Such a crazy word. It brings on so many emotions.
It means that while today my husband should be celebrating his 23rd birthday, he is instead dealing with the fact that his dad is going to prison.
It means that the next time our son asks to see his “Pop Doney” we will have to break his heart and tell him no.
It means that the next time my kids see their Pop, they probably won’t remember him.
It means that the next time I see him, there will be a piece of glass between us.
It means taking a grown man in and trying to raise him for a year, helping him get back on his feet. Then, pushing him back out into the world and praying he learns to say “no.”
It means feeling like someone slapped you across the face and punched you in the gut when less than a year later, that grown man turned right back to dope.
It is wondering why his son, his kids, and his grandchildren aren’t enough to stay sober.
It means learning to say goodbye knowing the next time you see him, he could be in a casket.
It means an overweight man one day, then the next time you see him, his clothes are hanging off his body.
It means broken TVs and radios, because he could hear the voices through them.
To someone, like myself, who isn’t an addict, it means trying understand but failing.
It means crying myself to sleep and waking up in tears.
It means wondering if he can or will survive prison and how long he will be there.
It means never giving up hope, but knowing when to let go.
It means heartache. It means hurt. It means anger.
It means a boy grew up without a decent father figure. It made that boy into one heck of a man though. A man that I’m proud to call my husband, a man that would move Heaven and Earth for his family- even for the man that chose drugs over him.