The Wind

April 18, 2009 by  
Filed under The Wind, Wendi's Words

(Scroll down to read part 1) Part 2 – An Addict’s mom

The Wind

Last year when my son was in jail, and I used to sit on the beach and stare at the waves and wonder how it happened. How did I do this? How did he do this? How did I fail him? “I listen to the wind of my soul…” The Wind Cat Stevens played in my headphones, and the words to THE WIND would take me to the depth of my soul’s longing to go back and make it different. I loved him. How could drugs take my son away from me and shred his life. “I swam upon the devil’s lake…” The words float through my head as I stare at the ocean and try to imagine how it must feel to be trapped in your own body with all the guilt, blame, anger tormenting you every minute. And then I try to imagine how he must think about having his life back. He hurts. And the drugs take away the hurt. The devil’s lake. Last year I thought it was over and that this would be the new beginning that we hoped for. After I picked him up, his commitment was solid. He knew he was not like them… the inmates who kept coming back to jail over and over, unable to ever make good of their life. He was different. He is different.
He is not like them, the degenerates, the poverty stricken, the homeless, uneducated criminals who have no regard for others. Please tell me he is not one of them. Last year I hated myself every time I had to stand in a line to get visitation privileges so I could talk through a glass window with a phone that has a 12 inch cord. Do you know why it has only a 12 inch cord? So you won’t strangle yourself! I knew that this image of my son, my baby, now at 6’4” starting at me through glass would be the image that would haunt me the rest of my life. I hate him for it. I hate myself for letting it happen. There must have been something I could have done. I hate myself for hating myself. That last sentence makes me cry. “I listen to my words, but they fall far below…” Things didn’t go well after Sean got out. More rehab, more sober living houses and watching him surrounded by a lot of addicts who all have a hair trigger. Chin up girl, you can do this! (but really that feel more like a ?) 
Yes, I will be the wind beneath his wings. After all, I am the great and powerful Wendi. I can help people to do anything, to make their life be like WOW. But wow, this is different in a million ways. And here just an arm’s length away, all the hugs and kisses and love can’t heal what is so badly broken. I hate this drug culture. I feel bad for using the word hate so much. I don’t think that we should hate anything, it is not healthy. I am scared to look in the deep, dark scary place in my soul where that hate lives. I am scared. Gotta shore up the dam a bit. A year later and I have to do this again. I have to go shove my ID into that little slot, take shit from a condescending, indifferent woman who will coldly tell me where to go. I am not one of them! But she, and everyone in the jail will treat me like on of them. I am falling apart in ways I don’t really find very attractive. I hope the dam doesn’t break. I have worked really hard to make it sturdy. Hold tight. Chin up, chest out.

Bear