Fuck.
I'm a thousand miles away and his mom, my former wife, tells me he's been shooting coke, crack, heroin n ecstasy for the last 3 months. He's lost 40# and, at 25 yrs old, he's staring death in the face.
But he's in rehab.
I can't help much. I'm an alcoholic, a happy, harmless alcoholic, but no prime example for anyone.
So it's soul search time.
Do I leave work and drive from Maine to South
Carolina?
My plan? Check these next few days.
Picture us 17 to 7 years ago, when he was 8 to 18.
Living with me. We had the good times for a while, but then 15 yrs old came along and the space and distance opened. College? For a semester. Then he went into construction, like his brother (my step-son) and me.
He's still alive and trying to come back from the edge. So there's a lot to be thankful for. June third, 1980 was such a miracle. It's sad, but powerful to be back in touch with his mom, who also lives in same city as he, Columbia SC. Former wife, a beautiful woman. Glad we're not together any more, it was torture. But she's such a strong person. Her love for our son is unconditional.
My love for my son is unconditional too, except I'm dealing with all the lies.
Truth is of such value to me, so rare.