Tomorrow afternoon, following my youngest son's flag football game and end-of-season pizza party, I will embark on a 4 hour journey with my eldest son to take him to inpatient drug and alcohol treatment. This is a journey I took with my father almost exactly 16 years ago. A journey that I thought would end with my son in my arms. Maybe I've already told that story.
I am ecstatic to report that my son is not a father (wow, that sounded like Maury Povich), and I am not a grandmother (whew!) so I don't think as much hangs in the balance with this situation. However, my husband has made it painfully clear that he cannot live with us if he continues to blow every responsibility off in order to get stoned. I understand his reasoning and I agree with him.
Wish me luck for tomorrow and the following two-day orientation. I'll be home Monday night.