When Bill and I finally got together, Billy was 15. It could have been a very awkward arrangement, me crashing their bachelor pad. But Billy made it so easy. He was sweet and welcoming and even a little shy in the beginning, But never angry that I was there or resentful in anyway ever.
We both had scars at that point and he wasn't a child, neither was he grown. I had just learned a very bitter lesson about how my control issues, my best ideas to say the least pushed those I loved away. I knew Billy's history and I felt it was not my place to weigh in on issues of behavior and discipline. He was fragile and I have a straightforward way about me that is not always gentle. I was afraid to hurt him.
And Billy's scars well they went back his whole life. Aside from my sister in law, Bill's sister, the women he had known were by and large unstable, uninterested, and in the case of his grandmother, abusive. In short, we were both mighty leery of each other even though our hearts told us that this was different. Many years later, shortly before he died we talked about it. I am grateful that we had that talk.
So we spent a few years making small talk, laughing at jokes, watching stupid tv shows. Anything serious we talked through Bill. No it wasn't healthy but it was the best either of us could do. And there were serious issues, even then. Billy brought alcohol in the house. He had left school and was working full time. There were slight but progressive bumps with the law.
After Bill and I married, my family needed me in Colorado. My daughters, who I lost to my own addictions years ago were reaching adulthood and I felt if I was ever going to have a chance to make up anything at all to them, it would be then. I have already said I was not the mother of the year, I made my own mistakes. and Bill and I sort of felt maybe Colorado could be a new beginning for all of us. And for me and my girls it was, the relationship I started to build with them in Colorado continues today. My girls are what have kept my heart beating then, now and especially the past 5 months.
Soon after arriving in Colorado, it was evident that Billy's addiction came with us with a new twist. He began spending massive amounts of time in his room. This was the first time I saw his depression raise its ugly head. Although I wouldn't understand until it was too late. Eventually he decided to go back to New York to live with his mom who was living on her own finally.
He was there two weeks before she kicked him out. He moved across the street from her house with some friends. She never once tried to visit him.
One day, the phone rang. I was in the middle of making out Christmas Cards and distractedly answered the phone. Billy was on the other end. He was crying. He said, "Can I come home". My heart about jumped out of my chest. I was so happy to hear his voice saying those words and heartbroken that he cried all at the same time. I told him OF COURSE! and we had him on a plane that week. The very first one we could get him on after he tied up loose ends there. In retrospect, that was the first time of many that I remember where I felt like Billy's mom and not just Linda. My son wanted to come HOME. Not back to Colorado, but Home.
He came back home and found a job doing construction work for a military contractor. He was barely 18. He was so proud of that job and the badge that came with it. When Billy worked and was productive, he changed. He was happy and confident. He was Billy as Billy was meant to be.
Soon we found a house with a workshop which Billy claimed as his own with our blessing. The house had a basement apartment with a semi private entry and Billy paid us rent. For all intents and purposes, he was independent. He would come home from work and eat and go straight to the workshop where he would spend hours. He was also sober for a short time, going to meetings and making friends who were also sober.
Soon however, he changed, quickly and ominously. We found in the garage dozens of electronic devices and household appliances completely disassembled and piled everywhere. Money started coming up missing from our accounts, he seemed to be sleeping too much or not at all. It was the beginning of Billy's dance with Meth and it almost killed him.
Soon the job was lost. I would come home from work at lunch to find a half dozen nefarious creatures lounging in the living room. His sober friends stopped calling. He had big bruises that he could not explain. And then we began to find the needles. We were terrified we were going to lose him.
We offered him the choice of leaving the house or treatment. I had friends in the area who had pull at a few treatment centers and a bed was waiting for him. Billy chose to leave, to come to Tallahassee to live with Bill's sister. Putting him on that plane was the hardest thing we had done to that point but we felt like we were saving his life. Later he would thank us and tell us we did.
Billy as far as I know never danced with Meth seriously again but his addiction would take many twists and turns over the years. It was so frustrating, because Bill and I are both in recovery for many years. We help other peoples kids recover but we could not help our own.
Addiction is an ugly, ugly disease. Its ruthless and vile and in the end for Billy and many others fatal. This was the second epic struggle my son dealt with every day. It was one of the things that killed him. Abuse, neglect, addiction and depression...A lethal combination, a perfect storm.
I hate addiction. Hate it with everything I have in me. It takes beautiful people and destroys them. I have seen it too many times over the years. I saw it happen to my son.
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