go go go go stop

I want my son back. Now. I want his smiling eyes, his hugs that actually connect. I want him to look me in the eye when he speaks to me. And I want it now.

Time in the world of addiction is just one more thing that doesn't make sense. That moves in and out of focus.

Some times I think of him and he's the laughing, dancing, winking 4 year old who couldn't get enough of hugging his brother, playing with his dad, and helping his mom.

Some days he speaks to me and he's a worn-out old man. World-weary. Exhausted. Cynical.

It's been longer than a year since he attempted suicide, but it is constantly present for me. A rope. Driving by the hospital. References in tv and movies. They keep the horror of that night immediate.

It's only been a month since his grandparents discovered he stole from them, yet it seems to be far distant - have we waited too long to respond? The facts are a fog for me.

I make appointments to learn, to heal, to support. And they arrive upon me with startling speed.

I can't make sense of this world. Maybe it's not fair to think that The Oldest  who is so much further engaged in the world of addiction, should be able to keep track of time.

Or maybe it's just one more excuse I'm willing to make for him.