He took the bus from work and met me on the 16th Street Mall, a well-known shopping and dining area. He’d suggested the restaurant and texted the directions. His sister and her roommate would meet us as well, after they returned from Whole Foods and put away their groceries.

The last time I saw him looking this sharp was, ironically, on Christmas Eve of the broken arm and percocet haze. He was crisp in a white button down shirt, a light blue patterned tie and khaki pants. He was beautifully, casually professional with a two to three-day beard and, for the first time, the haircut of a Colorado businessman, down around the collar.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed hard; he planted that familiar kiss right on my lips. He’s been a head-on kisser since he was a toddler, and doesn’t hold back when it comes to his mama. I love that about him.

To the casual observer, today would have offered no indication of a struggle with addiction, much less chronic incarceration.

He had to be back at the halfway house by nine, so we said goodnight to the girls and walked back to my rental car. My hotel was nearby; I dropped him off on the way. Conversation on our drive centered around his imminent release from this facility. He explained to me that because of overcrowding, non-violent offenders may find themselves on an unexpected fast track. As his mother, my fear was that he was moving through the system too quickly.  My hope was that prison would slow him down, get him in front of medical care and counseling. Because he never got past the transitional diagnostic center, he never fell into that rhythm. I worried that he might not take the initiative towards consistent care once he was in charge of his own life.

Pat’s words washed over me, leaving a newly adopted sense of calm. “Let go – don’t create the story – he’s a grown man – it’s his journey”.

We pulled up to the entrance of his cinder block home. We planned to meet again the following evening after work. For the first time, in forever, I looked forward to our next visit.

One of my favorite songs is “Blessed”, by Martina McBride.  The lyrics are a mantra to me and I have been known to belt them out in front of the bathroom mirror.       (I love to sing, although some might say I need lessons.)

During the holidays, a lot of emphasis is placed on counting our blessings and I consider my son to be one of my greatest…  

On the other hand, holidays with an addict can suck.  Plain and simple.
Stress is high enough under normal circumstances.  Add a heaping helping of unpredictability and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

Four years ago, his arm was broken in a drug-related altercation with a friend.
I never heard the whole truth, but it sounded like they were both to blame. 
Whatever.  By the time the story got to me, it was full of holes.  He spent
half a day in the ER having his arm set and the rest of the holiday in and out of a percocet haze.  We did make it to the 5:00 Christmas Eve service at church; 
he looked like a million dollars in his coat and tie and slept through most of it.

He spent Thanksgiving and Christmas 2011 in jail, was out for a while and will be in jail again this year.  Some consistency.  
At least I know where he is and that he’s safe.

Last week, the Denver facility prepared a special Thanksgiving meal.  On the phone that afternoon, he said “Mom, it wasn’t exactly your spread, but it was OK”. Knowing that his South Carolina grandparents would be in Virginia for the weekend, he wrote to them individually and mailed the letters to our house.
My mother’s birthday was Thanksgiving Day and he wished her Happy Birthday and told her that he was sorry that they couldn’t be together to celebrate.
My father’s letter had the same thoughtful tone.

The third letter was to me:
“Mom,
I just wanted to tell you that I love you.  Thanks so much for being there for me through this difficult time.  I promise that I am working hard to better myself so that the next 50 years for me are worth living.  I have reached the end of the road for this disease.  I miss you and love you more than you know !  Love, your son.”    
   
I ordered his Christmas presents online thru a Holiday Package Program.  
A $75 maximum order for canteen items from Louisiana sardines to moisturizing soap. These are luxury items that cost extra and can be purchased if the inmate has money on his books or through this program.  I’ll also order a few more books through the internet to arrive by December 25.

I have learned not to look too far into the future.  
I am thankful for the gift of perspective.  

For today, all is calm ……