An Uneasy Visit

My oldest son had been in rehab for just over a month and he had a day-pass to visit us at home.

It was a very difficult time for me at the office.  All the other proud parents are talking about their perfect children with a 4.5 gpa who can’t decide which college offer to accept.  They were complaining about having to take time off to fly across the country and visit different universities.  They were complaining about the burden of too many great choices to pick from.  I really wanted to retort with, “That sounds great. My son is doing well too. He’s been sober for a little over a month.”

I didn’t because I realize that what I’d really be saying is “Fuck you and your perfect life”.  I really wished I could have traded problems with them.  I know that everyone has issues and no one has a perfect life. Everyone has skeletons. The happy, perfect “friends” of mine of facebook have their own issues that they deal with in private.  Some of them have lost loved ones.  Some are dealing with substance abuse issues either with themselves or a loved one but, just like me, they don’t want to air their laundry in public.  I’ve chosen to start this blog to put my feelings somewhere where other people can see what I’m thinking and feeling, but yet still retain my privacy.  I’m not really sure who would even care what I think but maybe my experiences can help someone.  That’s my hope anyway.  This is my way of coping. To each, their own.

So, anyway, back to the subject of this post…

After being a model citizen in rehab for the past month (I guess I can’t stop being the proud dad. Although, I admit I have lowered my standards a bit these days.), my son has earned a day trip. He will be allowed to come home for the day and spend the afternoon with us.

At first, I was ecstatic to hear this. I get to spend time with him outside of a group counseling sessions. Then reality set in, little by little.

In preparation for his visit, my ex-wife and I were instructed to clean his room and wash his clothes.

This didn’t sound like a big task but, it was explained to us that we have a recovering drug addict coming over.  After this sunk in a bit, we felt the anvil drop on our heads.

First, wash all his clothes. I don’t mean wash all his dirty clothes. I mean wash every single piece of fucking clothing he owns. I mean turning every pocket inside out. I mean going through every sock looking for a secret stash of poison that he left behind before he went into rehab.  It means steralizing what we can and throwing out what we can’t, then refolding and putting everything back in all his drawers and closet.

But, just like the infomercials say, “Wait, there’s more!”. We don’t just get to put things back in a drawer. Every nook and cranny of his room had to be searched from top to bottom.  With the drawer is empty, we had to remove every single one and look for hidden drugs or paraphernalia. Perhaps a little pill bottle full of weed hidden behind a drawer or a small baggie taped to the underside of the dresser.  By “clean” they meant disassemble furniture and search for all his secret hiding places.

In order to try and protect my son, I have to learn to think like and addict. Every book had to be taken off his shelf and shaken to see if had been hollowed out inside or if something was tucked between the pages. Every difficult-to-access corner had to be inspected.  Every trophy he’d ever won had to be inspected for a secret hollow.

I’ve learned that addicts are con artists and they’re very, very good at it. I have to learn to be suspicious of the smallest detail. I don’t like doing this. I don’t like having to become a person who has to approach every interaction with suspician and distrust. It is contrary to the person I have always been. It’s a struggle for me. In the past, we’ve learned that he’s hidden drugs in lots of places around the house that I wouldn’t have even though of. He’s hidden them in the shared bathroom. He’s hidden them in his little brother’s room because he knows we trust his little brother and figured we wouldn’t search his room.  He is good.  He was right.

We have a small house that sits on just over an acre of land.  The perimeter is surrounded by trees, shrubs, and lots places for small kids to play hide-and-seek.  I walked the perimeter of the property playing a different and much more serious version of this game.  I was looking for a secret buried stash, covered up by leaves or hidden behind one of those really good hiding bushes.  I know he has done this in the past. I don’t know if he still has something hidden in some obscure location on the property that he’s going to try and get to when he comes home.  I could only hope that if he did hide something, that he had been careless and left a clue.  If he was careful, or if new leaves had fallen and covered his tracks, I knew there was no way I’d be able to find anything. This made me feel incredibly uneasy about even letting him step outside the house unsupervised. “Just great”, I thought, “I have to babysit a goddamn toddler who is taller, stronger, and faster than me.”

In one of his more arrogant moments, he made it a point of telling me how easy I was to manipulate.  He told me I was stupid for not noticing his behavior sooner.  He took advantage of my optimism and trust. It makes me cry when I think that I cannot give him the benefit of the  doubt any more.

I wish I knew who was coming home for a visit. I want to believe that it is my son who loves and misses his family and honestly wants to put his past mistakes behind him and get a fresh start. I’ve learned not to be this naive. It is most likely that I’ll be hosting a con-man who wants nothing more than to take advantage of me every chance he gets; an entitled little shit who cares about no one except himself, a master manipulator that knows all my buttons and exactly how to push them to get the what he wants. That guy is an asshole. I don’t like him and I don’t want him in my house. I wish I knew how to figure out which one is going to be in my home for the day.

-wgd