Happy Mother's Day

Although this post might be better saved for Father's Day - I happen to be reading David Sheff's book Beautiful Boy - A Father's Journey through his Son's Addiction. Although I've been lucky and haven't had to deal with this issue as a parent (not drug abuse, but addiction,) I can't help but notice the parallels with dealing with a child with mental illness. Consider this paragraph in the introduction:

"Like many in my straits, I became addicted to my child's addiction. When it preoccupied me, even at the expense of my responsibilities to my wife and other children, I justified it. I thought, How can a parent not be consumed by his child's life-or-death struggle? But I learned that my preoccupation with Nic didn't help him and may have harmed him. Or maybe it was irrelevant to him. However, it surely harmed the rest of my family -- and me. Along with this, I learned another lesson, a soul-shaking one: our children live or die with or without us. No matter what we do, no matter how we agonize or obsess, we cannot choose for our children whether they live or die. It is a devastating realization, but also liberating. I finally chose life for myself. I chose the perilous but essential path that allows me to accept that Nic will decide for himself how -- and whether -- he will live his life."

As I continue to come to terms with my son and his illness, I have come face to face with this decision. I sometimes wonder if I have the courage to let go - or if I will keep trying to save him from himself indefinitely. I do this not only at the expense of my health and well being, but also at the expense of others that I love. Others who often deserve more of my attention, while I'm busy worrying about my boy. It's a posh kind of selfishness - this mother obsession. My son will be 24 this year; not only is he an adult in every socially recognized way, but he is a married adult. He will most likely continue to make decisions that I think are irrational - he will continue to lie reflexively (a maladjusted protective strategy that works too well to be abandoned,) he will continue to fly by the seat of his pants, forget his medication and fight with his spouse. The question is: Will I continue to live on the edge of the precipice fearfully awaiting the next hysterical phone call? Or will I choose to lead my own life? Can I let go and simply let him live his?

Happy Mother's Day.