Dear Son....

I toss and turn

Fitful Sleep

The knowing

Accepting

Broken again

In that hospital bed you lay

Fully addicted

Again

Aided by Accomplices

In White Coats

Names sewn in cursive

On those frocks

Boasting Credentials

Of the highest kind

Claiming to Know

Degreed individuals

Knowing nothing

Of the pain

The real pain

That pierces my Prodigal

His Family

Helpless

Hopeless

Anticipating the spiral

Taking place before our eyes

All under shroud

Of the broken leg

The phantom pain

Accompanying

The injury

The opiate

The wonder drug

The pill

The poison

That imprisons

I pause

I pen...

Dear Son,

My soul is weary…my heart is broken.  It’s been four years since this nightmare began and my spirit yearns to speak to yours.  Journals filled with words, emotions, love….and some not so pretty words.  All for a lost son…a Prodigal….an addict.  A sheep that’s left the flock, dearly loved by both his Savior and his Mama.  Bargaining, begging, beseeching God…to give you back to me.

How does a Mama bearing the twins of love and sorrow begin to explain the mark you’ve left on my soul?  A tattoo deeply etched into the hurt of my heart.  The guttural rumble that sounds with each step you take…whether it be forward or back.  The cheer squad of one that stands silently on your sideline encouraging you onward…praying you back…into the fold…onto the field…of life.

I have one question, son, Do you want to get well?

As you lay in your hospital bed…this latest drama in a line of many…broken in bone…broken in spirit…I wonder if you wonder…at your predicament.  Do you silently ask yourself, “How did I get here?”  “What choices did I make that ultimately wrote the script for this story?”  “The chapter that is being currently written?”

Do you wonder what might happen if you surrender.  Fully.  Without restraint.  With abandon.  What it might be like to totally let go.  The freedom you might feel.  The soaring that might take place.  In minds eye…an eagle…you...if only.

But here we are today…answers few.  Decisions to make.  A big unknown.  More tests to run to answer why.  The blackouts… the tingling?  A dilemma to be sure.

I do what I know to do.  I lift my eyes to the hills…asking…begging…for the help that He promises.  The assurance that He will not let my foot slip.  That He who watches over Israel neither slumbers or sleeps.  That He watches over me…over us.

Lord…let us find answers for my son’s symptoms.  Be with us as we make decisions…choices…that will ultimately affect his future.  Guide our thoughts and the Doctors hands as, together, we make decisions. 

And, Lord, Help my son to want to get well…..