God knows

I had tried to give my son as much of a normal life as possible being an only parent. An only parent because his biological father spent most of the time in prison as well as me having multiple restraining orders against him. There are many like me out there.  Looking back now, I am sure I over-compensated. I am beyond grateful to my mom for allowing us to live with her for 10 years in return for (what I now consider a pittance) rent money and help around the house.  It allowed me to put my son in one of the top 2 private schools in the county, play sports and dirt bike during the winter and surf during the summer. It seems now that none of this makes a bit of difference. None of this makes any difference now.  I still don't know where he is. God knows where he is. GOD knows where he is. God has this. It is in His hands. I know this, but it still doesn't make me any less sad.

I think back to happier times. Times when the kids were little. My son, a niece and nephew about 6 years, one 8 years and the youngest 4 years. My mom made these (she LOVED to sew) huge red bags, like Santa would carry filled with toys.  In the past few Christmas's, one of my brothers would climb out onto the roof and on cue would jingle sleigh bells and stomp around on the roof. When the kids were rapt, who ever was up on the roof would deepen their voice and talk down the kitchen vent over the stove pretending to be Santa. The looks on their faces was priceless. The bag filled with presents would be left on the front porch for them to find. Awesome! The following year, as they got a little wiser, the oldest one questioned one of my brothers being missing from this event. Plan B. Since I had to work Christmas Eve for a closing (some guy just HAD to have a boat for Christmas morning), I decided it would be the perfect opportunity for me to be Santa. I would sneak in thru the side door and sneak up to my mom's room and climb out the window onto the roof.  I am terrified of ladders so this was my only option. Little did I know when I was straddled over the window sill, neither one of my feet would reach the roof or touch the floor.  Somehow, thru a fit of giggles and almost slipping off the roof onto the concrete, I managed to make it to the vent and jingle my bells and HO HO HO down the pipe.  Made it back to the window and into the house and down the stairs to see the look of absolute wonderment still on their faces.

I now pray, not for God to give my son strength, but for God to help my son find Him. Seek Him out. Knowing that when my son does find and accept Him, that that will give him the strength. The strength he needs to get thru this. This hell that is heroin.