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"You create continually with your thoughts. You can create basically the same life with very little difference over and over again, year after year. You can experience the same life relentlessly, with a little different color to it, a slightly altered texture. Or you can co-create with God, moving confidently in the direction of your dreams." ~ Mary Manin Morrissey
"Wake up honey," he heard her say. "Do you want to start the coffee this morning?"
"Jeez, did she have to wake me up from such a wonderful dream?" he thought to himself with a smile.
This scene had played out countless times, this morning ritual of theirs. But that was OK. It was one of few constants in his life he could depend on in a chaotic world over which he felt absolutely no control - one of his daily "Groundhog Day" experiences that would certainly, sometime soon, be interrupted by their first-born addicted child.
"Sure," he said.
The chaos would come, certainly, soon enough.
After the coffee was started he walked downstairs to the basement to perform another morning ritual.
"Wake up son," he heard himself say.
But today as with so many other days there would be no response, not even a grumble or turning over in feigned ignorance of his father's encouragement. This was the state of affairs for his son that The Addiction had created and the son had accepted - with painful regret - though the son would not presently admit. This was the life his son pretended to accept.
He would try again just before going to work. School today would be out of the question. Just knowing he had moved his boy to a conscious state would allow him to soldier through his work day, one day at a time as prescribed by the 12-Step program and countless readings he had incorporated into his daily routine. He had no idea how he was managing to hold it together in his life outside of home.
He just did. He had to. He had to keep some outward appearance that he was living amid The Addiction that would suck the life out of his family if left absolutely unchecked.
What would it be this evening when he returned home? Would he find paraphernalia placed passive aggressively, where his son knew he would find it, would there be outbursts directed at him, other family members or at nothing, or would there simply be that black, sullen, far-off stare response to any attempt at engagement?
This was the daily, weekly, monthly routine.
"How many months would this, could this last?" he would ask himself. "... certainly not years."
He felt himself expel a heavy sigh. It seemed he was experiencing this cleansing of emotions more often now.
His workday was completed with the normal victories and challenges. No one at work knew. No one knew that the challenges he came across during his nine-to-five paled against what was awaiting him at home. He was strangely calm at work. He had to be. He was fearful of what might happen if he let the pain in, even for a moment.
On the way home he considered what might await him there.
"I wonder what The Addiction has in mind for me today? Will it be waiting, quietly, but ready to spring? Will I arrive to sounds of The Addiction argument I can hear as I pull into the driveway? Will my son even be home?"
As he arrived he would find, today, it would be all of the above. He could hear his son screaming at his mother from the road, screaming about nothing, and everything. As soon as he walked through the door the screaming ceased, but he could see The Addiction was just catching its breath within his son.
Then the reason for the outburst became apparent.
"What did you do with my pipe?!" he heard his son burst forth. "And my pot!"
He had found these on the back porch the evening before, a sort of "F-you" passive-aggressive I dare you to touch my s--t message conveyed through his son from The Addiction.
"I told you if I found that stuff I'd throw it out," he heard himself SCREAM AT his son, his baby.
"It's not yours. I will "F--k" you up," was the response.
"Try it," the words came out before he even thought about what he was saying. He stepped menacingly toward The Addiction, his son.
And then his son left. It would be for the night, as with so many previous evenings when these scenes would play out. He had no idea where his son would go. He would always return - hopefully -somehow.
He looked at his wife, exhausted. They were both exhausted. They were always exhausted.
That night both he and his wife would go to bed early. The constant stress would catch up to them in cycles and this night was one of them. On this night they would require the seven to nine hours they knew they needed every night but seldom enjoyed. They needed this night to rejuvenate and recharge so they could go on, to hold up against the constant barrage of The Addiction.
But this night would be different. There would be no dreams to be interrupted.
~~~~~~~~
"Wake up honey," he heard her say. "Do you want to start the coffee this morning?"
"Sure," he said. "Are we still meeting tonight with everybody at the park?" He rubbed his eyes and looked at the alarm. They had slept for a good 8 hours. He felt both groggy and rejuvenated, the result of a decent sleep.
"Think so. I'll message everyone later today," she called out as he walked to the kitchen.
After the coffee was started he hurried into the bathroom to get a jump on his day. He had a huge series of client meetings ahead of him and wanted to get into work early to make sure he could leave on time to meet everyone. Before he walked out the door he kissed his wife, then, as he closed the door blew a kiss to his son in the basement.
He had made the decision weeks ago that only his son could save himself. He would support him with unconditional love but not allow The Addition to suck him and his honey deeper into the addiction vortex.
He hurried home from work in time enough to change into his running gear. This would be a short run with friends through a park central to where most of them lived. These friends were from the running club that would meet together each Saturday for long runs, an endorphin-charged assembly of the most positive 200 or so people he and his wife had ever met. This group of friends they were meeting this evening were half-marathoners who considered themselves only half crazy as compared to the marathoners.
He and his wife had decided to take the plunge for the next session and signed up for the "Full" training.
"Fully cray-cray," he thought to himself with a smile.
The running club had given them a purpose outside of the The Addiction while they continued to watch, encourage and love their son. They were between training seasons and the group of friends was using this run as an excuse to catch up and grab tacos afterward.
When they returned home they saw their son upstairs in the living room watching TV.
"How was your day babe?" was all he said. He accepted the lack of an answer as a positive, a victory - one little victory amid the chaos. His son was home, upright and not responding with acrimony.
He decided to watch some television with his son for the half hour until he would go to bed. He would offer no suggestions or encouragement on how his son might progress toward a recovery that seemed nowhere in sight. He would just be present with his boy, a sign that he would always be there for him whether or not his son would admit it.
"Goodnight son," he said as he rose out of his chair.
"Goodnight dad," was the reply.
"Another little victory," he mused. "One minute at a time, or as they say in marathon training, stay in the mile you're in - or the minute you're in."
This was the life he was now leading - a life of some fulfillment amid the horrors driven by The Addiction over which he had no power. He knew that, finally. Now only if his son would come to the same realization.
He would sleep well he knew, a short run followed by the meal with friends took him and his wife a bit outside their normal bedtime and he was tired. Their next training session would be starting soon and he knew he needed to get back into the habits of proper nutrition and sleep to sustain them through their next endeavor - 18 weeks of marathon training.
The training season would end with a flourish, a marathon completed, and a "PR" (personal record) for them both - since it was their first marathons. The next step was to plan a team dinner to celebrate. He had put himself in charge of organizing the event.
"Life is pretty good," he thought to himself as he felt himself drift off, "... even with our son's struggles."
~~~~~~~~
"Wake up honey," he heard her say. "Do you want to start the coffee this morning?"
These words shook him awake as if they were in the midst of an earthquake.
"What, what is going on? Was I living a dream, or dreaming a life that could be? But it seemed so real, so perfect." he thought to himself. He turned away from his wife so she couldn't see his anguish.
"Are you OK?" asked the love of his life, the woman with whom, through whom he had grown so much through the ordeals of The Addiction.
"I had a dream. This dream ... ," he collected himself so he would not seem, well, crazy, "This dream, seemed so real. It was like, like ... "
"Like we had turned a corner in our relationship with our son," she said.
"You had the same dream?" he asked, still turned away from his love. "That's crazy, there's no way."
"Yes. That's what I'm trying to tell you!"
He turned to her and they embraced. They were laughing, hysterically, and crying at the same time.
"We know what we need to do now," he said.
"I love our son," she replied.
"Me too, but we can't keep surrendering our lives to The Addiction. It's not helping us and our relationship, or our relationship with him, and it's certainly not sending any kind of positive message to him about living life apart from his addiction. We can love him and support him, and be there for him but live our lives too, can't we?"
"Think so. But maybe not a marathon? Maybe 10K training, or half marathon?" she smiled.
"Yeah, definitely not marathon training!" he laughed. "I'll call Sam and Linda today. They train with some running club near us. Sam's been bugging me about joining for almost a year.
"What's at work here?" she wondered aloud.
"I'm not certain, but I sure am going to accept it."
"I love you," she said.
"Love you too."
As he left the house for work that morning he blew a kiss to his boy in the basement and whispered a message only he could hear to convey what he hoped The Universe might carry down the steps to embed into the soul of his boy, "I love you and will always be there for you, for whatever you need, but you must find your way my son - as must I"
He would say this each day upon leaving his home, hoping, someday soon, dreams might just come true.
. . . keep coming back
"There's no time to lose I heard her say; Catch your dreams before they slip away; Dying all the time; Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind; Ain't life unkind?" ~ Keith Richards, Mick Jagger
