“…And we all fall down”
“Ring-around-the-rosie”…a favorite game of my sweet
granddaughter.
She loves it when we all
hold hands and circle around singing but enjoys it most when ‘we all fall down’
on our bottoms.
Yesterday…we all fell down.
Down.
Way down.
On the ground. In a pile.
In a heap.
Of emotions….sadness…despair.
All except our Prodigal.
He hasn’t fallen down. Down far
enough to ask for help. When will he hit
his ‘bottom’?
“Ring around the
Rosie”…or round and round with the Prodigal.
A dizzying process.
Will there
ever be an end? A victory?
“ashes…ashes…” precedes the ‘falling down’ in the familiar
song. Yes…there were ashes before…and
ashes after.
Remains from the figurative
death we’ve experienced.
A song rooted in the destruction of the Plague.
A lighthearted melody of prose exposing a
dark underside.
We are experiencing a Plague.
Our Prodigal’s plague.
An epidemic disease.
The disease of addiction.
The sun has set and we’ve closed another chapter in our
story.
I pray it’s just a chapter.
And not the end.
The end of a
story.
Our Prodigal moved out.
He has relapsed.
Had to be out by
noon yesterday.
Saw it coming.
Felt it first.
A mama’s heart knows. Her intuition doesn’t lie. 9+ months in the womb…24 years outside…you
know your child.
We did what we could.
We took a shot at a unique opportunity.
An unconventional approach to recovery.
It failed. He
failed. We did not fail.
A strange sense of calm has fallen upon this household this
gloomy, gray and misty morn.
The chaos and unrest had so slowly crept in that it was
almost undetectable.
The butterflies…
waves of uncertainty…
red flags…
those were
more noticeable.
But the air in the household had slowly been changing from
one of harmony to one of discord.
Subtle
disagreement…push back…frustration.
All
indications that we were going down.
And
we did.
“No regrets” …a favorite cliché of a friend.
And I have none.
I’m grateful that we had an opportunity to
try something out-of-the-box.
To give
our Prodigal an opportunity to reach out every which way.
Don’t know exactly when the relapse occurred. But my guess would be at or around 90 days
sober.
Seems to be our Prodigal’s
threshold of sobriety.
Can’t seem to get
beyond it. Not sure why.
My mama’s heart is beyond broken.
Yesterday was rough.
The contract was executed. No wiggle room for error.
He knew the rules. He broke them. He’s gone.
Today I will take the emotions as they come.
I will be gentle with myself.
I will let the tears flow as they need
to.
I will take walks.
I will write.
Most importantly, I will read the Word.
I will lean into God and claim His promises…to never leave me or forsake
me.
I will pray with the continued
fervency of a mama’s heart for her Prodigal…my son whom I dearly love.
Who is utterly lost and needs to be found by
the love of his Savior.
“….there may yet be hope.” Lamentations 3:29b
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