Hope

It is 3:20 a.m. and I cannot sleep.  He's been missing for  three days now, a little longer than usual. I try, without success, to calm myself down; my heart is racing, my breathing quick and shallow.  The house is dark and quiet.  Everyone else is asleep; they have long ago given up this agony.  A mother's love though doesn't have any end and even if I could, would I want to give up on my own son?

Against my own will, I imagine him lying in the street - dirty, stoned and bloody.  His shoes and coat are gone, stolen by another addict. He is shivering even though he is unconscious.  Will the police find him?  Will he be arrested?  Will they take him to a hospital?  Will he be okay?  Is this  the time  my prayers go unanswered?

I have been crying so much that I think to myself, cynically, " if I haven't dehydrated by now I never will".  I try prayer again, but I cannot concentrate, my mind keeps wandering.  I imagine a funeral,  everyone is stoic;  'At least he's at peace now' they say.  Even the priest is at a loss because this cannot be a Celebration of Life.  There never was a life, only the torture  that drugs and alcohol bring.  I picture one lone woman, crying uncontrollably.  My heart breaks so that I think I can feel it.

It is almost 4:00 am. when the telephone rings.  I am paralyzed with fear.  My body stiffens as I try to make my hand pick it up and  stop that harsh, frightening ring.  You can do this, you can do this I tell myself  as I take several short deep breaths.  I have been preparing for this call for years, yet, I am not ready.  Finally I steel myself, answer it and at once  my emotions dissolve as I hear, " I'm sorry mom, I love you".

Here I am.  Again. I have played this scenario over and over in my mind, hundreds, probably thousands, of times.  I hadn't seen George for over two years.  When he returned to New York a few weeks ago, I was content to know he was in a hospital/rehab and getting help.  I was advised that he was in very bad condition, physically, and in the chronic stages of alcoholism.  What exactly does that mean?  Is he dying?  Can he get better?  No one would give me a straight answer, except for George, who stated that his condition is still reversible, but just barely.

The rehab has been calling to speak with me; they have also been calling one of my daughters.  They would like us to come and participate in a family counselling session. I am very hesitant - I have been through many of them and they are heart-wrenching and, so far, ineffective.  It is also a three-hour drive and my husband would have to take me.  I know, without asking, that he will not participate but  he would take me if I asked.  I am not sure though that I want to ask him - he has seen me upset and disappointed all too often.  He is not George's biological father and yet he has never refused any support I wished to give George - whether it be monetary or emotional.  George has been calling though and it is good to hear his voice again - even if it hardly sounds like him.  He knows that his life is at risk - perhaps this is the time he will be able to stop.  Perhaps all he needs is someone to support his efforts.  My daughter and I both agree to go.

George has been in this particular rehab twice before so they already know him.  The supervisor of the unit is a former counsellor of his so he attends with George's current counsellor.  George steps off the elevator and I rush to him.  I am filled with mixed emoitions.  I have not seen him in so long; it is wonderful to hug him now and feel him hug me back. I am shocked by his appearance though . He does not look like my son  anymore  but like a drunkard with a very ruddy complexion, swollen facial features and a distended abdomen.  After all the greetings and introductions, we are led into a conference room of sorts and the session begins.

I am surprised that there is no attempt to upset anyone or build up emotional tension.  These two men are obviously very concerned about George and very interested in his recovery.  It doesn't take long for me to realize that, mentally, George is very dull and not at all like his former self.  A lifetime of drinking and drugging has taken its toll. He is childishly happy to have us there and seems proud of the fact that we came.  I think he was pretty sure he had crossed a line that could never be erased.  We talk for a long time about George's aftercare, which entails a halfway house, and his attitude towards recovery.  I cannot concentrate or even take the conversation seriously because George is so unlike his former self.  The session basically consists of a one-hour chat about George's resolve and his future and comes to an end without incident. He does have an emotional moment with his sister, when they embrace and restablish their feelings for each other. 

The following week, I go alone.  It is pretty much the same thing - perhaps a bit more lighthearted.  I am determined that I will enjoy a visit with George and not dwell on the negative side of things.  He does look a bit better but he is still a long way from himself and his former intelligence.  Somewhere, from deep inside of him, it is evident that he knows what he has lost.  At the end of this session there is much hugging and kissing and well-wishing since George will be leaving in about a week and going to a halfway house.  His only comment about this is that he is afraid - afraid he will not be able to stay sober.

George continues to call every few days and we slip into a familiar routine.  I am once again very hopeful that he will find his way this time, after all it is probably his last chance.  All of my discussins with him consist of me trying to bolster his ego and outline the chance he has for recovery and a future.  For his part, George is still feeling very unsure that he can do this.  Little warning bells go off in my head - he is setting himself and me, up for failure.  I decide to ignore them.  After all, I tell myself, why worry about  something that hasn't happened. 

George's release date happens to be on my birthday.  He calls me from the train station in a very upbeat mood and wishes me a Happy Birthday.  I am overcome with joy - he has not been able to do that for several years running.  I wish him luck and ask him to please call me as soon as he arives at the halfway house.  That was Thursday, today is Wednesday and no one has heard from him since.  He never showed up at the halfway house and he has made no attempt to contact anyone in the family.  I've checked the jails and the hospitals, even unidentified bodies,  and now all I can do is wait - wait for the phone call with the crying and the begging to be forgiven, to be given just one more chance.  It is only a matter of time before he calls.  I hope.