Archive for June, 2009

Jesus Hates Zombies

Today brought a phone call I was happy to be on the other end of. My son has made it through his 8th day of “drying out” and (knock wood) feels much better this morning. Two of his worst days we resorted to Methadone in the beginning. He has eaten, had his 1st shower in a week and his physical illness of getting the poison out of his body have subsided, at least for the last 12 hours. 8 days he has felt real emotion for the first time in months this time.

A hard core Heroin addict obviously takes longer but my son luckily hadn’t made it that far. He used but was using a combination of drugs and in the last 12 months had begun shooting up when he could get it. An addict is an addict however and I’m hoping by removing from the area where his supplies were easily had to the middle of nowhere this will somehow work to save his life.

He feels better, his mood is guarded but better, the last week have been hell on he and I with me on the phone supporting him 7-9 calls a day while his monster screamed at me from inside and made him want to die. The phone is his life line to me and to staying alive and together, sometimes we stay connected all day we have gotten him this far.

Please if there is a God let it last this time. It’s wonderful to hear my “son” on the other end of the telephone and not the monster inside in control. He wants to be straight so bad. I’ll continue from yesterday after this post but had to log this happy moment for he and I. He is out of state 1.5 hours away with his last friend in the world, also a long recovering addict and today is a giant step for him.

Everyone in his family has given up on him. The don’t call him nor answer his calls and I understand why but he needs to know someone loves him, he is still there inside and I know it, I’m his mom. I will not give up on him. Being screamed at on the phone all hours of a day and night are worth keeping my child alive.

Let this last until we get him into the state health care system..please.

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Mad world

By The time my second son reached the age of two is was obvious he was gifted with his own talents, one being basketball.

Yes, basketball.

Though at that time in my own life I was battling my own ghosts yet to be coined a name, motherhood came first always in my heart, mind and life. I had a four year old son and now also a two year old son and they were night and day if compared.

My oldest son was soft spoken, cuddly and already gifted in art and mind. My younger son now two was a stereotypical “boy” and dove head first into everything without fear it seemed. He pursued his toddler interests with gusto, was loud yet cute and loved to dribble a basketball next door at his granddad’s where there was a large dooryard and obviously a basketball hoop to go with it.

He dribbled a basketball so well neighbors often stopped to watch him do it but once he realized he was drawing attention he would toss the ball in anger, become vocal and storm off. He was a very vocal little boy but with his dark curly locks, favorite red baseball cap, deep blue eyes and always serious look he was striking.

Because he was so cute and always wore a serious look on his face making him appear older his granddad lovingly would call him “old man,” and jokingly bark at him “who you mad at?”  Of course it was just granddad being funny yet my son would react with an angry outburst or at best a LOUD reply not expected of a child his age but his seriousness, his seemingly built in anger at the world and outbursts we all chalked up to “the terrible twos.”

One observation as his mom that did make me uneasy though I knew he was very young, was his seeming total lack of fear,  for want of a better term. He would always act before thinking, react to everything exaggerated and he was so stubborn he easily tried adult patience no matter who it was.

Some call it a strong personality being so young we just had no clue what was stirring within him, nor did anyone understand his ability to be unaffected by consequences to some of his actions as we teach children right and wrong.

Reflecting back the twenty or so years now I easily see how already by age three he was already a volcano erupting.

It is said a mother has instincts where her children are concerned.  Watching my youngest son often as we do with silent admiration as he slept at night tucked into his bed  when I did get him to stay in bed and finally fall asleep I already knew I had a difficult time ahead of me and worse, felt something wasn’t quite right about my growing little boy but couldn’t put a finger on it then.

He was a rough and tumble boy, a toddler and had his whole life ahead of him and he would certainly grow out of it.


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My second child and son was born on Memorial Day amidst the city having a large holiday parade compete with horns and beating drums while I clenched the bed rails in the new birthing bed of our local hospital trying not to do what my body wanted,  to push.

It of course was not a usual birth.

The baby’s heartbeat dropped too low, I was directed to lay on my left side in such an awkward position with a leg held high into the air to lessen pressure on the umbilical cord I nearly fell off the bed but it worked.

Now the baby became lodged at his shoulders while emerging and in order to bring him fully into the world his left arm was purposely dislocated, painful to me and more so my newborn son who emerged into the world at 1:03 pm screaming in pain.

I remember at the moment his tiny arm was reset at the shoulder by the doctor the delivery room lights flickered as thunder clapped suddenly nearly all at the same moment and thinking what a fitting ending, not realizing it was possibly an omen of things to come.

My little innocent child, unspoiled by the world with dark thick curly locks of hair and angelic face laid asleep hours later by my side peaceful as I cradled his little body close to me with happy exhaustion.

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