--to this point, anyway--to be far less of a curse than I initially thought it would be.
Being the parent of an addict has made me a more cognizant, sympathetic, empathetic, forgiving, caring, understanding, grateful person. It's made me appreciate the little things in life and made me more aware that I should live in the moment instead of worrying about yesterday or tomorrow. (One day at a time, right?)
This might sound kind of twisted to some people, but being the father of an addict has made the current me much kinder and gentler than the me that existed before my son's addiction. Not only am I more willing to help people, I want to help people. I want people who are going through experiences similar to those I went through to know that things can work out. There is no guarantee, of course. But there is hope.
I have also become passionate about working to help break the stigma associated with addiction and depression. I blog about it. I post on Facebook about it. I Tweet about it. I talk to people about it. Addiction is a disease that can happen to anyone.
People I know frequently tell me that they can't imagine how my wife and I have made it through all the stuff we've been through over the last several years. Well, if you would've told me eight years ago what was in store for me and my family, I probably would've said "Uncle" and told you I wouldn't be able to handle it. "No thanks. Give that to someone else, please."
But as I look back today, I was able to handle it. So was my wife. We were able to handle it together. As a team. And I believe that we are both better people because of it. I also believe our relationship with each other and with our children is stronger because of it. It took a while, for sure; but never giving up on our son--or on each other--has paid off.
We may have a few more gray hairs and be much poorer financially because of our son's addiction. But we are emotionally richer because of it. And that's not such a bad thing.
"That which does not kill us makes us stronger." --Friedrich Nietzsche
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)