Each day the Lord uncovers more…and I take it in.
What began yesterday as a walk and an internal
declaration to “snap out of it,” ended with concern for my prodigal and self-questioning,
if I had done all that I could do to help him.
A text at 11am asking, “can I come by and get a few
things?” threw my resolution to heal into a spin.
The Prodigal had surfaced.
Back and forth it was decided that he would come by at
noon for a “pick-up”.
Unshaven and unkempt, he looked like a forlorn wanderer
without a path. Clearly the meds had
taken their toll physically.
Sad and
defeated…my prodigal
…and me
My mama’s heart broke.
Once again.
Encouragement by my daughter prompted the question that
had been burning inside me since he left.
“Why do you only call me when you want or need something
but you check in with others to let them know you’re okay?” “And…why when you left the other day, did you
not say good-bye?” “I was crushed. The dryer was still running so when I heard
the door shut, I assumed you’d be back in to get your clothes.”
‘Unknowing’ crossed his face as he answered, “I just
thought Dad would let you know. And
when I left, I just wasn’t thinking.
Thought you may not want to talk to me.
I’m sorry…”.
“I love you, son,” I said. “I’ll always love you….”
He laid down what he held tight in his arms and hugged me
and said, “I love you, too, Mom….I’m sorry.”
“I needed to do this.” “I need to
get help and I can’t stay here anymore.”
“I need to be around people that understand me.” “I don’t have any friends here.” “It’s not a good place for me to be.”
“I love you, son.”
“I hate your disease but I love you.”
“I’ll never stop loving you.” “No
matter what.”
“Good luck…I’ll be praying
for you…”.
And he was gone.
He left to try and figure it out.
To figure life out.
His life.
Do we ever stop trying to figure it out? Life, that is.
My heart broke…but the hug helped.
Later that afternoon I received a text….
“Look, I wanted to say I'm sorry and that I love you. I was (and still
am) going through a rough patch with depression. I'm trying to figure out my
place in life. but I am fortunate enough to have landed in a good sober living
home. I got through the little detox I had to handle and now I'm at least doing
good physically. Your prayers would be appreciated for me to find a good job.
I'll keep in touch and I hope you have a good rest of the day.”
Tears…tears…more tears.
My heart hurts for what my prodigal is going through.
I struggle to stay on an even keel trying to
discern reality from fiction.
Is his
depression at the heart of it all?
Does
the addiction contribute to the depression or does the depression contribute to
the addiction?
Or is it water over the
dam and at this point…it just doesn’t matter?
Is the Prodigal manipulating in an effort to enlist sympathy or is he
finally getting real?
Owning his
failures…his inadequacies…his addiction?
All I can do is pray. I am utterly
powerless over my Prodigal.
God…help my
son.
