YOU CAN'T ALWAYS FIX THE ADDICT'S PROBLEM, BUT YOU CAN FIX
YOURSELF

When I discovered my son was using drugs, our world
imploded.

In spite of the best efforts, our son smashed every value laid before
him.

He was a star athlete and scholar, a kind and loving magnet who drew
people to him with an electric smile as big as his warm heart - a
sweet little boy who left love notes on my pillow and hugged me hard
and long.

But meth captured him, and like any Type A carcinogen, the monster
invaded our son and rendered him morbidly useless.

As he disappeared into addiction, it took us with him.

Although my husband and I were happily married and faithful stewards,
addiction swallowed us whole.

At first we kept the secret as it coiled on our chest while we slept.
But slowly we came to grips with the savage truth - our beloved son
was a drug addict.

Meth transposed him from a competent and gentle soul to absolutely
insane.

It got so bad, I barely escaped with my life.

Dropped into hell, my rage whirled me loose wanting to destroy
everything in my path.

This was supposed to happen to troubled kids, not kids from stable
families, but I learned quickly, you can love children but it doesn't
guarantee they will love themselves.

Substance abuse leads our nation in more deaths and illness than any
other disease. Every four hours an addict takes his or her life.

Every two hours an addict is murdered. Every four minutes one dies of
an overdose.

There are millions of addicts and millions of parents also doing hard
time.

Addiction robs lives in steady increments.

Life is easy when the kids are great, but what if your child has a
deadly disease with a single-minded purpose to kill its host and the
family near and dear to it?

Paralyzed in grief, we became ineffective bystanders.

For nine years, fear dangled like a spider, but it also pried open my
mind.

I learned I couldn't fix him, but I could fix me.

Taking back my life was a slow and arduous process, but now I can
fast-forward relief.

Detachment isn't desertion, but it took time to teach my heart healthy
boundaries that at first were cloaked in contempt.

Addicts feel bad enough about themselves; heaping guilt and shame
erects barriers and hostile withdrawal.

Once I truly understood my son was physically and mentally ill, I
could act rather than react.

And I could love him but also love myself, knowing I was powerless
over something that was bigger than both of us.

I learned to say what I mean and mean what I say. I learned to let him
feel and experience the full spectrum of his consequences and also
take care of myself.

I learned to accept only what was acceptable and trust that he had a
Higher Power, and it wasn't me.

As I grew in my recovery, our relationship improved.

I could talk to him without hurting him. I could show compassion
without enabling, and although love isn't enough to bring them back
from the brink, I don't go down as deep or stay as long.

Now I answer the door rather than run and hide. I tell people my story
and they tell me theirs.

Good, happy kids, from good loving homes pick up drugs not out of pain
but curiosity and biological drive.

I can't prove this but only share our journey.

Our son always knew he'd be an addict; he knew it before he ever drank
alcohol, smoked grass, did shrooms, did meth.

He knew it when he was 13 pretending to do a line.

He knew it, wanted it and pursued, sought, found and became what he
was drawn to from some deep calling from within.

He knew he was born to do this.

Parenting was consecrated time, but ready or not it was ripped out
from under us.

Addicts are maligned, and parents are guilty by association. But this
monster is a disease, not the result of poor parenting.

You didn't cause it, although many will point a finger.

You can't prevent, cure or control it, but you can survive, even
flourish in spite of it.

Brazen bulletins won't stop this epidemic because it's not about
saying no or bashing parents.

It's about a genetic code. From the beginning these people feel
different.

Ask any of them. One can preach and teach, but they're going to do
what they are programmed to do.

No amount of warning, begging or chiding will affect an iota of
difference.

Addiction invades every race and stratum of society. And when it
affects a child, parents hold their breath and cross their fingers.

Some kids recover, but some practice as adults eventually succumbing
to the beast.

For parents newly initiated to this fraternity - or for those
convinced their lives are over - please remember you can recover even
if your children don't.

Maybe the very colleague you speak to and perhaps have known for years
is the mother who's never let you in on the secret that crowds her
heart and cries her to sleep.

Or maybe your heart's broken but still beating.

Hold on, hang in and hike out.

Karla V. Garrison is a resident of Bonney Lake.