Not counting.

Not Counting. It is great to celebrate milestones...30 days - 60 days - 90 days. But honestly each day comes ONE DAY AT A TIME. This is what my son explained to me; that he doesn't want anyone to make a big deal of his sobriety, that he doesn't want to be bragging about it. He just wants to get thru one day at a time. I also find that I am taking one day at a time. I have to let my faith be stronger than my fears. Take each day as it comes...a gift from God.

I spent last Saturday helping my son transition from the rehab facility to the sober living house. He needed some groceries, toiletries and a few of his clothes from our house. He will be living with about a dozen other house-mates who are in different stages of recovery.  The house was very clean, older but clean. All of the people living there have chores to do everyday. And the chores rotate among them; if one of them is out they must have another housemate cover for them. Responsibility. They are all required to attend a minimum number of AA or NA meetings depending on their length of sobriety. Sunday night house meetings are mandatory for all.  The house manager seems very mild mannered; he is also in recovery. Even he is subject to random drug/alcohol tests along with all of the residents. Zero Tolerance.

He has now been in the sober living house for a whole week. His spirits are up and he is clean. He is the person I remember. My son. He has also found a job!! He will be working construction clean up which will keep him physically active during the day. He has hope for the future, wanting more. Knowing it is going to take a lot of hard work and patience. He knows this and he knows he will have to work at it.

After we ran errands yesterday we stopped at the farmers market down the street from our house to grab a homemade tamale. As we were walking and eating, a lady came running out screaming about her dog - pleading for someone to help catch it before it ran into the street. My son handed me his plate and went running to help with a few other people. Unfortunately the dog, a beautiful Australian Shepherd, ran across the busy street and was hit by a car unable to stop in time. My son didn't hesitate to go over and see what he could do to help. After calling 911, he helped get the dog onto a makeshift stretcher as I was running to get my car to help transport. I had tears streaming down my face as I pulled up to see that someone else had already gotten there to load this poor dog who was bleeding profusely from his mouth. My son said the dog didn't even wince when he moved his hind end onto the stretcher.   We said a prayer for the dog. I still have tears.  The poor girl who was unable to stop in time was so shaken up she couldn't remember her name or phone number.  My son gave a package of wipes to the other kid who stopped to help and had blood all over his arms.

On the way back down to my son's house, we talked about everything from the dog to his friends. He told me it was strange having feelings again.  He is going to go to a sober BBQ with some of his housemates and then to an art exhibit with one of his best friends afterward. I love you mom. Hug. Kiss. Kiss. Hug again. Thank you mom. For everything.

I have peace in my heart.