The last two days I’ve been distant. Not wanting to do much of anything. And not sure why it’s always surprising when the chaos leads to paralysis and stops me in my tracks.
If that sounded dramatic. It is.
I dropped my daughter off at detox two nights ago. Seems so simple. Not even worth mentioning when you consider that earlier that day I was looking at the wounds, where she’d injected heroin into her neck the day before.
Just a ride, right?
But here I am, days after … still recovering from the insurmountable stress that led up to that drive.
I should be happy, right?
It’s buried beneath the aftermath. It’s buried underneath the possibility that she could get clean and walk right back outside straight into a loaded needle.
The memories are flooding in out of sequence. One relapse leading to another. Not sure where one memory begins and another one ends.
And here I sit … a mute. Wondering what now. What am I going to do with all the wreckage?
I know what I will do…
I will dig deep.
I will be brave.
I will roll up my sleeves.
I will breathe.
And I will remind myself that I too, like my daughter, am on here purpose.
I will dig deep to find the courage to stand up tall for other parents and those battling addiction.
I will attack the doubt and work to convince myself that my voice is worth being heard.
Through my writing I will share my words. Because it’s all I know how to do.
Looking at the clock, I see that it’s somehow already 2:00 in the afternoon. Time to start the day, ready or not.
So with some nice deep breaths – in and out – and with love in my heart … I will roll out of bed and get to busy.
With love, Shar