Speaking of ears . . .

 

Speaking of ears . . .

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Just last week I said that when I need to talk, you are my ears. So here goes.

Gary phoned me. He’s my son’s Dad, not biological but the only Dad Ben had. When Gary and I came to a crossroads, he and I stayed friends. Gary and Ben were always close. I suspect Gary married me to have Ben for a son. A phone call from Gary these days is not always welcome news.

This call held hope. “Sondra, I just returned from driving Ben to a Recovery Center. He worked hard the last four months to get himself into treatment.”

A couple years ago I told you the grim news that my son had plunged back into the world of illicit chemicals. How did I know? He quit talking to me. That’s how I always know. Ben and I have a good, warm and fun relationship, except when he’s using.

He has a history. When a teen, the nice doctor gave him oxycontin for back pain after he was rear-ended at a stop light. Ben freed himself from that once he discovered the dangers of legitimate pain pills.

Which came next, divorce or heroin? Doesn’t matter. What followed was three years of horror for the family until Ben was arrested by the County Sheriff, who’d found him tossed in a ditch, severely beaten, with a backpack of illicit goods. Jail and an excellent recovery program led to almost ten good years of hard-won sobriety.

So why did this man who had rebuilt his life, cleaned up the damages from the past, begin using? Addiction cannot be blithely explained. As with most addictions, this time the downhill skid happened more quickly and more severely than in the past.

I am glad that my son is in treatment. I am even more hopeful since he did the work to get there by his own efforts.

I am ever so grateful to be 2500 miles away.

Gary, his father and landlord and enabler by default, said that for the past year he has felt like the frog in the kettle of water over the fire, unable to jump out.

When Ben gets out of treatment he will have a huge mess to clean up and nowhere to land. The house he has been living in will be destroyed, too dangerous to rent to others because of the intensity of drug use. Meth permeates the walls.

Did I say I am ever so grateful to be 2500 miles away? I do not intend to be the next frog to jump into the water pot.

I sound uncaring. My heart hurts so much that some days I am physically ill. I would hurt my son more if I became his next enabler. Yes, I will bear on-going pain watching him struggle.

Treatment does not guarantee an outcome. Treatment is merely a first step of help. The results are all up to Ben. That’s a huge task but there is immense help and Ben knows it.

“Gary, I hope and I pray that Ben is able and willing and wanting to do the hard work, to open himself up to his own pain. You and his daughter are at the top of the list of people he will need to reach out to with honesty, with reparations. Then his old boss, a man more than kind, who gave Ben every help and encouragement. Then his friends, Jerry and Jeff and Shea and Shawn, all good people who have stood by with help and love.”

I would like to see that work done. This is a list on which I don’t mind being last. I am not being selfless. I’m being very selfish.

I’m angry and trying not to misplace my anger. I’m hurt. I feel helpless because I am helpless.

I’m going to Guadalajara with a carload of friends to a concert when I don’t want to go. I’ll show up for water therapy at Michelle’s swimming pool, our first dip in the not-quite-warm water. I don’t want to get wet. Then I’ll go with Jim to explore the archeological ruins at Ixtlan del Rio, where I’ve wanted to go for years, but I don’t want to go right now.

What I want to do is curl up in a ball with my own grief and self-pity and guilt and fear and pain. I want to feed it and pet it and watch it grow, like a well-loved pet. Even that is addictive.

Instead, I’ll “suit up and show up”. I’ll do my own hard work and try to stay out of the way. I’ll love and hope and converse much with my own Higher Power. I’ll reach out to my friends for their hands, knowing I need help.

Hey, thanks. Thanks for your good listening ears. Thank you for your help.

Sondra Ashton

HWC: Looking out my back door

March 20, 2025

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