Baggage

(Three of Three)

The second day of her try at sobriety begins and as I feared the unraveling starts. Today I`ve learned that I have overpacked for this trip my youngest asked me to take with her. In her opinion I have over thought the severity of her addiction to alcohol. (at that time, I wasn`t sure of drugs use, but surmised she was using)

All I did was inform her that there are options if she becomes too sick from detoxing. Her face pale and her attitude sour as the she rolls her eyes and sneers with contempt.

“Mom, don`t make such a big deal of it. I drink but I`m not that bad. And I don`t want to talk about it every day. Geez, I said I was going to quit but I`m 24 and don`t have kids. I`m not quitting forever, I just want to see if I can.”

I am a mixture of upset, angry and worried but say nothing. With a hard swallow I try to form a smile and nod as I turn away from her. Past knowledge tells me that I know better than to further this discussion as she lays the trap for an argument that would aid in her excuses to take another drink. The tears well, threatening to spill from my eyes. I choke them down and try not to take her contempt personally because this is not about me.

The morning of the second day has begun and I wish it was all just a bad movie I could turn off. She is hungry and grumpy as I drive us to and from the corner store. It is six-thirty am, and she has slept most of the first twenty-four hours of her sobriety.

My eldest daughter brings my grandson for me to watch as she works. This a job her sister volunteered to do but claims a chest cold bogs her down as she retreats to her room until later that evening.

As soon as she hears her sister arrive to pick up her son she hops in the shower, dresses and is off for the night. The lies spill easily from her lips on her departure.

“I don`t plan on drinking, but I`m the judge`s partner in darts.” She states.

When she leaves there is no coughing, no complaints of the earlier chest cold. Her sister and I exchange a knowing look. She will drink and we know it.

At 10:30 that night I found an excuse to call her and inquire whether she`ll need a ride home before I turn in for the night.

“Nope, got a ride. I went to the bar and ordered a Mountain Dew, but the judge bought me some beers, so it`s his fault. No yelling till after Sunday, after Sunday you can yell. I`ll be home at midnight.” She declares.

Why does she think I`ll yell? This bothers me more than the fact she`s drinking. I knew she would. Now to hear that statement about yelling? What the actual hell! I`ve not tore this child down, I`ve done nothing but try and build her up! I get so sick of her saying, “You always think the worst of me.” Anything she can throw at me as justification for her actions. But I can tell you if you follow a pattern of A+B=C then why would I think otherwise! I fume within myself of her audacity. Knowing she will make this somehow all my fault!?

See, I know this isn`t about me. This is her problem but yet I get put in charge of the baggage department. Somehow or someway, this will get turned into; “You never or You always…blah blah blah”

I know she`s in pain emotionally and has issues that she refuses to openly talk about. Carefully I have laid breadcrumbs of information to draw out conversation. Emotions are not something this child has ever really shared. I wonder to myself why?

She`s packing mighty light for this trip I`ve been buckled into and that tells me she`s not ready to check all her baggage.

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This the third of three parts, bookend by “Poison and Live” poems reflecting the days my youngest was not yet ready to face her addiction head on.

Part One- I Wish I knew / Part Two- Buckle Up / Part Three- Baggage

✨Be the Light 💕