It is 11:15 p.m. and I am now putting the last piece of furniture in its place. For some reason I want to get this behind me, finished. The room now looks the way it did a year ago, before he somehow got moved back into the house. His apartment is not two miles away, but he prefers sleeping and living here with us. The furniture is now polished, the floor vacuumed, and I notice stains on the carpet that need to be cleaned.
You’d think Josh would have learned the last time he was kicked out of the house that this room, this house, was a precious place for him. But he couldn’t stay away from the drugs and the “old” familiar life. I am thankful that this time at least he has the apartment to move back to. Last time was so traumatic for him. And me.
His dad and I would have continued merely to suspect the drugs in his system if not for an accident at the lake. He had shown none of his previous drug use signs. No picking, weight loss, or extreme paranoia. Words can’t describe the feelings I had when the social worker from the hospital stopped by for a visit to discuss the drugs found in Josh’s system. With a sick and scared feeling, I was hoping there was nothing on the drug screen besides marijuana, that illegal drug I was already so aware of. The social worker sat down beside me and my eyes focused on the paper she held. As I sat there staring at the words, it jumped off the page….COCAINE.
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My body melted into the chair. My heart felt like someone was squeezing it, the news hurt so badly. Tears filled my eyes as I struggled to keep my composure. All I could think about was, “How could he do this again to us? To me? He promised…he never tells the truth…will he ever change?!!” Of course he was telling the social worker there was no way cocaine could be in his system, and that’s when I heard my voice say calmly, “You’re lying this time, Josh, and I know it. You’re not pulling that again like you did before. You have the drug in your system. Quit lying and just admit it.” It all made sense. The stunt at the lake that led to him being flown to a nearby hospital in the medical helicopter. Josh was showing off for his cousins who were challenging him. When he attempted to back flip off a 60 foot bridge he over maneuvered and ended up landing on his back. It was a miracle that he didn’t break his neck or receive severe injuries. Of course he was high. No wonder he mustered the courage when challenged. However, the stunt didn’t turn out quite like he had planned, and now here he was in the hospital.
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Josh’s bedroom in our home is now void of all of his things. Gone is his poster of Allen Iverson, the basketball shoes dad purchased for him, and all of his other things. By moving everything to his apartment, I want to back up my words and make it clear to Josh that he will never live here again. I look around, blinking away tears, and feel the familiar pain of disappointment and hurt. As I am about to exit his room, I think to check the closet to see if I have missed anything.
There sit his journals. Two of them.
Picking them up from the closet shelf, I walk toward the bed to sit down. As I start to read his journal, my mind wanders back. Has it been six years now? Six years of my life dedicated to this troubled boy?
Josh’s writings are humorous and put a smile on my face. The writings also express his fear and pain, as well as many tough questions. He was writing to me in his journal, getting to know me. I, in turn, was responding and questioning him, learning about him, determined to help Josh change his life. Reading through my own responses back to him, I am amazed at how much hope, faith and determination I expressed. Am I still that person now?