The Process

I remember sitting there alone in my garage that day after leaving the hospital desperately needing to hear from God. I was feeling so much guilt. Could I have done more to save my son. I was feeling like I failed him. I knew I needed to pray, but I did not know what to say to God. After all, He allowed it! I could not even watch Christian programming. I had called a few of them for prayer, and believed that he would pull through, and I still lost him. I felt like I had failed him. And now Here I sit all alone in this indescribable pain. Shock, disbelief. How could God allow this? Then in my spirit I felt like God was saying,” I will not fail you”. In a still small voice, the Lord spoke to me. I cried like a baby. I felt his presence like I had never felt before. God was more real to me then, than I had ever experience before. Ever!!!!
The very next day I woke up, still hoping that it was all a dream. That pain was right there waiting for me to awake. God in his graciousness, allowed me to sleep sound throughout the night, just like the night of my son’s passing.
There were times that God warned me of dangers that my son was in through dreams. I would wake up from nightmares of his death, then I would pray. Later my son shared with me how he almost died from an overdose. Just two years before his death, I had several dreams that he had died from an overdose. I woke up crying and praying to God. At one time I shared the dream with him. I pleaded with him after he got clean to not go back to it. I realize now that it is not that simple. I wondered why God did not warn me this time. I had so many questions.
That night after talking to my son for the last time. I went to sleep feeling good. It was so good talking to my son that night. He sounded happy. Though in the back of my mind he sounded too, happy. I questioned myself that he might be high, but I never brought it up. I guess I did not want to believe it. Now I wish I had said something. Would it had made a difference? I do not know. I believe he wanted to reach out to me, but the shame and the stigma of being an addict kept him in the dark. He did not want to worry me.
I think about the last time I saw my son alive. He came up to my job. He told me that he had the flu and that he needed money, so that he could go to a walk-in clinic. I now wonder was it for the clinic or was it for his next fix. All I know is he was so sick that day. I prayed for him and I held him close to me. When I got ready to go back inside, he held me, and he did not want to let me go. I believe he was screaming for help, that his heart was breaking. trying to tell me then that he had had a relapse. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t I know? I am so sorry that I did not know.
After my son had gotten clean for a few months, he shared with me how he would ask me for money, and would lie to me about the things he needed the money for, only to buy drugs .He said he would get the money from me and he would cry. He hated it. I cannot imagine what he was going through.
My son was addicted to heroin. His addiction started with pain pills, prescribed by his doctor. Like so my thousands today. By the time I found out he had been battling addiction, he was in deep. He had been battling it for years. I had no idea. I had no knowledge of this disease. I did not know just how serious it was and how it works. I do know that it can permanently alter a person’s brain. It rewires the brain in such a way that normal pleasure is non- existent. I know that the pain of withdrawal is extreme and intense. I witness my son going through withdrawals. He was shaking violently. It was nearly unbearable to watch, and I felt helpless. I remember one day I drove him to the ER as he was having withdrawals. Little was done for him. He had no insurance, he could not hold a job because of this now, illness. The hospital did nothing for him but sent him back out to the streets. I remember feeling so helpless. He told me he had to use before he could even go out anywhere and when the drug would start to wear off, to escape the pain, the chasing for the drug would begin. He shared with me that even when he got the hit, in the back of his mind was, that it would wear off. It was a vicious cycle that seemed to never end. He told me that it was hard to enjoy life. Only God knows want my son was going through, maybe that’s why God called him home. I took comfort in the fact that
My son had given his life to The Lord at age 17. I believe he is in heaven now. What Christ did for us on the cross. How he died for the sins of the world. How he makes all things new. The gospel really came alive in my life at the passing of my son. Now I understood what it really means to be save. Though we die, yet do we live. To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. According to 2 Corinthians 5:8. Though I miss my son tremendously, I am so glad to know that he is safe in the Presence of The Almighty God! I am forever grateful for Jesus. I owe him my life.