Another Perspective

This blog entry is written by my husband, Joe. I thought it might be interesting to have another perspective, since the entire family is affected by the actions of my son.

For almost 20 years I have talked with counselors, rehab clinics, group therapists, clergy, and law enforcement officials trying to help my son. Interestingly, all of the experts agree on a universal truth about drug addiction: there are only three possible outcomes.   No matter which path you or yours chooses, addiction leads to only three destinations.  You will clean up, you will go to prison, or you will die.  This is an absolute truth.  So in my daily prayers to God, I ask Him to steer my son to the best option:  sobriety.  Because he has been involved with the other two outcomes - he’s is in prison now, and nearly died before he got there.

Many people don’t know the entire story. Here goes:

On January 9, 2010   The phone rang at 11:45 PM.  Over the years, we have been conditioned to expect the worse from a late night call, but could not even imagine the horrors this one held. It was a nurse from UAB Medical Center telling us my son Matt had been shot at close range during a home invasion.  She told us our son was conscious; we even talked to him briefly.  He asked us to go to his house and lock the door before we came to the hospital. 

Nothing could prepare us for what we saw as I turned into his driveway. It was surreal.  A half dozen police cars parked in the front yard.  Blue lights flashing.  Yellow crime scene tape.  Detectives everywhere.  It looked like they were filming a crime movie,  Stunned, we just sat there staring.   Carol was unable to even get out of the car.  When I finally opened the door I was  approached by a detective. 

Without any specifics, he told  me my son was involved with some bad people and was in over his head.   Later I learned that as the police combed the home for clues to the attempted murder, they found evidence linking my son to two drug store robberies.  He didn’t take any money,  just prescription pain relievers.  Apparently word got out on the street that my son had made a large “score”.  So whoever came in the house was going to take the drugs and kill him.  He nearly succeeded.  The shooter had an AK 47 assault rifle pointed at his head.  The shooter was so close that my son grabbed the gun barrel as he was squeezing the trigger.  Instead of killing him instantly, the shot went thru his arm, shattered a bone, and then punctured his lung twice.  The surgeon informed us that from point blank range the velocity of the bullet was so great that if it hit him anywhere in the upper part of his body, the shock wave would have been fatal.   

I retrospect, I believe God took over on this January night.  It’s almost like He said to us, ”OK, you have been dealing with this for 20 years.  Enough!  I’m taking over from here. I will let our son face death.  I will imprison him. I will get his attention.”

Is it so different from Paul?  Paul was struck down, blinded.  He never knew if he would see again.  He had time to reflect.  God got his attention and his life was changed.   My hope is that the same thing is true of my son.  I believe the Lord has spared my son for a reason.  My prayer is that He uses him and his story as an instrument to help rescue others on the path to destruction. 

Whom Shall I Fear?

         Those who know me know I do not like surprises.  I used to secretly unwrap all my Christmas presents. But life with an addict is always uncertain, always a surprise. In a way, living with a drug addict is like playing with a jack-in-a-box. You know he is going to jump out at the end of the song, you're just not sure which turn of the crank will be the last one.  My son would be positive and pleasant for a few weeks. He might even work a job and carry on normal actives. We would even start thinking that he was heading in the right direction and then... Surprise! Out comes the jack-in-the-box!

         We never knew when or where it might happen. Once we were having dinner with friends, when the phone rang during desert. I knew there was trouble even before the host handed me the receiver. The crank had been turning. Another arrest and the mood switched from silly to somber in seconds.

               After several surprises, we learned never to let our guard down. I always watched and waited for the surprise. Sometimes they came with a little forewarning, kind of like a premonition or feeling. Once when my youngest son was playing an important football game his senior year, I noticed paramedics scanning the crowd. I knew they were looking for me even before they approached my seat. My grandmother had called 911 after my son had attempted to take his own life. He had run into the woods behind our house, bleeding profusely, and the authorities needed to notify us.

               All the surprises were controlling my life. I was living from surprise to surprise.  I was becoming afraid of the jack-in-the-box. I knew I hated the surprises, but they were consuming my thoughts. They were directing my actions.

               It was in the middle of a Bible study on strongholds that I felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit. The author defined a stronghold as anything that keeps us from being what God wants us to be.  I had checked off my list each week – no addiction, no insecurity, no obsessions. It was about the fourth week that I opened my lesson and there on the page was my stronghold—FEAR. Those surprises had become a stronghold because they represented my fear of the uncertainty of what might happen next. I was afraid and I needed help.

           Through my study I learned a lot about my stronghold. I began to see fear as the opposite of faith. I finally learned to cope with the surprises by letting go of the fear. It was not an easy task and I could not have done it without the help of the Holy Spirit. I found Bible verses that reassured my faith, like Psalms 23:4,” Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me,” and Isaiah 41: 10 “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.”  But perhaps the best one was a verse that used the word stronghold in the interpretation that I read:

Psalms 27: 1 (NIV) The LORD is my light and my salvation-- whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life-- of whom shall I be afraid?

               Controlling my fear impulse is a daily struggle, any stronghold is. I read somewhere that the Bible say "fear not" some 350 times. God must have wanted us to listen if he mentioned it that many times. That is almost one for every day of the year. Coincidence? I think not.

A Visit to Jail

             Visiting jail is not like visiting prison. Yes, both are correctional facilities but, prison is serious stuff. A visit to the jail is usually one night a week for 2 hours at the most. There are long lines of anxious people following written and unwritten protocol. Sign a form, show your driver's license and wait and wait and wait. When you are called back, you get to visit through a glass divider. Some jails have a phone to communicate with the inmate. I always wanted to wipe it down with Clorox wipes, but you can't take anything back with you. So you talk and you smile and blow kisses, but you can't touch.

             Occasionally, you meet a guard who enjoys his job. Those are rare. Most appear in a bad mood. Maybe it's a way to tune out the sadness. If I were a guard I would feel sorry for every person that walked in to visit. I really do now that I know what most are going through.
             No one ever told me what to expect. It is bad enough facing the consequences of what your loved one has done, but there is so much added stress in not knowing what to plan for at a visit. It takes courage to ask complete strangers where to sign in or where to sit. I once got reprimanded by another visitor because I unknowingly broke in line. Evidently there was a certain seating order and I sat down ahead of my turn. I just wanted to rest my knees.
               Being a woman of faith has helped me keep a positive attitude amid all the frustration.  I chose to see the positive in people. I chose to see God at work in even the direst situations. I chose to smile.
                When you are going through the experience, it is hard to imagine not being immersed in the culture. Some never get to escape. I remember waiting for a visit at the Cullman jail. In the lobby were several children playing as best they could while they waited to see their loved one. I overheard one say, "now you be the Warden." How sad for such young lives to even have that knowledge at such an innocent age.
                I hope my story can bring words of encouragement to someone who is dealing with the court system right now.  Maybe you have a relative in jail, maybe it's you. Whatever the circumstances, there is a light at the end of the tunnel - and it's not a train. Stay the course, keep the faith and The Lord will see you through the gale of the storm. It could always be worse. It could be prison.

Can I Keep My Sense of Humor?

One constant in my journey has been my sense of humor.  It has sustained me when I felt like crying or just simply giving up.  It started long before the problems with my son. I used it as a defense for a tall, uncoordinated young lass who, along with her brother, was being raised by a quirky, single mom and a doting grandmother. Their stories alone could fill volumes.

I look back with smiles now as I recall some of the things I did to try to change my son’s actions.  My husband and I once broke up a party in a quiet neighborhood.  We must have looked like idiots banging on the door and yelling out our son’s name.  We chased suspects all over town, researched strange phone numbers, and even called jails and hospitals to see if he had been admitted. I guess we thought we could make such an impact on him that he would want to change.  We were wrong.  He was not going to change until he decided that staying sober was better than getting high.  No matter how we cried, screamed, threatened, or demanded, the decision had to be his.  I just hate that he had to make his decision in a federal prison. 

Prison has been the place where he has stayed stay sober enough to make rational decisions.  Before his incarceration, he saw suicide as the only way out.  Knowing what I know now, I can’t blame him.  He had dug himself in such a hole that even when he struggled to get out, the ground continued to fall in on him. He felt hopeless.

I can honestly say I never felt a loss of hope.  I guess that’s why I kept praying for him. Each and every day I prayed. Late at night I prayed.  During the day I prayed.  Riding down the road I prayed. In the shower I prayed.  A faithful mother never gives up on her child, no matter what.  On the outside I could laugh and smile, I had to. I had two other wonderful sons and I had to be a caring parent to them, also.  But inside I was screaming my heart out to the Lord.

Because of them I could still find humor in my circumstances.  We could still laugh at some of the situations in which we found ourselves.   I remember one trip with the boys to see my son at drug rehab.  We were all very quiet. We stopped for fast food where the restaurant was guaranteeing our meal in 5 minutes. Of course it took 20.  When we got to the window, the young lady taking our order said “Sorry about your wait, Mam.”  From the back seat, one son asked, “Mom, are you going to let her talk to you like that? “ He had taken her “wait” as “weight” and immediately saw a moment for comic relief.  It took a minute to register, but we had the biggest laugh about her multiple meaning comment to a pleasingly plump, overweight mother.

My joy does not come from my circumstances. It is not of my doing, I have supernatural help.  I have a promise in Romans 15:13 that the “God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”   I have hope.

Why Can't He Tell the Truth?

There is a quote about a tangled web of deceit and how it weaves itself tighter and tighter with every lie.  I never knew how true it was until my son became so intertwined in the drug culture. What would start out as a small lie would grow and grow until it was impossible to find the truth in all the layers of deceit. He got to where he would lie when the truth would serve him better.

It is so frustrating to try to glean the truth from the untruths. I found myself trying to complete the half truths with my speculations. That made matters even worse because I would fill in the blanks with the worst possible scenario. Many times I needed to, many times I did not.

Some things were very clear. There is no doubting a forged check. But often things would go missing and not be noticed for days. That would lead to accusations and arguments.  Sometimes we could catch him in the act, like the time he took his grandfather's pain medicine for his amputated leg. We were able to retrieve the pills. But more often than not we were unable to retrieve the stolen goods.

My husband noticed a signature print missing from his office the night after he had taken my son to a college football game. He had pawned the picture for drug money. Luckily, my husband was able to buy the print back, but we were not so lucky with two missing X Boxes, a PlayStation3, and a diamond bracelet.

After testing positive on a drug test, the courts allowed him to go to a Christian based program in Tennessee. The day my husband drove him to Knoxville, I got a phone call from my brother. My son had forged a check for several thousand dollars on the checking account of my late father’s estate. I was beyond angry.

My husband and son were just past the state line when I called. He admitted his actions. I guess we should have brought him home, but we decided to let him finish the program. We had hopes that it would change him.

You may ask why I just didn't let him get arrested. I was afraid that he might be forced to spend a lifetime in jail for being a repeat offender. I knew it was the disease and not my son acting that way. Fear was guiding my decisions. It was not until his arrest for robbery that I was made aware of his arrest record. He actually had only one prior recorded felony.  Another God thing considering how many times he had been arrested.

His web of deceit finally overtook his brilliant mind. Unable to make the right choices, he robbed a pharmacy.  What followed was like a dream, it just didn't seem real but it was.  All I can do now is look back with amazement and say thank you, Lord.   Thank you for saving my son.  Like the sun breaking through the clouds on a hazy morning, God's glory shone through that web of deceit and exposed the darkness.  His journey is not over and neither is mine. I just pray he can continue to walk in the light.

 

Another Late Night Call

The next arrest came on a Saturday night in January. I remember because I was scheduled to start a new Bible study at my church the next day. I remember being overjoyed about the number of participants since the count had doubled.  A good friend reminded me not to get too excited because the Evil One, whom she calls Big Red, loves to squelch our joy when good things are happening for The Lord.  Sure enough, I got a call at about 2 in the morning.

For anyone who has experienced dealing with a rebellious child, the stress can affect every relationship it touches.  Parents are especially vulnerable since both feel a responsibility in rearing the child.   It is often too easy to let the pressure of the situation dictate the behavior. Hurtful words begin to fly, emotions explode, and each parent finds himself blaming the other for something of which neither is responsible. Add to that the nurturing instinct of the mother and the mix can be volatile.

My husband and I had numerous disagreements about what to do with our wayward son. Do we leave him in jail to wait it out? Do we bail him out and set yet another ultimatum? Both of us thought we knew best what to do. I can remember the knots in my stomach from just worrying about my decision. It's almost a no-win situation regardless of what we choose to do.

My son had been living with my grandmother since his first arrest. She could not bear the thought of him staying in jail, so I found myself driving to Birmingham to bring him home. My mother went with me to pick him up. I was angry and venting on the way down.  When we inquired about bond, we realized neither of us has brought our tax cards so we had to make a trip back home. For some reason, we began singing hymns as we traveled the miles. It calmed me down. It was not until years later that I realized what we were doing was worship. We were unconsciously praising the God of Salvation with our words and our songs.

 

My son came home, but his short stay had not changed his behavior. It may have delayed the inevitable for a short time, but many heartaches were soon to follow.  The Bible Study was a huge success and I was able to rest somewhat peacefully that Sunday night. My greatest joy came from knowing that one Saturday night in January, I was able to praise the Lord and beat Big Red at his game. Like the verse in Genesis 50:20 says: “ You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” Praise the Lord.

 

Did I miss the signs?

People often ask me if I had any idea my son was in trouble. Did I see any signs? Did he exhibit any abnormal behavior? What can they do to prevent the same thing happening to their child?

I do not have the answers.  Looking back, I can see actions that might indicate a problem.  He knew not to steal, yet he shoplifted. He began to answer questions with half-truths and outright lies.  He lost interest in his normal activities and began to spend a lot of time with strange new friends. It was hard to tell if he was depressed or just exhibiting normal, irrational teenage behavior. 

After his arrest, the juvenile courts suggested we begin taking him to a child psychologist. We did, but even he did not suspect any abnormal behavior. The psychiatrist never suggested attention-deficit disorder, or mental illness, or possible drug use. We had no clue how severe the problem was until he ran away from home six weeks before his high school graduation.  By that time we had become aware of his habit of smoking pot. 

My son has a very melancholic personality. He is extremely intelligent and very intuitive. I think this may have contributed to a low self-esteem.  He wanted to play school basketball but never made the team. It was after his last try-out that we began to notice a change in behavior and attitude.  Whatever the cause, we were called in for a conference with his teachers because he had such a drop in grades.  He was an honor student, yet he was refusing to turn in assignments.  He was even caught trying to change a grade on the computer.  Tempers escalated at home; and when he would not follow our rules, there was an altercation and he left.  After a week, we found where he was staying and arranged to get him in a drug treatment facility. 

I look back and see all the times God had His hand on my family and me.  Many times God let me know where to look or who to call.  I once found myself right behind my son at an intersection during school hours, so I knew he was skipping school. God knew I needed to know.   He heard the heartfelt cries from a helpless mother and protected her wayward son. Through 4 car wrecks, 7 arrests, at least 5 suicide attempts, and a point blank gunshot wound to the shoulder from an AK47 assault rifle, God was always there providing and protecting.

I look back with amazement at the events of this journey.   Divine intercession is the only reason my son is living today.  I do not believe in coincidences, I believe in God’s purpose.  There is a reason my son’s life was spared.  I think that is why I feel compelled to tell my story. Through all the pain and heartache, I choose to see God’s Glory in each action and incident.  That’s not to say I didn’t lose sleep over it.  If God numbers the hairs on my head, I’m sure He knows the stress has cost me at least a thousand strands.