I received yet another notice this morning from yet another mother whose 28 year old child overdosed and died last night. I’ve lost count, just in my small area, just in this past year. My daughter is 28 and still battling – every death notice takes another little piece of my hope.
How many deaths will it take before we have an all out sustained push for whatever it takes to stop the heroin epidemic? To remove the stigma? Whose kid has to die before attention is paid? How many more?
It’s been said Tough times never last, but tough people do.
I say, yeah, maybe.
We knew this abrupt change of forsworn direction, this most weighty and fearsome decision to take her in again, only because of the baby, would be tough, and precarious. We are tough. How tough, you ask?
Getting tougher every day, thanks in part to an epic breakdown in plan this weekend. An unfortunate, ugly, unwelcome, blame-to-spare, blast-from-the-past clash. But WE MADE IT. WE ARE ALL OKAY. It was almost a relief to have the emotional shoe drop finally, but the storm broke, and we three, this unlikely and fragile trinity, didn’t. So I’m calling it out loud – we passed this test.
We’re a long way from anywhere, the woods are nothing if not dark and deep, but we have promises to keep, and miles to go before we sleep. Please God, grant us safe travels, grant us the strength to trust each other, and if it’s not too much trouble, let’s get a move on to March 23.
So for today, we are hanging tough. It’s still life.