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Welcome to my blog. I hope we can help each other endure the pain of the addiction of a daughter or son.

Monday, June 11, 2012

A Glimpse of What Might Have Been

Beth came over tonight. She missed the Barb B Q yesterday as she was working at the horse races. She is assisting a handicapper. It seems they research and publish information about the horses establishing what they think are the odds for each horse to win based upon past history and current conditions.

We were of course concerned with her being in an atmosphere of gambling and drinking but it was obvious that she was excited about this. For the last 6 years she has not been excited about anything really. She has mostly been bored, or listless. Laying on her couch and not finding a reasons to get up.

Lately she has been giving some tennis lessons, doing this work at the race track, collecting scrap metal for resale and doing some home health care work here and there. She also goes to the Dr. once a week for blood tests to show that she is taking her suboxone and clean from other drugs.

After dinner tonight she sang with her Dad. She picked the hardest songs to sing with the keroke machine. Phantom of the opera was one of her first selections. It was amazing to hear her sing loud and clear in her soprano voice. Then, the Dad put on Yesterday and we all sang together. This is how I imagined our lives would be. It made me cry.

She looked very good tonight inspite of just breaking up with her latest boyfriend. Her arms and legs were bear. Her hair was fixed nice and she was neatly groomed. She looked cute and preppy in spite of her tatoos.

Hope is fleeting. Hope is the enemy and yet hope is what I felt. I am afraid of hope and her inconsitencies were still glaringly apparent and all too familiar. And yet, something is very different. There is a spark of her humanity long absent which now smolders amidst the ashes here and there.


  1. I treasure every minute he is clean. We know all too well how that can change.

    That was a beautiful post Anna, I can imagine the joy and happiness you must have felt watching her do something that perhaps before we would have taken for granted.

  2. Anna, to this day the first thing I notice is a long sleeve shirt when it is warm or hot outside. A short sleeve t-shirt represents a beacon of hope to me also.

    I understand this post on a visceral level. The feeling that something is different, but you cannot articulate it. For me, the next step in coming to grips with reality was accepting the way this "different" would be. It did not mean a 9-5 job for my son. It did not mean a house, family, or white picket fence. It means he will (in our case) always live an unconventional life. He will always be on the fringe.

    His happiness is not mine. He is content if he has enough money for a pack of cigarettes and a place to sleep. He manages his life as well as he can.

    For a long time, I tried to change him into someone "normal". Finally I realized there is nothing wrong with him. God obviously has a purpose for him, because he has been clinically dead. Yet he lives. Maybe he is not "broken". Maybe the way I look at the situation is wrong. Expecting him to be someone he is not capable of being (or should be)

    I write this long winded comment because Beth is the same kind of addict as Andrew (as we
    know). She is following the same progression as Andrew. I became aware of the "difference" around 27/28 years of age. My learning curve was understanding this different did not mean some kind of miraculous transformation to tax paying, 2 car garage citizen.

    I hope I wrote this coherently. I think you will understand.

  3. Something seems different in just reading this, Anna. I know what you mean about "hope" but I think we need to always hold on to it - expectations are another story.

    Lou's comment was great. Our children may or may not have the kind of life we always imagined for them, but they can have a good life. The fact that Beth seemed happy is HUGE!

  4. Anna, Beth sounds good and so you savor this moment for however long it lasts. What a beautiful family night to share in with her. A gift. I love Lou's comment as well. Its so true. They are who they are.

  5. Anna, this sounds so good. I am still praying, and will continue. It sounds to me like she is finding herself, her life, her interests, and I know seeing her happiness/excitement in what she is doing is PRECIOUS to you. I am amazed at where my daughter is today - it's nothing like what I envisioned for her and yet, it is perfect. I get this. Hold on to the hope and enjoy the glimpses of her true self you see! Hugs!

  6. I love those moments when everything almost feels normal (: So glad your daughter is doing well.