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My Son
I am grieving. At first it was a screaming, raging grief for all the world to see. But now it is a quiet grief buried deep within...not so easily seen...but always there.
I just left my 27 year old son in the street where I found him. He had no money, no shelter, and only the clothes on his back. He has been in detox and rehab 4 times. I left this letter with him.
~Lilly~
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Herion Eyes
I've been having dreams lately. Dreams of when you were a little boy. You would lie...so innocent...in my arms. I would look into your baby eyes and think of what you might be like someday. What kind of man you would be. You would tell me (just like all little boys do) that you would never leave...that you would take care of me "always". I would swing you around and around and you would squeal - just like a little greased piglet being chased around the barnyard. I remember your first bike ride. You were so proud of those wheels spinning fast. So proud of not falling down.
I cheered you on and smiled and smiled.
You used to call me from the corner phone while waiting for the school bus. There was the time that you brought home the dead bird in your lunch box. You found it during recess and your teacher wouldn't let you bury it. So you brought it home and we buried it together in the back yard.
And you began to grow up...as all little boys do.
You grew and grew and I watched you begin to become what you were created to be.
With bright blue eyes looking at the world around you with a future and a hope.
Then one day I noticed that your eyes weren't as bright as they used to be. Those bright blue eyes...the windows to your soul...were dimming.
I watched your soul being taken away...slowly...painfully...day by day. Until I couldn't see you anymore when I looked into the windows of your soul.
I've been having dreams lately. Dreams of when you were a little boy and there were no herion eyes.
I love you and I miss you my son.
Mom
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