I dance between self-preservation and helping a loved one. Of course, if that loved one does not want help and the issue encompasses one’s life, self-preservation comes to the fore.
I see the image of a 4-year-old cherub in my mind. My son. I put him on a pedestal so high; I’m sure the distance made him dizzy. He was a gorgeous child in my eyes.
So when I look at my forty-one-year-old son now, the image of that 4-year-old mingles. And therein lays the break in my heart. One is not the other. Two paths—the one I hoped he’d take, and the one he took—two parts of a broken heart.
Have you done such things?
Oh, he works every day, but I fear his goals have blurred. He works to feed his addiction; a beast he’s struggled with before. Reach, reach; I can’t reach him. I fear what may be perceived as abandonment may be my only recourse.
As I contemplate my options, I know I want to leave him some. Isn’t that what we do as parents? Worry about our children? I want to leave him with a roof over his head eventually.
If this can’t change, then I have to. I want peace and lawfulness. Must we go our separate ways? Although my son impresses me with his independence, he is dependent. Will he survive on his own? Am I worrying for nothing?
Perhaps others out there have suggestions.