Please Don't Do Meth In Our Bathroom
I’m just going to put it right out there…being a mom is tough. We are expected to know pant, shirt and shoe sizes of each child, remember doctor appointments, their friend’s names and who is dating who, as well as what each child will and will not eat. We drop them off at the lake, take them to practice and shuffle a car full of teenagers to the mall, after we have worked a full day for a boss who doesn’t understand how difficult his “simple” requests are. We do this every day and it becomes our routine. But occasionally, we have a day that halts our routine…that shakes us to the core…that makes time stand still. A day when we reminisce, recalling the day they were born and vividly remember holding our fine haired babies and gazing at their tiny fingers in our hands.
I rushed to the ER to find my then 16-year-old son lying in a hospital bed, eyes closed, and very still. The monitor was beeping wildly, lights flashing, displaying a heart rate of next-to-nothing, as the nurse rushed by me to check his vitals. She told me they were still waiting on the tox screen to know definitively what he took. My son, the boy I grew and taught how to use a fork and tie his shoes, was lying motionless in a hospital bed, hooked to machines, and I had to verify he was breathing. I sat there in the hard-plastic chair, a fabric curtain separating my life from the bustle of the ER. The man on the other side of the curtain was vomiting and there was a child screaming somewhere close. I started to pray. I stared at his face and his giant man feet hanging off the end of the bed. I started to cry and found my thoughts wondering back and forth from how this happened to what type of pie the cafeteria had. Then I became fixated on pie, I craved pie in my core. I knew my son needed to be admitted into a rehab facility but pie was so much easier to think about. It's crazy the ways we find to cope.
I recall exactly how I felt when I drove my son to rehab and the vile things he said to me. He was in detox and was not happy. I was assured this is a normal phase and as soon as he detoxified his body I would be able to speak to him, and not the drugs that had control of him. I wish that was the end of the story of how Meth consumed our lives for more than 8 years. I say Meth consumed ‘Us’ because it was a family affair. My son checked himself out of rehab that time three days later. I then sent him to Canada for treatment where he miraculously snuck back into the United States and hitch-hiked his way to California. He was homeless for years, in and out of jail/ prison and all the while I was attending Nar-Anon meetings to learn how to disengage, stop enabling and to love him from a distance. Laura was with me. Laura sat on the phone with me while I cried or screamed or she told me stories about her adventures. I miss her…but that is another Blog post altogether.
I infused this candle with Judgment because that is exactly what this mother/son duo felt from the world. I had clearly fucked my son up- it was my fault. I judged myself, I felt the judgment from others and so did my son. He felt hopeless and was tormented with judgment. He felt the eyes and the looks when he walked down the street. He felt the comments. And yes, he looked like a skinny meth head, but he was my baby….my skinny meth head and it broke my heart.
I am so happy to report that at 25 years old my baby boy is alive and sober. He has a full-time job and a girlfriend that I absolutely adore. His eyes are bright and his skin is clear and he is determined to be a dad one day. My son LOVES this candle. In fact, it is his favorite. This candle honors our journey together.
So to all the Judgmental pieces of shit- Knock It The Fuck Off. Stop sending me messages that I am making fun of addicts. I would never, EVER do that. My heart breaks for every single addict and their families and I am eternally grateful my son is alive and well. I made this candle as a reminder…also it never hurts to reinforce the house rules.
FYI...it was coconut cream pie.