August 25th

I awake. Weary.  

The tear soaked pillow.  I remember.  

My body shakes.  It starts to heave.  

It begins again.  

The pain…the tears.  

For my prodigal.

He was safe.  

For a little while.  

With a friend that shares his addiction.  

A friend who is sober.  A year under his belt.

News late last night brought pain.  

He had to leave.  

Wouldn’t follow the rules.  

Same old…same old. 

Why?  

Why can’t my son follow the rules?  

Why won’t he?  

Why does he not want to?

Questions that afflict my sleep.  

Harangue me in the deep of darkness.  

Nights are the worst.  They bring the most pain. 

A reminder of the prince of darkness revealing

…waiting to consume.

What will today bring?  

I fear more sorrow.  

More heartache.  

More tears.

Pride.  

Stinking Pride.  

At the heart of it all.  

Our Prodigal is proud.  

Too proud to get help.  

To admit that he is powerless over this demon called addiction.

The demon

…sly undertaker of all that is good

…looms large in the dark of the pit.  

Only the Light can slay this dragon.

I am grieving.  

I move between the stages like an obstacle course of cones.  Weaving in and out at break-neck speed.  

Trying to get to the end.  

Not able to find the strength to endure.  

I sit in sadness.  

Trying to make sense of the craziness.