I spoke to my parents last night. I find it very interesting their perspective of how we parent J. My parents raised and buried an addict so it is not like they do not know what our life entails. They talked about how much they loved J and how incredibly thoughtful and kind he was. They have wishes and hopes for J and want to find a way to help him find his way. They said they speak to J with respect and so J in turn treats them with respect.
A part of me was so happy to hear that J really did show up and not the ugly alien but I realized what was being inferred and I was quietly upset by it. They only see and speak to J not the alien. J would never willingly call or see my parents while the addict inhabited his body. They see the sweet bright boy…their first most beloved grandson. They don’t take any phone calls in the middle of the night or ponder who the hell the stranger is that pulled in to pick my son up. They don’t have to watch the chaos that envelops all of us when J is using.
Do I speak to J with respect? My best answer…most of the time. Does my husband speak to J with respect…nope not ever. I am jealous because my parents get to see the sweet boy and their dreams for their grandson have not been shattered….they have hope! We get fear, and constant dread while waiting for one shoe or another to drop. How is it they have forgotten the alien that lived in my brother? The son they buried. I love my son but I don’t blindly see him as my bright sunshiny little boy. When I see him I see him now, even when he is sober there is still a cloud that follows and blocks out some of that shine.
It makes me very sad because I am not sure those clouds will ever go away….