can find something unique and loving in almost any personality.
But first, I needed Donna to be very clear with me on a couple of subjects.
“So, you have been clean all day?” I asked.
“Hunter, I know the consequences. The only way I get my boy back is that I have to prove I’m clean for six months.”
“But yet you still put all that hard work we did last month to the side by getting high with your brother in a parking lot. How old is your son now?”
Donna started to get very emotional. She usually did when she spoke about her son. This was one mother who loved her son with all she had. There has been one thing she hasn’t been able to give him: a clean mommy.
“I can’t even think about him because it makes me so sad I want to use. But using is the reason why I don’t have him. So, the only way I can see my son is by ignoring his very existence for six months straight. Because even when it accidentally crosses my mind, my heart breaks in a way I never thought was humanly possible.”
“Why did you use with your brothers? If I’m not mistaken, you would have been on your third month. Then you would only have been three to four months away from seeing him. If you smoke almost anything, it will come up in your next bi-weekly drug test. Well, you’re no stranger to failing a drug test.”
“Don’t be mean. I hate it when you turn mean, Hunter.” Donna knew me well. We’ve been tight for years.
“Why, because I’m honest with you? I tell you the truth.”
“You don’t know my truth, Hunter. You don’t know it at all.”
“What is your truth?” I asked.
Donna looked at me with tears running down her face. She swallowed and then sat back down on the couch.
She had a cup of tea she had been drinking previously on the night stand. She walked over and picked up the tea and drank slowly.
“My truth?” Donna laughed. “Haven’t I been reduced to labels and tags by this point?”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Meaning it’s easier to say I’m a bad mother. A drug addict. A crackhead. A whore. A bitch. A fucking user.”
“Are you a bad mother?” I asked, ignoring all the other shit she said about herself.
I knew this would make Donna extremely emotional, but we needed to get to the core of the problem.
“When I have my son,” Donna said, sitting down in a rocking chair in her living room, “when he lives with me,” she continued, “I get to make his food, launder his clothes, put him to bed and tell him I love him a hundred times in a day. I make sure he has everything he needs, and that’s what kills me, because no matter where he is, no one can possibly love my son more than me. How is that better on any level; that my flesh and blood doesn’t live with me?”
“So, you think you’re a good mother?” I asked carefully.
“When I have him,” Donna responded. “At the present moment, I’m the worst mother in the world. I’m choosing getting high at a chance to have son back. It aches and shames me to no end. I hate myself.”
“Don’t hate yourself,” I said. “Because you’re a drug addict. That’s a label that’s correct. Until you can control not using, you won’t have a chance to have your child.”
“Will you help me, Hunter? Please help me. I want my son back so terribly.”
I looked at my friend and she touched my inner soul. I believed that she did indeed love and adore her son. It made me sad to think someone could love someone so much, yet an outside chemical substance was so strong that they were willing to risk the only relationship in their life worth having.
“You know, you’re throwing around that you drank like it’s no big deal,” I said to get back on point. “Alcohol is in your court documents with your son. You need to stop everything and get clean. I know it’s easier said than done.”
“Please, Hunter, you and I have been drinking since high school.”
“And that was a problem,” I said.
“Seriously, you don’t
But first, I needed Donna to be very clear with me on a couple of subjects.
“So, you have been clean all day?” I asked.
“Hunter, I know the consequences. The only way I get my boy back is that I have to prove I’m clean for six months.”
“But yet you still put all that hard work we did last month to the side by getting high with your brother in a parking lot. How old is your son now?”
Donna started to get very emotional. She usually did when she spoke about her son. This was one mother who loved her son with all she had. There has been one thing she hasn’t been able to give him: a clean mommy.
“I can’t even think about him because it makes me so sad I want to use. But using is the reason why I don’t have him. So, the only way I can see my son is by ignoring his very existence for six months straight. Because even when it accidentally crosses my mind, my heart breaks in a way I never thought was humanly possible.”
“Why did you use with your brothers? If I’m not mistaken, you would have been on your third month. Then you would only have been three to four months away from seeing him. If you smoke almost anything, it will come up in your next bi-weekly drug test. Well, you’re no stranger to failing a drug test.”
“Don’t be mean. I hate it when you turn mean, Hunter.” Donna knew me well. We’ve been tight for years.
“Why, because I’m honest with you? I tell you the truth.”
“You don’t know my truth, Hunter. You don’t know it at all.”
“What is your truth?” I asked.
Donna looked at me with tears running down her face. She swallowed and then sat back down on the couch.
She had a cup of tea she had been drinking previously on the night stand. She walked over and picked up the tea and drank slowly.
“My truth?” Donna laughed. “Haven’t I been reduced to labels and tags by this point?”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Meaning it’s easier to say I’m a bad mother. A drug addict. A crackhead. A whore. A bitch. A fucking user.”
“Are you a bad mother?” I asked, ignoring all the other shit she said about herself.
I knew this would make Donna extremely emotional, but we needed to get to the core of the problem.
“When I have my son,” Donna said, sitting down in a rocking chair in her living room, “when he lives with me,” she continued, “I get to make his food, launder his clothes, put him to bed and tell him I love him a hundred times in a day. I make sure he has everything he needs, and that’s what kills me, because no matter where he is, no one can possibly love my son more than me. How is that better on any level; that my flesh and blood doesn’t live with me?”
“So, you think you’re a good mother?” I asked carefully.
“When I have him,” Donna responded. “At the present moment, I’m the worst mother in the world. I’m choosing getting high at a chance to have son back. It aches and shames me to no end. I hate myself.”
“Don’t hate yourself,” I said. “Because you’re a drug addict. That’s a label that’s correct. Until you can control not using, you won’t have a chance to have your child.”
“Will you help me, Hunter? Please help me. I want my son back so terribly.”
I looked at my friend and she touched my inner soul. I believed that she did indeed love and adore her son. It made me sad to think someone could love someone so much, yet an outside chemical substance was so strong that they were willing to risk the only relationship in their life worth having.
“You know, you’re throwing around that you drank like it’s no big deal,” I said to get back on point. “Alcohol is in your court documents with your son. You need to stop everything and get clean. I know it’s easier said than done.”
“Please, Hunter, you and I have been drinking since high school.”
“And that was a problem,” I said.
“Seriously, you don’t
Similar Books
