A reader asked me to post her short story about her son. Thank you for your sharing April.
“Band aid” -by April P.
Kids think band aids heal wounds. They rest easy when you apply one to their skin. My story is about being a human band aid. I am the mother of six children, ranging between 19 years and 2 yrs. My children lived with their grandmother for 10 years while I recklessly lived in addiction, while I failed to call, while I failed to show up for visits, while I sat in jail and rehabs. They did all the things kids the other kids did; played sports, went to school, went to church and hung with their friends. At night though, they went to bed minus a mother and father. I hate to imagine the thoughts that plagued them. Wondering, always, were their parents ok?
The focus of this article will be on my oldest son, Benny, who is now 19. The government removed him and the other kids from my care when Benny was 6 years old. From that day, until he was 16, I had no real relationship with him. I was sure that there would be no band aid big enough to cover the wounds I had caused.
At 3 years clean and sober, I got the biggest reward of my recovery. A judge gave them back to me. Finally we were all under the same roof again and we lived happily ever after, is what I would like to write but unfortunately, it is the truth that sets me free. The truth is Benny was not happy. I apologized. I spoiled him. I made him as comfortable as possible. He resented and avoided me. Being a mother, I looked past it and wallowed in the guilt of my past indiscretions, putting a band aid on it, so to speak. As an ostrich stuffs his head in the sand, as did I, with my first born son.
As I tried to shelter him, he was getting high and drunk. I caught him a couple times and put my foot down. If he came home like that again, he was going to have to move out. So he continued to use and drink behind my back. Using recreationally did not work for him. One night after I had returned from a meeting, there he sat, high as a kite, on the couch! This was the last straw. The band aid was off! Under the band aid were a lot of issues that were his, not mine! He had every reason NOT to do drugs! His childhood was terrible because of it. Yet there he was, my son, a budding addict, right in front of me. That night I realized that all my spoiling and helping and apologizing were futile. He was a man now who was not manning up.
That night I tossed and turned. Being the control freak that I am, I was trying to think of how I could help Benny. Eventually his father popped into my head. His father now has multiple years clean and is living about 45 minutes away. I knew that, even though I didn’t particularly like the idea of his father having to “help” out, I may have to ask for it. The next morning I told Benny either he went to rehab or go stay with his dad for a while. On the surface I played tough but inside I felt like a failure again. Had I made his life worse by bringing him under my roof?
Thank God for Recovery! While working the program I learned about boundaries. I had drawn a line for Benny. He had stepped over it. If I allowed him to continue on that path under my roof, his wounds would only deepen, and he would never change. In my opinion, he was an adult now. He needed to get out on his own as much as I hated to accept it.
I was being a Band aid trying to protect my son from pain, covering the obvious. In order for him to heal, I would have to get out of the way, let him out into the open air of truth. So after choking down my pride, I called his father, who was more than willing to help.
Benny packed all of his stuff. We put it in the trunk and headed for his father’s house. Before leaving he pulled the last guilt trip on me by saying, “You left me when I was little and now you’re gonna leave me again.” Ouch. That hurt. I told him that I wanted him to be a good man. He would never be anybody if he stayed with me. He rolled his eyes. A couple weeks went by and he would not answer my calls or texts. That really hurt. Knowing that he was safe was paramount and I rested easy knowing I did the right thing.
I cleaned his room after he left. Kids don’t clean their rooms in general but this room looked like no one had lived in it, ever. A layer of dust coated everything so thick; I don’t know how he even saw the TV. It looked as if he just sat up there, like a statue, vegetating, as life was passing him by.
I went to see him, at his dad’s, a couple weeks later. He met me outside. I got a hug. His eyes were bright, brighter than they ever were before. We had a conversation! A real one! He has affiliated himself as being an addict and is going to meetings, etc. I hate to think of my Benny calling himself an addict but if the shoe fits, I guess he will wear it. I pray that he wears recovery well.
As for me, I miss him every day. I am thankful for the ability to see my own defects in action. Being a band aid is one of them. Live and Let Live is my new goal. I am allowing my son to live out in the open air of life! It will have to be his choice how he lives! Not mine.
I was watching TV the other night and thought, “I wonder how many different mattresses my son has slept upon since his addiction started back in high school?” I would wager that I am not the only parent of an addict that has had such a thought. 
