Crystal Lies (29 page)

“It’s very festive,” I say, smiling at Janice. She looks up and smiles back. “It looks like you’re a fast knitter,” I tell her.

She nods. “I do this to keep my mind off of other things.”

“Yeah,” says Jacob,“and we all know what those other things are, don’t we, Janice?”

Several others make comments, and I am amazed, once again, at the openness of these people to discuss their addiction problems with such candor. I’ve heard them admit to all sorts of things and even joke about them. Marcus says that’s just part of their recovery, and I must admit that it’s helped me to lighten up a bit about the whole thing. Not that I take
addiction lightly. I still don’t. But more and more I am realizing that addiction is just another element of the human condition. Whether its chocolate, coffee, or sugar, I suppose we’re all addicted to something.

The patients (or clients as Marcus calls them; Jacob still calls them inmates) perform a little Christmas play for us. A quiet young man named Oliver wrote it, and its really not bad, although their acting abilities range from stuttering stage fright to a thirty-something woman who later tells me that she’s destined for Broadway. “Once I’m clean and sober,” she admits as she pours herself some red punch.

The highlight of the evening (for the patients) is when they get to go outside for a cigarette break. “It’s their only legal vice,” Marcus reminds me as we stand out in the icy cold and wait. The patients huddle together like an elite little club, puffing and joking among themselves, impervious to the cold night air.

“Does everyone in the program smoke?” I ask Marcus.

“They usually do by the time they leave.” He laughs. “But, hey, it’s better than some things. And some of them are just social smokers.”

This reminds me of the time I smoked in the church parking lot with Sherry. I suppose smoking’s not so bad, although I wonder how hard it will be for them to break this habit once they’re on the outside. However, I also know from my classes here that it will be even harder for them to stay clean and sober. That’s the real challenge. The counselors here make no secret of the fact that most of the patients will blow it within the first month of being back on the outside.

“You almost have to expect it,” Marcus told me after I questioned him about this statistic last week.

“But what do you do?”

“You
don’t do anything, Glennis. It will be Jacob’s problem to solve.”

“But how will he know—”

“Don’t worry. This is what he’s learning right now. He’ll know exactly
what to do, what steps to take to get back on track. The question will be whether or not he is willing to do it.”

I sighed in frustration. “Then we’re right back—”

“No,” he assured me. “Just remember its a process. A day-by-day process.”

I consider this as I watch these people bunched together with a white cloud of smoke forming over their heads. I wonder how many of them will make it all the way through this process. How many of them will make it clear to the other side? And how many will be clean and sober one year or two from now?

“Hey, it’s snowing!” yells Jacob, pointing up to the flakes that are illuminated in the overhead light. And soon they are all out in the parking lot dancing like children among the falling flakes. They are laughing and whooping and getting totally silly about the change in weather. And it occurs to me that they are having a really good time…
without drugs
. And suddenly I feel surprisingly hopeful and happy too.

After the cigarette break we go back inside, and with Jacob’s accompaniment on guitar, we sing Christmas carols for a while. Then we visit and eat the treats that were prepared by the patients, and finally its nearly eleven, and the party begins breaking up. But first Marcus invites the visiting friends and family members to attend the midnight candlelight service at his church.

“We’re all going over there in the bus,” he explains. “But you’re welcome to follow in your cars if you like.”

So my old Taurus joins the peculiar pilgrimage as we parade across town toward Marcus’s church. I vaguely wonder what Geoffrey would think if he could see Jacob and me tonight. Jacob, as one of the motley crew of inmates riding on the decrepit bus with “Hope’s Wings” painted in bold purple letters across both sides. Or me in my Taurus, trailing a bunch of other equally old and beat-up cars. I’m sure he’d want to pretend
he didn’t know either of us, like we’d never been a part of his immaculate little family. But maybe that doesn’t matter so much anymore. Maybe it’s time that we all learn to stand on our own feet.

The candlelight service turns out to be the best I’ve ever attended. And when it’s over, I have tears in my eyes as Jacob turns and thanks me for pushing him to get treatment.

“Things are really going to be different,” he promises. “I don’t ever want to go back to my old life, Mom.”

Well, that’s the best Christmas present anyone could’ve given me this year. And despite all the changes in my life, the heartbreaks, the disappointments, the challenges, I feel like maybe it’s worth it to have my son back again.

I wish I could say that we all lived happily ever after, that my worries were over, and that Jacob never stumbled again once he “graduated” from his inpatient rehab treatment, but it wouldn’t be honest, or even fair.

Naturally, I was pleased and proud to attend Jacob’s graduation ceremony at Hope’s Wings in mid-January. All of the patients made a little speech, but I felt Jacob’s was totally amazing. Oh, I realize he’s my son, and I see things through a mother’s eyes. But in my opinion, he was truly a new man. His big brown eyes were clear and bright. His smile was genuine. And best of all, he was truly happy. I have no doubt about that.

The little graduation was held in the activity room at Hope’s Wings. Sarah came home from school in order to attend the ceremony with me. And to everyone’s surprise, Geoffrey showed up as well. I didn’t even notice him at first. Like me on my first visit at Hope’s Wings, he, too, lingered near the back of the room, clearly uncomfortable with these unfamiliar surroundings that have come to feel like a second home to me. But I have to give him this, he did come up and shake Jacob’s hand afterward. He even said a few kind words. And for a brief time, even Geoffrey was a believer in the rehab program at Hope’s Wings.

But our relief was short-lived. For, as we all know by now, there is no
sure thing in
rehab treatment. It’s all up to the addict to live out his plan, to make that daily decision to remain clean, to attend his meetings, to meet with his mentor, to succeed at his recovery. And to be perfectly fair,
circumstances do play a small role as well. But this role is highly overrated by the addict himself. Especially if he’s still in denial.

Jacob got a job with a janitorial service within a week of his graduation. I was surprised that he was willing to clean toilets to earn money, but he assured me that he was perfectly fine with this sort of menial labor.

“I feel like I have to pay my dues,” he told me as he showed me his gray uniform. “Kind of work my way back up through the system, you know.”

“I’m really proud of you,” I said.

“And I’ll be able to take classes and still work,” he told me. “I think I’ll try to start going to SSCC during spring term.”

“That’s great.”

And it was great. For one whole month it was absolutely great. I felt like life had really returned to normal by then. Of course, anyone involved with a drug addict should realize that normal doesn’t exist anymore.

Then one day when I’m not looking, it all falls apart. In one evening, in early February, it all just seems to go to pieces.

Of course, Jacob tells me that it’s not his fault. That he was just minding his own business last night, scrubbing a hallway floor in a local business, when some jerk shoved him and made the bucket of dirty mop water go everywhere.

“It just kept getting worse and worse,” he explains the next day after I’ve been called to come to the emergency room to help pick up the pieces of my son’s recently shattered life.

“My boss showed up and really tore into me,” he tells me as the nurse rechecks his blood pressure. “And I was so sick of it, sick of everything—cleaning up other people’s messes, never being appreciated for anything.” He shakes his head and quietly lets out a curse. “Well, that was it. I just walked out. And then I was on my way home, and I ran into an old friend…” And on his story goes until he is telling me how his friend
offered to hook him up with some “good stuff.” Before the night was over, Jacob had binged on an undisclosed amount of crystal meth and somehow made it to the emergency room before it was too late.

“I guess being clean made it easier for me to overdose,” he tells me with some embarrassment, as if his previous ability to use a lot of meth to get high was some sort of an accomplishment.

Jacob doesn’t even know who called 911, which resulted in a trip to the hospital, where it was impossible to hide his substance abuse. Of course, Marcus later assures me that this was really a blessing in disguise.

“You might not have found out about it otherwise,” he reminds me after I pour out the whole overdose story. “Or, even worse, he might’ve died.”

“I know,” I say as the tears finally start to gather. Jacob has gone to bed now, and after keeping up a cool, calm exterior all day, I feel like it’s finally my turn to experience some emotion. “I just don’t understand why…”

“This is just the way it goes sometimes, Glennis.”

“But he was doing so well,” I tell him between sobs. I am not ready to go down this road again, feeling so hopeless and discouraged.

“He
was,
” Marcus says. “But you have to understand that this happens. The addict is doing just fine, and then something happens that acts like a trigger. Usually it’s something stressful, although I’ve heard all sorts of excuses. I remember this woman who had been clean for nearly a year. She told me how she was out shopping for a pair of shoes for her sister’s wedding when
she just happened to find
a bag of meth sitting on a bench in the mall. And, well, she was feeling so stressed about not finding the right shoes that she just decided to get high. Does that make any sense to you?”

“No.” It’s almost funny. “She found a bag of meth?”

He laughs. “That’s what she said. And, you’re right, it makes absolutely
no sense to us. But to an addict, especially early on during rehab, its always a daily thing. They’re constantly asking themselves, will I get high today or will I stay clean? And, believe me, any excuse is a good excuse if they have decided that they’re going to get high. Really, I’ve heard them all.”

“But what do we do now?”

“We
don’t do anything. It’s up to Jacob.”

“I know, I know…” Sometimes I get so sick of all this codependent talk. “But he’s staying here in my apartment,” I remind Marcus. “I feel I have some responsibility or authority. Shouldn’t I say anything?”

“You can remind him to call his mentor. Or he can talk to me if he wants.”

“What if he doesn’t want to?”

I hear him sigh and know exactly what he is thinking.

“I’m sorry, Marcus,” I say. “I already know the answers to these questions, don’t I?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make it any easier, does it?”

The kindness in his voice only brings more tears to the surface. “Thanks,” I tell him. “I don’t know how I would’ve survived all this without you.”

Jacob does call his mentor the next day. And he attends an NA meeting that night and three more the following week. But then he blows it again. Of course, he is very contrite and sorry afterward and promises me that it’s the last time he’ll mess up like that. But it’s not. And back and forth he goes until I must finally tell him he has to either stay clean or move out of my apartment, which I’ve already given notice on anyway. This is despite the fact that I have no place to move to. But Jacob seems to flounder like this for about a month until he finally comes to me and tells me that he thinks he needs to go back to Hope’s Wings for inpatient treatment again.

“This time I want to do it for me,” he tells me. “I think I did it to
avoid that whole thing with Dad last time. And even though I appreciated getting clean, I was kind of resentful about a lot of stuff.”

Well, I honestly don’t care what his reason for succeeding or not succeeding is; I only want him to get whatever kind of help he needs and quickly. Jake calls Marcus that same day and is accepted back into the inpatient program starting in early March. In the meantime, it seems that he is staying clean and working his program. But I can’t be certain. Mostly I am relieved when March 5 rolls around and it’s time to take him back in. He seems quiet and sad as we drive over, but it’s not like the last time, not like he is unhappy to be going into rehab. It’s more as if he regrets blowing it.

As I get back into my car, I try to assure myself that this is a normal step in Jake’s recovery, that it’s a good thing he wants more help. Even so, I feel anything but hopeful as I drive away And after a few minutes my eyes are so blurry from tears that I am forced to pull over.

I get out of my car and slam the door. I want to yell at God, to shake my fist at the sky and to blame him for what seems to be this continual and never-ending mess in my life. But suddenly I am aware of the unexpected spring sunshine that’s warming my head. And I see the bright green of fresh grass and notice that tulips and daffodils are blooming and the delicate pink buds on the plum trees are just starting to open. And I realize that no one can be angry with God on a day like this.

Instead, I begin to walk, and that’s when I notice that I have stopped next to a small neighborhood park. I’ve probably driven past it before, but I honestly don’t remember seeing it. I’m sure that’s because I have always had other things on my mind as I travel back and forth from Hope’s Wings. But the park is old and quaint with metal swings and an ancient-looking merry-go-round. Other than an elderly woman walking a small dog on the other side, the park is deserted. But all the lovely blooming trees and flowers seem to beg to be enjoyed. And so I slowly walk through it, and as I walk, I begin to pray And, once again, I surrender Jacob to God.

“You’d think I’d know this by now,” I admit. “That you created and designed Jacob. That he’s as much, or probably more, yours than he is mine. And I believe you know what you’re doing in his life.” I stop and take a deep breath. “And so I give him back to you, God. Do as you like with him.”

I continue to walk until I come to a quiet little neighborhood that borders the other side of the park. The houses are small and old-fashioned, but something about them draws me, and as strange as it seems, I almost feel at home here.

And then I see it—a For Sale by Owner sign pounded into the dirt in front of a rather forlorn little house that’s painted the color of a dirty old sock. I pause and look at the sad little house and its neglected yard, and I know I must have it.

Of course, I’ve never purchased a house before and don’t even know if I can afford one now, although I have offered to sign a divorce settlement with Geoffrey that I think, along with my savings, might just cover the price of a modest home. But how does one go about something like this? What are the proper steps? And is this crazy?

Suddenly I know who to call, and by four o’clock that same afternoon, Sherry is leading me through the vacant house and pointing out all of its weaknesses as well as its strengths. Unfortunately, according to Sherry, the weaknesses seem to outweigh the strengths. Although she does admit that the house has potential.

“It’s a good neighborhood,” she says.

“And how about that guesthouse in back?” I remind her. “Wouldn’t that be great for Jacob?”

“But it’ll be a lot of work,” she tells me as she locks the front door.

“Work is good,” I say with determination.

“And it’ll take money to make the repairs.”

This gives me pause. “Don’t you think I can do a lot of it myself?”

“Maybe…”

“Well, I want it,” I finally tell her.

“Now, Glennis, you need to realize that some people make decisions to buy houses with their heads, and others make decisions with their hearts.”

I nod. “Then this is definitely a heart decision. But, really, I have a strong feeling that its the right decision. Just call it a God thing.”

“Well, I can’t deny that it’s a good location, Glennis.” She glances over to the little park. “I can’t believe someone hasn’t snapped it up by now.”

“Well, let’s not waste another minute.”

She smiles now. “Okay, let’s go to my office and write up an offer.”

We meet at her office, and after the paperwork is finished, we go out for coffee to celebrate, although she reminds me this is premature. Naturally, I have to give her the latest news on Jacob, and she is understandably disappointed. But I take the high road, and, sounding a lot like Marcus, I explain that it’s just part of the recovery process.

“The good thing is that it was totally his choice to check into treatment this time,” I finally tell her.

“Well, I hope that it works.” She sighs. “I’m still praying for that boy.”

“Thanks.” I want to ask how she’s doing. It’s been several months since losing Matthew. But I’m afraid I’ll only make her sad if I bring it up.

“Mark’s getting excited about graduation,” she tells me.

“He’s graduating this year?” I shake my head. “How did that happen so soon?”

“Yes, but now he’s decided to go for his master’s.”

“You must be so proud of him, Glennis.”

She smiles. “I am.”

We chat some more, and it occurs to me how perfectly normal and
happy we must appear to a casual observer. Just two middle-aged women meeting for coffee and chatting about their children. Oh, if only they knew. If only they knew…