Chasing an Addict: A Mother's Journey

Chasing an Addict

A Mother’s Journey

BY

M. Louise

Copyright © 2024 by M. Louise

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

To protect individual’s privacy, names and identifying details have been changed. The depicted scenes and conversations are how I recall them. However, I must caution the reader that the tremendous stress and anxiety I was experiencing, colored these events. Written purely from memory, this story is how I saw it, how I remembered that time in my life.

For my courageous son,

Who encouraged me to tell my story.

The Disappearing Act

He was the brightest, the friendliest, and most curious boy. He charmed everyone with his engaging smile and sense of humor. Teachers adored him.

And he was smart, really smart. Not a show-off. His genius effortless. He included everyone within his circle. No one was turned away. He was our son, and we were proud. We never had to brag about his accomplishments. We basked in his light and dreamed of his bright future. Maybe he’d be a writer. Or a journalist. Change the world. The possibilities were limitless. We nurtured him and encouraged him. We disciplined him, emphasizing obligations and responsibilities over popularity or being a winner. But he was a winner, an honor role student and star athelete. A shining star. Our golden boy. He thrived and excelled, and we were so proud…until one day, he disappeared.

Down a rabbit hole into the dark, the pit, the fire.

Alcohol, pot, cocaine, painkillers, heroin, crack….

The disappearing act was a clever trick. Only a very smart boy could pretend to be present for as long as he did…before his family could actually see…he was gone…poof…disappeared.

The confusion and shame caused by his downfall overshadowed everything he’d accomplished. How could we miss the signs? How could this happen? We sent him to the best schools. We lived in a close-knit neighborhood. Went to church on Sundays and did volunteer work with the hungry and the needy. He had friends who loved him, a brother and sister who looked up to him. Where did we go wrong? Our son’s battle with addiction raged on for years through his failed marriage, lost jobs, jail time, detoxes, and four rehabs. Our faith and hope stretched paper thin.

Then, one day, he reappeared. Battle-scarred, weary from the war, grateful, wiser, older. Blessed. It was not magic…but it felt like it was.

Table Of Contents

Part One The Trip North (Clueless)

Part Two Arrival (Facing The Truth)

Part Three Court (The Saga Begins)

Part Four Waiting (To Go to Jail)

Part Five Escalation (Revelations)

Part Six Respite (Hope Renewed)

Part Seven Relapse (Hell Week)

Part Eight Salvation (Nine Months Later)

Part One

The Trip North (Clueless)

Rain splatted against the windshield, smearing my view of the gray fog-bound highway. Chili’s incessant yowling, interrupted by the sounds of her puking, was driving me to distraction.

Stop! Please stop, I begged, my words first met with silence, then scrabbling.

Chili squeezed her way through the narrow gap next to the driver’s seat, disappearing into the foot well. I groped around until I touched fur, made a grab, and missed. I had visions of her getting caught beneath the brake pedal. Not good. Shit, shit, shit! My mantra. Chili and I were only thirty minutes into our 24-hour drive north. This was not how I’d planned on spending Easter weekend. I had to get to Massachusetts in time for court on Monday morning. I wanted to be there when Michael was taken into custody. My son was going to jail. Again.

Was it just three days ago I’d gotten the phone call?

Mrs. C. Why was Ethan calling me? A year ago, I’d found out he was selling drugs in the neighborhood, including to Michael. When I confronted him, his response was unapologetic. He’s going to get it from somebody; at least I’m a friend. Some friend.

Mrs. C. Another voice chimed in. What the hell? This was not a social call.

Vinny? I hadn’t heard from Michael’s best friend in months. What’s the matter? I was so angry with both of these young men. They’d spent countless hours in my home growing up, and I loved them dearly. But, like my son, who was over thirty years old, they were ruining their lives with drugs.

You have to do something about Michael, Ethan said. He’s buying drugs from dealers in the city. He’s going to get killed.

Really, Ethan? A smart kid, and he doesn’t see the irony?

Please. Can’t you just do something? Vinny was pleading.

Do something? Are you effing kidding me? Ethan, you sold him pain pills. Vinny, you get high with him, and you’re upset because he’s using drugs?

But Mrs. C. He’s not just using; it’s way worse. Someone saw him panhandling in Springfield. It’s getting too dangerous. Michael begging on the street? 

To their credit, they ignored my hostility and stayed on the phone pleading with me to do something, anything. I agreed to call him.

Michael picked up on the first ring.

Oh hey, Mom. What’s up? He sounded weird spacey. A little down.

I just got off the phone with Vinny and Ethan. They said you’re buying drugs from street dealers in Springfield.

How would they know? I haven’t seen either one of them in forever. Not bothering to deny it.

Michael. Someone saw you. You can’t keep going on like this. I’m really afraid you’re going to get hurt or worse.

Mom, you can stop worrying. After court on Monday, I’ll be going to jail. Going to jail?

Oh, Michael, not again. Please, not again.

Sorry, Mom, he said and hung up. I had to do something. But what?

Someone has to go, I said to my husband, Dan, the next morning at our home in Florida. We were drinking coffee on the lanai, an unfinished crossword puzzle in Dan’s lap.

You know there’s no point, Dan said. Michael’s made his choices. I didn’t expect him to agree with me. Michael had dragged us through so much over the past couple of years, and Dan had taken it especially hard. But the thought of Michael facing the judge in four days by himself was too hard to contemplate.

I’m not asking you to come with me. I understood why he couldn’t come, why he shouldn’t.

I’ll leave as soon as I can, but it’ll be at least a couple of months. I’m sorry I can’t get away sooner. Dan said, rubbing a hand across his face.

After selling our home for thirty years in Massachusetts, we moved to the Florida Gulf Coast. Our plan was to spend June through August in New England, splitting our time between our condo in Vermont and staying with family and friends in Massachusetts. Dan had a lot to do before closing our new home up for the summer.

That’s okay, I assured him.

Why don’t you fly? Come back when Michael goes to jail, then we can travel north together in June.

I prefer to drive. I had considered flying to Massachusetts, staying a week, and then coming home, but I didn’t want to abandon Michael. I’d have to make the drive in June anyway.

So, how do you think you’re going to help? We’ve done everything we can. There’s nothing left. Dan had reached his limit. I thought I had too.

I know that, but I feel I need to be present to bear witness; he’s our son. I fought back tears. No point in making him feel even worse than he already did.

Then, at least leave Chili with me. I’ll take her in my car, Dan said.

I considered letting the cat travel with Dan, but she always got carsick, and he’d never be able to put up with her howling. I envisioned the highway rest area where Dan would just open the door and let Chili escape.

No. That’s okay. I appreciated the offer. I had tried like hell to find someone to take her over the summer. No volunteers. I figured she’d be fine with me.

Another hour into our drive, Chili’s retching devolved into profuse drooling. Strings of slimy foam wandered from the front seat to the rear hatch. Silvery spools and rivers crisscrossing towels, coolers, bags, pillows, and suitcases. The reek of sour vomit rose from behind me. I needed some mints some chewing gum. I reached for my purse, slipped my hand inside, and ended up with a handful of cat vomit. Shit!  I swerved. My mirrors lit up with flashing blue lights. I pulled onto the shoulder of the highway. Please, Lord,please, Lord, please, Lord, my new mantra. The police officer emerged from the fog, his dark slicker beaded with moisture.

Lower your window, please. His voice muffled, one hand resting on his sidearm, the other shining a flashlight into the car. I squinted against the bright beam.

I cracked the window, and a cool mist billowed in. Like a moth drawn to the light, Chili scrambled over my shoulder. She pushed her face through the gap, screaming at the trooper. He stepped back.

Are you okay, ma’am? he lowered the flashlight.

Yes, officer, I’m fine. My pulse raced and fluttered in my throat like butterfly wings. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Grabbing Chili by the scruff of her neck, I smashed her into my lap. She continued to yowl.

I’m sorry if I startled you. Startled? He almost stopped my heart. I pulled you over because you were driving a little erratically. Sure you’re okay?

Yes, sir, everything’s fine. I wanted to say my cat is driving me crazy, and my son’s a drug addict. It is a little foggy, I said instead.

There’s a rest area about twenty miles east of here; you might want to stop until visibility improves.

Thank you, sir. I’ll do that.

I pulled onto the highway, accelerated to five miles below the speed limit, then set the cruise control. Chili lay in my lap, purring and kneading my thigh, claws like tiny fish hooks. I hadn’t been driving for more than five minutes when a siren blasted, and my car filled with flashing lights. What the hell? The police car blew past, disappearing into the distance. I guessed he had bigger fish to fry.

When I reached the Georgia border, Chili tunneled into the back of the car, where she fell asleep. Finally, a little peace and quiet.

How did we end up here? Michael, our golden child, smart, funny, talented, and kind. The drinking began in high school and then intensified in college. But didn’t everyone drink too much in college? He smoked pot as a teen. Again, wasn’t that sort of age-appropriate? It wasn’t until his sophomore year that I could no longer ignore his alcohol abuse. His reckless behavior escalated; there were fights late nights out, and his grades suffered.

But then he met a girl. Heather was smart, responsible, a rule follower, and a hard worker, and I thought our son was in good hands. He appeared to settle down. Her family was well-off and very generous. They all fell in love with my charming, handsome son, welcoming him into their home with arms wide open. A couple of years after graduation, they got married.

Their destination wedding was a dream come true: three days at an amazing hotel, plentiful food, and sandy white beaches on a crystal clear bay. Late nights on the beach and in the pool, the young couple, joined by their friends, drank and partied hard. I tamped down my suspicions of recreational drug use. Why was I afraid to confront Michael? Nobody likes a party pooper.

Afterward, the in-laws set the kids up in a beautiful home. Bought them new cars. Financial worries would never beleaguer the newlyweds. Michael worked two part-time jobs while getting his master’s degree in Economics. This was proof that our son was moving forward. He was becoming an accomplished, responsible adult.

We spent time with our new in-laws, vacationing, visiting, and playing golf. They were so hospitable and fun to be with. Eventually, we began to worry about the extravagance showered on the young couple. Dan was the first to voice his concerns.

Michael is never going to succeed if everything is given to him on a silver platter, he said over dinner.

No, Michael will be fine. He’ll get a good job. You’ll see.

Why bother? He’s got everything now. I didn’t want to believe our son wouldn’t be successful. I prayed so hard that it would work out for them. But Dan was right, and it didn’t take long before we sensed things were far from okay. My heart ached when I looked back at that house of cards.

The kids were treated to endless celebrations, vacations, and expensive gifts. Both of them were drinking heavily, which made us a little uncomfortable, but not really worried. There were a few disconcerting incidents with Michael, too much time spent in the bathroom, jittery hands, and an uncharacteristic evasiveness that