FAMILY ADDICTIONS

I recently took a trip to Las Vegas. After a flight and short taxi ride I was standing in my hotel lobby waiting to be checked in. As I stood there, I saw a man walk in the big glass doors. He had no shoes on. His shirt was ripped, his hair was matted and he was dirty. He wandered off down a hallway and disappeared. About five minutes later I was sill in the same line and I heard a commotion. Two security guards were yelling at him and ushering him out of the building. It reminded me of my brother.

Remember when smoking cigarettes inside was legal? Well I do, very well. I remember walking into my aunts house and seeing the ripples of smoke floating through the air. I use to wave through them as I walked past. The air was always thick with the smoke from the cigarettes. It was mixed with the scent of her incense and cocoa butter hair grease. I loved it. Smelled like home. The lights were always dim because there was no need to waste money on the light bill. I’d walk in and her and my Uncle would have found a seat for the day in a simple chair next to the couch. That always interested me. It was just a chair similar to a dining chair but made of wicker, not a cozy recliner like what you think a retiree would want to lounge in. A tall beer, always on the side table next to them. Just the same as the light fixture and the tv were always in the same place. So was the beer. Drinking was a life style. It was a harmless pass time.

Nowadays I have no issues with having a drink. I have no issues being in a room filled with alcohol or even drugs. But there was a time when I felt terrified. I thought that if I had a drink, all hell would break loose. And who would be there to manage things if I was drunk?

But God is good isn’t He? He pulled me out of that fear. But the fear all started in the first place after the dependence on alcohol and addictive tendencies morphed its way into drug abuse. The drug of choice was meth. I’ll tell you about the journey.

I have four kids. I grew up in a small town in Oregon. I’m married to a smokin hot brown skin man. My dad fathered nine children. He was married a few times, I can’t remember exactly how many, but along the way with each marriage, he brought his kids with him. And the women did too. So I have this huge family tree that’s been constructed of stepsiblings, half siblings and me. I am the only one of me. There are no others with my same father and mother. But we were raised in wholeness. There were no boundaries set up between us. No one said step or half. No one explained the family tree. We just were.

My dad got close with the Lord when I was young, He had struggled with alcohol addiction his whole life. My mom said once when he was trying to detox he lied down on the couch and was sick. He shivered and vomitted for a couple weeks while his body released the alcohol. He would quit and then drink again. While he had been drinking he was a hard man to be around. I was young enough that I never really experienced the bad times. I am the baby girl. But, my siblings did experience his temper. His wives did too.

Finally he attended a rehab program that was faith based and he found strength in Gods word. He had caught the holy spirit and so, we were raised in church. Every Wednesday was bible study. Every meal was blessed. Every lesson was taught from a Jesus perspective. Sundays were an amazing time. Some of my favorites. We’d pile into dads van, go to church, get threatened for being loud during service then after we’d play on the swings while my dad talked to the adults. After that we’d head to some place for a Sunday meal. My siblings and I grew up very close.

After another divorce, my dad had gone to prison and was released when I was teenager. A few years after he was released my beloved aunt passed. And then my dad and my younger brother had a serious falling out around the same time. My dad had a very hard time with all of this. And instead of staying and fighting, he moved away. First up north and then finally down to LA, almost 1000 miles away. He slowly stopped answering our calls until finally we lost touch completely. But life was moving so quickly we didnt really notice until it was too late. But what was really happening was the enemy was playing a long game with my family. And I didn’t even know it.

As the years moved along, we had come to point as siblings where we were adults with our own families and although dad had tried to raise us in church.. we started tapping into the drinking we’d always been around. We loved the Lord but we still had a drink here and there.

I started making meals on the weekends with the funds I had at the time. I’d make something simple and delicious like spaghetti. I loved hosting so they’d come over and they’d get their bellies nice and full. It was like we were these mini adults playing house or something. Trying to figure out how to have a healthy home environment. Doing all the things we’d seen other people do. We missed the mark a bit. Those old drinking habits passed from generation to generation, had passed to us. But we took it further than our elders ever did. And instead of the meal it was the drinks that brought us together. At a certain point the get togethers turned to mostly being unpleasant by the end of the evening. I had a family at this time. Three kids to care for. So I decided to draw back from my siblings in order to calm down for my kids. I never intended to have the party house. so….

I stopped cooking.

I stopped hosting.

After everything fell, I noticed, back then I never blessed the food. Usually my dad or my step mom or my grandpa did the prayer. And it never transitioned to our hands. I never asked for God‘s presence to be there at our gatherings when I cooked. I should have. Maybe we would’ve been guarded from what came next.

I didn’t realize it then but by completely cutting away our companionships, by taking away our family unity, It gave way for the enemy to step in. The enemy was working on each person in my family individually. Like low hanging fruit. He plucked what he could reach easily. Poisoned one low branch at a time. For example, he poisoned me to believe family time was a bad thing, when in reality we as people were designed to be in community. I just wasn’t strong enough in the Lord to see that. And my brothers were poisoned by addictions, but this time the alcohol wasn’t enough.

Ive recently thought to myself. At some point we all stray from Gods path as adults. Even if just a little. And even if its in a different way. A trial or tragedy could make you doubt Gods intentions or even existence. A bad church experience could make you think church is a bad place. Sometimes its as simple as we slowly drift away. Life gets full and the new work schedule doesn't line up with service times. Youre too sleepy after work to stay in Gods word on you own. Or the song on the radio sounds more interesting than listening to a sermon on your commute… then when youre way far out, its just about finding your own way back to Him. Even if you were raised in church, we all have a point where we drop our parents faith and it becomes our own walk with God. There has to be that transition. Because the relationship has to be our own. We go out searching for ourselves to find the truth. And its okay to do. It’s expected, it’s healthy. It means you are investing in the relationship for yourself. You are doing the seeking.

Addiction.

Recreational use of meth, led to a habit, which led to a full-blown addiction. And just like that, within a matter of months there was extreme turmoil going through my family. Like mini earthquakes. Fires popping up everywhere. Every phone call was another disappointment. Every unexpected knock on the door was no longer a fun surprise. It was a drug induced paranoia. It was a random angry illogical attack. They fell hard. But one brother in particular was affected more.

Of course, outside looking in you say to the addicted. “Just stop.”

You give them ideas on how to go about stopping the use. Ideas like “Don’t go to that friends house anymore” “call me when you’re feeling like using, I can help”

I tried having all of the conversations with my brother but he didn’t understand what was happening. Once, he said to me “I am in control of this, I can stop whenever I want” That’s what an addict thinks at first. Thats how they rationalize the beginning of use. “Its fun” they say. “Its the weekend” they say. In the beginning, they think they can control the outcome.

But in reality, the person we know is no longer in control of themselves. We of sober minds just havn’t figured that out.

Now, I understand drugs promise a good time. After all, no one ever wakes up for the day and says to themselves “I’m going to become an addict today”

It happens gradually, with a pill or a bump or a stiff drink, one hit after another, day after day. And that’s how a person becomes caught in the trap. Not able to escape. At that point the body has begun to rely on it. The body loves it. Meet your new master.

Yes “I’m going to become an addict today” your body says.

No person ever woke up one day and said to themselves “I’m going to become an addict today”

The addicted all have their own reasons to begin their form of use. What actually happens is a friend brings it by. Or a doctor prescribes it as medicine. Maybe a person they trust had tried it and talked about all of the benefits. The release of emotion. The cloud like feeling. The pure lithe, the bliss and cheer that floats through the ligaments. And all of that sounds appealing because they only wanted whatever suppressed, unrecognized pain they had to stop. And this was a quick fix. A lot of times its emotional damage. An un dealt with trauma that had never been cared for. A wound that was never visible for someone to bandage. Leaving it to fester. That rape. That molestation. That divorce. That death in the family… Was the seed never pruned to be infertile. It just produced more seeds. Until it was a massive invasive, rooted living thing inside of them. That they just wanted to numb.

I don’t think there is enough grace for addicted people. I hear conversations or have had my own talks with people who’s friends or siblings or even mothers and fathers have fallen into substance abuse and its always the same. They're the same feelings I felt back then. Angry. Disappointed. Frustrated. Rejection. I rejected them. I didn’t have enough grace back then.

“If someone offers that to you, think of it the exact same as them pointing a gun in your face”

It is the same. The only difference is the gun will eliminate the suffering before your death. Meth will take you slowly. First it will strip you of your pride, your dignity, your mind, you muscles your family and friends.. then when it has nothing more to take from you, it will let you die.

“And don’t forget that person, whoever they may be. The person that offers you such things. They are not your friend. They are dressed in a friends clothing. But run from them. Run for your life”

This was the conversation I had as my boys and I drove to youth group. I have these talks with them often. You may see that as extreme. But they are advised. It’s better them be advised than addicted.

I knew a girl who had managed to get herself clean after years of use. Her daughter had been abused and she had lost her family by then of it. She had been high and left her two year old daughter in the next room unattended with a man. She carried a lot of guilt for what happened to her baby which helped her to be strong enough to get clean. She told me the symptoms after she had gotten clean, how the drug called back out to her. She said her tongue would salivate at the thought of the taste. Her palms would sweat and tingle. Occasionally she’d exhale as if to blow out the poisonous smoke.

Surely, my brother never thought he would become an addict when he picked up the pipe for the first time. Addiction just doesn’t work that way. Over the next year or so my brother was so deep into use that there was nothing as a family we felt we could do. Being my planning and analytical self, I figured I wouldn’t tolerate the behavior anymore. I loved him but couldn’t let his choices seep into the family I’d created. I had to protect myself and kids at that point. The behavior was irrational. It was scary. And I wasn’t going to “enable.”

Although I loved God I had never even thought about praying, asking God for help. I managed myself. I relied on my own understanding of things. I never considered asking for guidance on what steps to take next. I just reacted to their actions the best way I knew. I was in control.

After about a year and a half of deep drug use he’d been through so much. His body was tired. His face was sunken in. He had run out of resources in Oregon so he made his way to Los Angeles to live with my dad. It was a good decision. He managed to get himself clean. But even after getting clean he wasn’t the same.

The drugs had impaired his mental state. Not legally declared or anything but a phone call with him was not the same. He’d just sit on the phone quietly. I’d ask him a question and he would just grunt or make a sound. But he’d stay on the phone. Averting any actual conversation. He just wasn’t capable of holding the attention. He seemed….Empty. Lost inside of himself. Like he was in a deep hole trying to react but he was so far away. The drug kept him suppressed. It had taken away his ability to be the front man.

I don’t know if it would’ve ever gotten better. I don’t know if that type of thing fixes itself. Does the brain heal itself? I never got the opportunity to find out. My dad had called me and said my brother hadn’t come home and he was worried about it. My dad had a gate that kept the wicked out at night. And when the sun went down and it was dark out, if you weren’t behind the safety of the gate, the wicked would find you. After a few nights my dad started to grow more uneasy. Initially I figured he was on a bench somewhere. Often times he would sleep out in front of the fire station under the stars. He had become more comfortable living as a vagabond instead of “subscribing to common day slavery, working to pay rent” But as the days went on, we became more uneasy. And one day the local police department showed up at my stepmoms house. A week prior my brother was crossing the street and had been struck by an SUV in Los Angeles. He had no brain activity.

He had been in the hospital as a “John Doe.” He had no identification and because of the drug use he looked 15 years his senior. The hospital had estimated his age to be mid 40s. So when we had checked local hospitals looking for him, he was never a person they even assumed could possibly fit the description. He was there alone 6 days before his fingerprints placed his identity and we were finally notified.

You know what I always think about. I usually will have a dream or receive a warning that lets me know something is comin for me. When I got the phone call, I hung up and asked God aloud “why didn’t you tell me?!” I thought I could’ve tried to do something.

After getting word about my brother, that night we drove to LA. I remember feeling terrified to walk in and see him. Feeling like somehow seeing something disfigured or gory would make it too harsh. But I do prefer to get the hard things done first so… I was the first out of the elevator. I was the first in the line of people headed to his room. I looked to the nurses in ICU to direct me but I never stopped my steps. I walked as they pointed. I was the first to enter the room. It was quiet except for the beeping of his machines pumping artificial air into his lungs. I sat down in a chair they had in there. I was in disbelief. I felt like if I prayed hard enough or if I had that crazy faith people talk about then maybe the doctors would be wrong. I bargained with God saying.. “its not too late, If you save him now then I’ll do whatever you say!” We said our final goodbyes. We all peered into his eyes trying to see if we could see at least a tiny bit of him. One of my brothers said, almost like he was angry or dissatisfied with how thing had went “He’s not in there,” Truth was he had been gone before we ever got there. The machine was just for us.

We all stood in a circle around his bed and sang him Hymns. His hair had grown long and curly. His feet were calloused like Ive never seen. I noticed, because I’m a nail technician. That even in his addiction, even in his suppressed state of mind.. he still had perfectly manicured finger and toe nails. Trimmed and filed and shiny. That was always something he kept up on. And it never stopped. We watched the artificial life provided from the machine leave his body. No more air being pumped in to his lungs. Watching that type of thing; Death. It’s not like what you see in the movies.  It’s not graceful. The person doesn’t just gently close their eyes in peace while the room sits quiet.

Actually, it’s violent. There is vomit, spitting and seizuring. The body is searching for air and convulsing because it finds none. His feet and hands reached up, shaking. Mucus, blood and liquid funneled through the tubes in his throat.

It was surreal. Realizing his soul was actually gone.

The last time I saw him alive haunts me. I had pulled out of the street I grew up on. It was dark. I saw him off in the distance with a gray hoodie on. He was obviously high. He was walking in a swerve. Kinda floating sideways. Swaying as he walked like he was slow enough to catch air with his palms. He saw my truck and waved at me. “theres my brother!” I said in a low loving voice to myself. I was happy to see him. I considered driving over to him but I had all my kids in the car. The last time he had been around them he was so irate from the drugs he was yelling and pushing me while I held my 2 week old daughter. I was worried if I stopped it would be something like that again. I wanted to go to him but instead I turned and drove away slowly.

Afterwards, while his lifeless body was being transported to a different part of the hospital and paper work was being filled out. I was in a hallway calling home. I was alone. And I felt him standing there. Like a the shadow of a presence. I turned quickly to see who was there but it was no one I could see. I was haunted like that for a full year. Until my dad passed the following September. 11 months later. His neighbors found him in the driveway. He was facedown and extremely swollen. He had suffered a heart attack after his liver had given up.

My dad had been diagnosed with liver disease before my brother was ever in LA. He never told anyone. He just kept on drinking. And after my brother passed it only got worse. That night at the hospital when my brother was being taken off of the machines. I remember going down to find my dad. He had gotten drunk and the hospital wouldn’t let him in. He was yelling and he was belligerent in the lobby. I finally found him sitting outside in a wheel chair. Before he realized I was there watching him, I saw him. He was drunk. But the look on his face. I’ll never forget. He was sad. It was a deep despair and he was staring out into the night. I never saw him sad. I only ever saw strong, capable dad. We all had so little time together and didn’t even know it.

We went back to the hotel and I had this feeling. I couldn’t articulate it until I woke up the next morning. My eyes opened and I lay there on the hotel bed. My big sister came to my side. The night before we had drank a bottle of brandy. We stayed up until morning. We were determined to get the grieving out of our systems before the morning and before we had to get back to care for our families. How naive we were.

“If he needed love, I had enough to give.” I told my sister as I layed there in the hotel bed.

I just couldn’t get past this thought. My brother had died unloved. Not that I didn’t love him. I did. In reality he was very loved. But I didn't make sure he knew. From his perspective I didn’t talk to him. I didn’t let him come over to my house. I was ignoring his phone calls. Tough love is what he had received. And I don’t think that was the right course of action. I should’ve done things different.

I had thought of love like a commodity. But instead of selling I could give it away for free. I had plenty. I was spilling over with love for him. But unfortunately it was too late. I couldn’t give him any anymore.

I wasn’t sure if he knew that I loved him. I didn’t express it. I didn’t try hard enough to make sure he knew. I don’t even remember the last time I said it out loud. What if he really didnt know? I thought to myself, What if he died thinking this world was cruel and all of the people that he was suppose to be able to lean on weren’t there when he needed. All of the people that had told him they loved him were all of the same people that left him in the cold, that used drugs and drank with him, that pretended not to see him when they drive past him at night. What if, by the time he realized he was in way over his head, it was too late. And what if he was scared for himself but had no one there to comfort him. And what if then, the fear turned to unknown, alone, misunderstood. All of this I carried with me for years. It weighed me down. These were all thoughts that invaded my mind. I am not speaking for anyone other than me. So don’t get yourself worked up feeling targeted.

I had a lot of time to think. It’s a tragedy you don’t understand right away. I had to process. In fact its taken me years to fully heal and then have some healthy takeaways. Its taken me years to not be angry with myself about how I behaved. I still feel the guilt and nothing anyone ever says will take it away. It is an everlasting symptom I will carry. But the perspective I gained is why I’m telling you and is also why I try harder now.

I had the what ifs of how he’d maybe felt and I thought about all the what ifs of what I could’ve done better.

If I had known, I would’ve hugged him more often.

I would’ve made sure I never closed the door on him.

And if I were protecting my kids from him, I would’ve gotten a sitter and I would’ve went out and hunted him out of the drug houses.

I would’ve moved him away sooner. I would’ve started making changes long before he was ever using drugs. And If I couldn’t of added time to his life I would’ve at least made sure his last days were lived knowing I loved him.

I would’ve prayed.

But in order for me to learn those hard lessons on what I should have done, I had to fail at it. I started thinking about all the years of trials that we as a family had just recently been through. I finally considered something I’d never in my life thought about. Death. I thought of my sons futures and how I could stop them from getting to that point. What can I do to make sure this behavior is not repeated in our family? I saw a pattern in the path of men. I saw all of the men in my family had all stumbled. I needed to get my sons into church. I knew God but I had never introduced my kids. And since everyone was dying lately I needed to make sure that they knew who was waiting for them on the other side. My oldest brother had passed in a car accident six months earlier. He was driving drunk, now my younger brother had been hit by a car.

I thought about that bible verses “I never knew you” What value did I have as mother if I didn’t think about this life and the next for my kids. So just in case my boys were to take in their last breath, whether it be premature in my eyes or not, they needed a relationship with God.

When we started going to church, I knew I was so far out and so far away from God that the enemy had a hold on me. I didnt know how it had happened. It was just a slow drift. In the beginning, I would have to do a little fighting back but I needed my boys to get to church so they might learn to know God.

And that is what led me back in as well. I had no idea God was working so hard for us. I started praying harder than I ever had before. I was never a religious woman. I dont even know that I am now. I think I fall somewhere in-between. I just know that God is real and he braided my family back together.

And I know that addiction is a fucken beast. And I needed a spiritual weapon to fight that type of evil. So pray for your person or people. Even if you think its not doing anything, it is!

Through all of this I’ve learned patience, humility, how to hear Gods voice clearer, how to put God first and all else will fall in line. Most importantly I learned unconditional love. I have a heart crafted from God himself. My soul had been broken from this experience and then rebuilt. Forged in the fires of the brokenness. There was a masterpiece waiting to be uncovered. It was very difficult to live through but I’m happy to know me today.

I’m happy to see you all through these new love eyes I got.

Say dear friends let us love one another for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and know that whoever does not love does not know God because God is love. John 4:7

I find myself these days with an overwhelming amount of love that can go out. I cry way more than I used to but I’m not sad. I just have an abundance of passion. I do my best to remind myself that each one has something great. And I do my best to see it and to love them for it. I gotta show them too.

I encourage you to apply Gods heart to your life. And most of all thank Him for being so wonderful and turning every trial into glory. If you are in a rough patch turn to him.

I also want to take a minute for the families of people who are addicted. Give them grace. I didnt understand it then but I do now. At the root of their addiction they are dealing with something. There is a pain they are trying to cover up with the temporary bliss drugs and alcohol offer. And they are drowning. Don’t let them suffer in that alone.

Don’t let their choices make you angry with them. I understand the anger that comes with having an addicted family member. I lived it. And I lived through the regrets of their final days. Believe me, the regrets are far worse than the temporary annoyances of dealing with their crap while they are high.

I’m not saying to bring them into your life and around your kids. You, yourself cannot save them. And you dont want to be pulled in yourself. If you are weak, acknowledge that and give yourself space.

At the end of the day, they are the only ones that will be able to get themselves clean. It is their choice.

But no matter your strength level, you can help in a creative, strategic way custom to your circumstances.

If you are the one addicted. I’m happy this message has found you.

My advice to you is simple. And it may seem pointless. But it is not. You need to pray. You need to shift your emotions towards the addictions not the person addicted. See addiction as a literal attack. Just the same as a bad guy entering your home in the night to steal one of your kids. Fight them. Fight it. Its a spiritual fight. The weapons need to be spiritual as well. Pray. Go to church. Surround yourself with people that will pray for you. The more the better. Let me know if you’d like me to pray. I’ll fight with you!

Remember, Pray. Ask God. Be creative and strategic.

Love you, ttyl

Amen