Band Aid

Kids think band aids heal wounds. They rest is easy when you apply one to their skin. My story is about

being a human band aid. I am the mother of six children, ranging between 19 years and 3 yrs. My

children lived with their grandmother for 10 years while I swam in addiction, while I failed to call, while I

failed to show up for visits, while I sat in jail and rehabs. They did all the things kids the other kids did;

played sports, went to school, went to church and hung with their friends. At night though, they went to

bed minus a mother and father. I hate to imagine the thoughts that plagued them. Wondering, always,

were there parents ok?

 

The government removed Benny and my other kids from my care when he was 6 years old. From that

day, until he was 16, I had no real relationship with him. I was sure that there would be no band aid big

enough to cover the wounds I had caused.

 

At 3 years clean and sober, I got the biggest reward of my recovery. A judge gave them back to me.

Finally we were all under the same roof again and we lived happily ever after, is what I would like to

write but unfortunately, it is the truth that sets me free. The truth is Benny was not happy. I apologized.

I spoiled him. I made him as comfortable as possible. He resented and avoided me. Being a mother, I

looked past it and wallowed in the guilt of my past indiscretions, putting a band aid on it, so to speak.

As I tried to shelter him, he was getting drunk and high. I caught him a couple times and put my foot

down. If he came home like that again, he was going to have to move out. So he continued to use

behind my back. Drinking and using recreationally did not work for him. One night after I had returned

from a meeting, there he sat, high on the couch. This was the last straw. The band aid was off! Under

the band aid were a lot of issues that were his, not mine! He had every reason NOT to drink or use. His

childhood was terrible because of it. Yet there he was, my son, a budding addict, right in front of me.

That night I realized that all my spoiling and helping and apologizing were futile. He was a man now who

was not manning up.

That night I tossed and turned. Being the control freak that I am, I was trying to think of how I could help

Benny. Eventually his father popped into my head. His father now has multiple years clean and is living

about 45 minutes away. I knew that, even though I didn’t particularly like the idea of his father having to

“help” out, I may have to ask for it. The next morning I told Benny either he went to rehab or go stay

with his dad for a while. On the surface I played tough but inside I felt like a failure again. Had I made

his life worse by bringing him under my roof?

Thank God for recovery ! While working the program I learned about boundaries. I had drawn a line for

Benny. He had stepped over it. If I allowed him to continue on that path under my roof, his wounds

would only deepen, and he would never change.

I was being a Band aid trying to protect my son from pain, covering the obvious. In order for him to

heal, I would have to get out of the way, let him out into the open air of truth. So after choking down my

pride, I called his father, who was more than willing to help.

Benny packed all of his stuff. We put it in the trunk and headed for his father’s house. Before leaving he

pulled the last guilt trip on me by saying, “You left me when I was little and now you’re gonna leave me

again.” Ouch. That hurt. I told him that I wanted him to be a good man. He would never be anybody if he

stayed with me. He rolled his eyes. A couple weeks went by and he would not answer my calls or texts.

That really hurt. Knowing that he was safe was paramount and I rested easy knowing I did the right

thing.

I cleaned his room after he left. Kids don’t clean their rooms in general but this room looked like no one

had lived in it. A layer of dust coated everything so thick; I don’t know how he even saw the TV. It looked

as if he just sat up there, like a statue, vegetating, as life was passing him by.

I went to see him, at his dad’s, a couple weeks later. He met me outside. I got a hug. His eyes were

bright, brighter than they ever were before. We had a conversation! A real one! He has affiliated himself

as being an addict and is going to meetings, etc. I hate to think of my boy calling himself an addict but if

the shoe fits, I guess he will wear it. I pray that he wears recovery well. He has over two years clean

now!

As for me, I miss him every day. I am thankful for the ability to see my own defects in action. Being a

band aid is one of them. Live and Let Live is my new goal. I am allowing my son to live out in the open

air of life! It will have to be his choice how he lives!

Thank-you April P for letting us share this story.