To Tell the Truth

[Lil]

You should know, Lil and Jabber, that damaged doors and filthy rooms and ruined carpets are par for the course with difficult child kids. Cleaning the room will be traumatic, will be incongruity, trebled. Football lamp and the empty shells of BIC pens used to do some kind of drug thing right in his own room! Lacey doll lamp, white provincial furniture and dirty words written in the closet in magic marker.

It's actually not THAT bad! But taking the door off without immediately replacing it is problematic.

The door is...but the room itself isn't terrible. He took his bed, chair and nightstand. It's dirty, but it was mostly picked up because a month or so before we put him out we'd sold his loft bed and replaced it with a twin...so it had been cleaned up to get the loft out. Sure, there's stuff to toss or bag up, but not that much. The carpet is ruined, but it's ruined thru the whole house and has to be replaced...so not that big of a deal.

The problem is it's BRIGHT blue...with astronaut wallpaper border. We bought the house when he was barely 7. It was the only room I actually decorated beyond tossing a coat of neutral paint on it.

I started asking if he wanted something more mature when he was about 12 or 13. His answer was always the same, "There's no need. It's fine. I'll be moving out in a few years, change it then." Right up to the day he moved out, he didn't care that it was a 7-year-old's room.

So...if I take off the door, I then have to look into my little boy's room...really my little boy's room....unless I also strip wallpaper and paint and put up new curtains (to replace the ones that are printed with stars to look like the night sky). So it kind of all has to be done at once. Even this can't be easy.

Thank God I never painted the ceiling midnight blue with glow-in-the-dark constellations like I'd planned.

 

[everywoman]

"The words you say matter. They will echo down the years and be heard by your grandchildren, and they will be heard again in generations not yet born.

That is something we can do.

However bad it gets, we can know our hearts and speak the words of healing. Even if those words are "I love you. Stand up." "I love you. You were raised better." "I love you. We are done."'

The words you say matter. They will echo down the years and be heard by your grandchildren, and they will be heard again in generations not yet born.
That is something we can do.
However bad it gets, we can know our hearts and speak the words of healing. Even if those words are "I love you. Stand up." "I love you. You were raised better." "I love you. We are done."

Thank you Cedar for these words. They inspired me yesterday in dealing with my two difficult children---my mother and my son.
They are living together....neither can live with me....and yesterday they got into a fight because my mother decided she did not like something my son did.

Son called me, I did not answer and he left a voice mail....I heard her in the background and immediately went back to my childhood and the abuse I suffered by her words and actions.

husband said I should not intervene. I played it for my husband. He sent me over.

I should not have to play referee between a 69 year old woman and a 26 year old man who are both emotionally about 16....but I did.

Today, I am sore, physically, mentally, and emotionally from the the reminder of my past and from the nightmare of my present....

Your words...they made me see that I have done right by my children....even by difficult child if he never becomes what he should be....I have tried to never make them feel the way my mother made me feel...the way she tried to make my son feel.

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

I should not have to play referee between a 69 year old woman and a 26 year old man who are both emotionally about 16....but I did.

"But I did."

But I took my courage in both hands. And I took what I know to be true, and I went to them, to these so destructive people I love and pray for and will wish well and healthy every day of my life if it takes a million years. And I reminded them of the good in them.

And knowing full well each will forever choose the reality they most believe in, I left them there.

Because I took my courage in both hands, and have done all that can be done.

You did good, everywoman.

It doesn't seem to come out right, when we are interacting with the difficult children we love. It feels like we are working at cross purposes, like there must be something in the air that day that screws everything up. The good things we see so easily, they never see at all. So, they cannot bring themselves to walk a gentler path.

Which means we will be walking our paths alone.

And that is alright.

It's like in that Leonard Cohen song: "Love is not a victory march. It's a cold and it's a broken halleluiah."

But you did the right thing, you did it at great cost to yourself, and you did well.

I heard her in the background and immediately went back to my childhood and
the abuse I suffered by her words and actions.

This is a good thing, actually. When I post the things I post, it gets to be almost chain of consciousness. I am embarrassed at the me I am, when I post those things. I sound so pathetic, so whiny about things I should have been able to see for the abusive, cheap shot tricks they were.

But I haven't been able to do that, because I never understood that I did not have to believe the names I was named.

So now, I have to find all the names and rename those hurt, shamed parts of myself that I surrounded in something impermeable so I could go on, so I could breathe or hold my head up, at all.

But when I do post about the feelings beneath the incidents, it heals me, because I am old enough now to know I would never knowingly do what was done to me.

So, I am not my mother, after all.

But I could not know that, when I was young. I could know that certain things I saw her do were wrong.

I did know that.

But I had not lived long enough to know whether what she said was true, or whether she was a liar.

Which is a pretty stiff accusation to make against your own mother.

***

In hearing your mother now, when you are an adult, you have been given the gift of going back to your childhood and clearing that stable out. Remember the myth about Sisiphus? I think he was the one given the task of cleaning the Augean stables.

And he changed the course of a river, to do it.

But he got it done.

I am sorry for the upset you feel today. It is that way for me, too. But I am sincerely happy for the opportunity you have been given. It took courage to go there. I know how much courage it took, and I admire you for it.

Protecting our children calls in us courage we did not know existed.

You go, girl!

:O)

Today, I am sore, physically, mentally, and emotionally from the the reminder of my past and from the nightmare of my present....

Would you like to post about it?

This site is anonymous.

The people here are kind and honest and very real.

You may post here, on this thread, or begin your own. We will follow you, there.

Begin with anything at all. When you are ready, more will come.

And we will be right here.

Your words...they made me see that I have done right by my children....even by difficult child if he never becomes what he should be....I have tried to never make them
feel the way my mother made me feel...the way she tried to make my son feel.

I love the courage in you, everywoman.

For the sake of your son, you confronted your mother and that took guts.

Here is an interesting thing one of my granddaughters said to me: Well, she speaks with such eloquence that I won't be able to get it right, so I will just paraphrase. The gist of it was that grandchildren inherit the grandmothers' personalities. She is very much like me, and always has been.

The same outlook on life.

It's an extraordinary thing, really.

I have another granddaughter, too. She is similar to me in many ways, but she has that coldness in her. I think the coldness can be turned to strength. That is what I think. That if the person is taught to love themselves enough, that coldness could become strength.

difficult child daughter can do amazing things. She can be so incredible a person. But she can switch like a snake. There is a part of her that wants to...I don't know. Protect herself, maybe? That is what it feels like, when that part is paramount. Like she is under attack and out to destroy.

difficult child daughter is very like my mother in so many ways. Like my mother would have been, had she been raised by me, maybe. My maternal grandmother was much like I am, so I understand.

My daughter has that same cold thing in her that my mother does.

2much2recover has been very helpful to me in adding the research that backs up that theory that some of the worst things (and probably the best too, I suppose) skip a generation.

So, it is interesting that your son is living with the grandmother he resembles. We are always wondering, here on the site, whether there is some pattern we cannot see in the ways things happen in our families.

I think there is.

And the more I see that, the more certainly I know that those of us who can see a little more clearly than our troubled relatives have the capacity to say words they cannot know to say. We can say that, for them. We can say those things to them.

We can believe that, for them.

But I know too that we, those of us raised seeing the things no one around us seems to see, need to be wise, and we need to be wary, around our families of origin. And maybe even more wary and wise around our children, because we love them so much ~ more than ourselves.

Given the names we were named at the hands of our own abusive mothers, we love our children more than we do our beautifully broken selves.

But we are learning to do that. Love ourselves too, I mean. It is like Albatross posts to us, regarding that Leonard Cohen song. She posts the verse about the broken places being where the light shines through.

I love that.

Cedar

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

The problem is it's BRIGHT blue...with astronaut wallpaper border. We bought the house when he was barely 7.

I was so in love with my children when they were little.

I love to think back to those times, and to those little kids, and to the way their faces lit up when they saw me.

Or the way mine did, I suppose.

So...why could you not go ahead and remove the troublesome door and bless yourself and your child and your memories of those times that were rich and full and felt like they would last forever?

Those are still the places where I love my children, I suppose.

They certainly don't look anything like that, now!

Cedar

P.S. Here is a funny coincidence, Lil. My difficult child son's bedroom was painted a deep, twilight sky blue, too. And he had those glow in the dark stars on the walls and the ceiling was that puffy stuff with the glitter in it that all the ceilings were, back then.

Isn't that something!

He had a stars and planets mobile, too.

Could that be it?!?

It was those darn stars and planets!

Or maybe, it was something to do with that blue paint.

It was quite an electrifying color.

 

[Lil]

So...why could you not go ahead and remove the troublesome door and bless yourself and your child and your memories of those times that were rich and full and felt like they would last forever?

I'm not there yet.

Occasionally, very occasionally, I can take comfort in the happy memories, but mostly they make me sad. Kind of like, when you lose someone close to you and people are all telling funny stories about them, you know? You laugh, but you have that little pain in your heart at the same time.

In fact, I'm sitting right here in my office with photos of him through all the years...I've worked here 20 years...and the "How did this go so wrong?" starts and ...



I have got to remember to bring makeup to the office.

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

I'm sorry, Lil. It has to be done. We have to own our feelings. We need to reclaim those parts of ourselves that are grieving, and that we keep hidden away.

There is no better time than when it happens. There is no shame in it. Tears are like a pressure valve, in a way. If you find that you aren't able to keep things compartmentalized, then these are the things that helped me:

When I had time (and I would make time, I would plan it out, ahead of time), I would pound a sofa pillow until the emotions came up, so I could discharge them. There were never words during those times, for me. I could not have put a name to what I was feeling. I could scream into the pillow too, if I liked.

I needed to make the sounds of grief, needed to get them out of me, out into the light where I could see them.

Or I would run until I could cry. One day? I got home and one of the neighbors called and wanted to know what had happened with difficult child daughter. She said she knew when she saw me go tearing down the street that something had happened.

Ew.

I actually had some self respect, once. That was a long time ago, though. I haven't missed it much.

I was like a wounded animal, in a way. I could not let my emotions run free, even in therapy, in case it turned out that I would never stop crying. So, I needed to learn to take care of myself in these ways. It helped me to know I had these outlets.

I did not do these things in front of husband. If he was home, I took a really long bath with lots of running water.

I was cleanest mom on the block during those years.

:O)

Now?

I just shower, like a normal person.

***

"I am ashamed of these tears and yet, at the extreme of my misfortune, I am ashamed not to shed them."

Euripides

 

[Lil]

I'm sorry, Lil. It has to be done. We have to own our feelings. We need to reclaim those parts of ourselves that are grieving, and that we keep hidden away.

Oh it comes and goes. Mostly goes these days, actually. It's as though I've gotten some distance lately. Sure, I don't hear from him for several days and I start to wonder if everything's okay. His buddy from "college" apparently moved in this weekend. We have some reason to think he may have quit or been fired from his job. I'm not freaking out about it...mostly shrugging it off. It is what it is. We told him if he doesn't pay his rent then come June we're done. He can sleep in the park. Not our problem. Mostly, I take all this stuff with a shake of the head and a sigh. I mostly don't think about it.

But when I do it makes me sad. It doesn't tear my heart out anymore like it did in the beginning. Just makes me sad. I'd say that's an improvement. I soak poor Jabber's shoulder much less frequently.

But I'm ready for my house to have fewer reminders of what is and what will never be (pardon my plagiarizing Led Zeppelin). It's time to have a guest room. It's time to burn that door.

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

I'm not freaking out about it...mostly shrugging it off.

The worst times are when we are still innocent enough to be taken by horrible surprise. No one keeps their feet in an earthquake; edifices crumble, too. There is destruction all around.

And then, we rebuild.

We told him if he doesn't pay his rent then come June we're done

This is fair. If you can, think of it as no more than fair. Not a threat, not a promise, but simply a statement of fact, a simple clarification, for both you and for him, too, of how long the help you are giving him now will be there.

It has to stop in June, Lil.

And not to sound like a know it all here, but you need to be ready.

Snip.

He can sleep in the park.

He can sleep in the park, he can sleep in luxury hotels. Where he sleeps is a choice for him. Not you. If you could love him the way you want to, he would still be home. It gets to be about surviving the way we have to love them when they are so troubled.

We have to love them really strong, and with far vision.

And at the end of the far vision, we have to see ourselves, whole again.

Believe it or not, that is the hard part.

But I came through it. So will you. If it comes to this for you, and if,for some reason, I am not here on the site when it happens Lil, remember that whatever it feels like, I came through it and so will you.

I always wondered whether I would ever recover.

Yes.

I did, and so will you.

It's time to burn that door.

YES!!!

I love the symbolism in this imagery.

There is something especially significant about burning a thing and creating an opening, creating a doorway or a portal. Cleaning their rooms, repainting their rooms, were sacred times for me in that same way. I always waited until I was very ready, too. I cried through it and felt cleansed and very alone and stronger for it, stronger for having done it.

I did not know then, when I did it, that it was a sacred time. I did not know that I was doing a sacred thing, that I was declaring my name and calling the time, in a way.

We did sell that house, and I am very glad we did.

I had come to hate it.

***

Maybe this is something you could plan to do in June, if your son continues to choose the path he is on.

You are not powerless.

It's all about perception. Defining reality is all about perception.

But a mother's heart is a stubborn thing.

It's time to have a guest room.

It is. Guest rooms are so pretty, and pristine, and welcoming. Our guest room here is beautifully white. The one at the lake has a timeless feel to it.

The house there is a little, tiny log cabin with a fieldstone fireplace and lots of windows. Whenever you plug in too many things, the fuses blow. One time, I was hosting my bookclub. In the excitement of the moment, I forgot about that fuse thing and popped something into the microwave while the stove and lights and coffeepot were on.

Boom. The fuse blew.

So, we had our coffee and dessert in the (kind of really cool) glow of the tiny white lights I have strung through the grapevines on the curtain rods instead of blinds or curtains in the dining room.

Things like that happen there all the time.

And over time, those kinds of weird unexpected things make it seem like a magical place.

Well, those weird little happenings that somehow turn out so beautifully and the bats. Which is a whole other story. There were so many bats living there when we bought it that when the wind would blow just right?

You could hardly breathe, in the Master bedroom.

Phew.

Cedar

P.S. So if anyone would like to know: What you do when you have bats is to find the openings where they are coming in. There will be a bat poop trail you cannot miss. When you do find those openings, tape the following totally clever idea we found on the internet over the opening.

Make four cuts into an empty toilet paper roll.

This is the part you will tape over the opening. That is why you cut four times. So the toilet paper roll will fit snugly against whatever opening it is they are using to get in.

Cut the bottom from a baggie, a lunch bag baggie.

This will enable the bats to get out in the night when they go hunting, but they will not be able to separate the plastic to get back in. That is why, if you are going to do this, you must do it early in Spring, before they have their babies.

Or the babies will die.

Which is bad enough.

But they will do that in your house.

***

Now, tape the baggie with the open bottom to the toilet paper roll with duct tape and then, tape the thing you have made over the opening the bats are using to get into the house.

And that is how you do it.

We had so many bats in that house when we bought it.

They are all gone, now.

This contraption works beautifully.

Cedar

 

[Lil]

You needed a belfry, so you could keep your bats there!

I totally don't get a visual of your contraption, but it's pretty amusing.

At least, when it happens to someone else.

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

I went back and found this thread for one of us because toward the end of the thread, we were posting about the kind of affirmation that happens when our children have been successfully raised (note the underlying guilt in that description), and about how awful it feels, not to have that kind of affirmation.

So, I was having a look at it, this morning.

I found the difference between us and those other moms. We take our children seriously. They don't.

Now that I think about it, they tend to be good at finding our soft spots and blind spots. It makes sense that they would find these too, even if they are buried somewhere in our memory banks.

This is a hard admission.

The things we are required to face about our own children in order not to be destroyed by them are so freaking, impossibly hard. We have created monsters of them. Why doesn't matter. We need to stop.

As long as we were sending difficult child money, he miraculously never mentioned the horrible events of his childhood.

This is so true. How is it we never see the manipulation behind those accusations? It must be, I mean, it could be, that this is how we justify using one another to ourselves. (Note how carefully I am not looking at exactly which of us it is who would be justifying him or herself in that way. I do not want to put this away leaving either of my children holding the bag.)

Holding the bag for what they have done, some evil little part, some part that could skip away scot free, hisses.

That is an important distinction, for me. Maybe, that is why I cannot allow myself to let this go. I am going to begin listening more closely to moms who see their kids with jaundiced eyes and I just now realized that both those women I love/hate seem not to be overly enamored with their kids.

With the freaking Yale professor kid. And now the other one has a kid who is a professor too and his brother is a pediatrician and neither of them is all that impressed with their kids.

So...why am I?

Maybe there is something here for us, some way for us to get free.

I am sure there is something here.

Guilt, instead of ~ how are these women seeing their kids. That is how I am going to pattern myself to see mine. Who cares if hers is a professor and mine is...is not.

Times two.

And mine is not, in two cases.



Cedar

 

[Childofmine]

Ah, Cedar. Mothers and their kids. Especially in this generation.

Your post makes me think of several mothers I know.

Mother #1: When you are with her, all she talks about are her two grown children. Both appear to be perfect, at least as far as you can tell. She has no interests of her own, it appears, because nearly every sentence is about her kids. It is boring. It is mind-numbing. I want to ask: Are YOU the same as YOUR KIDS? Do you have any kind of life? This person is my best friend from high school. A group of old friends started going to the beach together during the time that difficult child was in the worst part of it. I declined to go because I could. not. bear. hearing. it.

Mother #2: She talks about other things, but "her grown kids" do no wrong, nor do their spouses or boyfriends, while "his kids" (second marriage, blended family) are always "less than." I don't know what it would be like to be her husband and hear a million times a day that my kids are better than your kids. Ugh. It's also boring to be around. This is another old friend of mine. We see each other a lot but I really notice this, and I admit it bugs me.

Mother #3: She has two daughters, one lives nearby and the other far away. The far away one is the one she longs for. The nearby one has launched but they aren't close. It's sad to watch.

Me: I wonder what my blind spots are about my two grown sons. I am sure I can be really annoying too. Here is what I am working toward: giving them and me lots of space. When I talk to them I don't ask too many questions (both are introverts, so if you didn't ask anything, there would be little conversation). Don't offer suggestions (I work hard on this and fail a lot). Affirm what they say, even if I don't get it or I see "a better way." Be pleasant. Be someone other people---my grown children---would like to be around. Roll with the punches. Don't get too involved. Let them be. Let them go. See them as people who have to make their own way.

Our grown kids are just people. they are no better or worse than any other people. They must walk their path. We had a role on that path---a big one---but that's long gone now. That is how it should be. We did the best we could. We couldn't make it all pretty and all okay. That's good, actually.

We have to let the past go and the future go, and just be the best we can be...RIGHT NOW.

That's all there is, anyway.

 

[Tanya M]

With the freaking Yale professor kid. And now the other one has a kid who is a professor too and his brother is a pediatrician and neither of them is all that impressed with their kids.

As parents we all have had expectations of what our children would be like when they were adults.

For those parents who's children grew into and filled those expectations, the parents are proud but not overly impressed because the expectation was met.

Then there's us, the parents who's children have brought so much disappointment to us yet we know they have such high potential and could be so much more, we want to hold onto that hope of what they could be.

we were posting about the kind of affirmation that happens when our children have been successfully raised (note the underlying guilt in that description), and about how awful it feels, not to have that kind of affirmation.

For those that have more than one child where one child is successful and the other is a Difficult Child they have something to compare to. They know what it is to have that affirmation and to not. For me, I only have the one son who has caused me heartache for close to 30 years now. I don't think I will ever know what that kind of affirmation feels like.

What is so crazy is there is no rhyme or reason as to why, who or how. There are parents who are basically a Difficult Child themselves and yet they have children that are high functioning, responsible adults. There are parents who have done everything right, given their child every opportunity and the child is a Difficult Child.

I used to carry such feelings of jealousy when I would listen to other mom's talking about their children, why couldn't that be me, why was I burdened with this pain and shame, why???? There is no answer, it just is what it is.
It was only through acceptance that I was able to let all of that go. I went through all the cycles, I did everything I could to try and "save" my son and it got to a point that I had to ask myself who am I doing all of this for? Of course I wanted to save him from a path of destruction because I didn't want to see my child suffer, but I was also being selfish, I wanted to save him for me, so that I could be one of those moms who could boast about her child.

It was a hard truth to accept that my son "wanted" to live the way he was. It was very hard for me to comprehend. Why would anyone want to live a life filled with so much uncertainty? Again, some soul searching. I am a planner, I like and need to have order in my life. My son is a free spirit, he does not feel bound by rules and structure. I don't like that he's that way but I did have to come to accept it.

Yesterday at work one of my co-workers was talking about her sons, she was telling us that they would be taking her out for breakfast and then she said "they better have a nice card for me" I had to hold my tongue. Here is mother who has 2 sons that are good men, both have jobs and families and she was concerned about them getting her a card. I would settle for a message on FB just to say "Hi mom, I'm still alive" as it's been about 2 months since I've heard anything from my son.

I am reminded of Doris Day's song Que Sera Sera:

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother
What will I be
Will I be pretty
Will I be rich
Here's what she said to me
Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be
When I grew up and fell in love
I asked my sweetheart
What lies ahead
Will we have rainbows
Day after day
Here's what my sweetheart said
Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be
Now I have Children of my own
They ask their mother
What will I be
Will I be handsome
Will I be rich
I tell them tenderly
Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be
Que Sera, Sera

 

[Albatross]

I am going to begin listening more closely to moms who see their kids with jaundiced eyes and I just now realized that both those women I love/hate seem not to be overly enamored with their kids.

Ah, Cedar. Mothers and their kids. Especially in this generation.

Interestingly, my hairdresser and I were just talking about this.

He said he has noticed a pattern in his clientele. Mothers who vocalize and point out what good mothers they are...usually aren't. Mothers who worry and guilt themselves about their child-rearing...usually are.

I am not sure why, but it seems to me there is something there also, somewhere.

Maybe it is a good thing...to never figure it out. It means we meet each new encounter with fresh eyes and a humble spirit.

I think this place has some of the best moms (and dads) around. I don't say that just in jest because we've spent decades in worry and guilt mode, but also because I think we really and truly have given our very best.

But we don't control the outcome, not even for ourselves, much less for another person.

 

[Copabanana]

Once we know why we need what we need from our relationships with our children, we can provide it for ourselves.

Isn't this worth every bit as much or more than having kids in whose reflected brilliance we shine?

 

[Copabanana]

difficult child daughter can do amazing things. She can be so incredible a person. But she can switch like a snake. There is a part of her that wants to...I don't know. Protect herself, maybe? That is what it feels like, when that part is paramount. Like she is under attack and out to destroy.

Cedar, M has told me that when I feel cornered, extremely cornered, I get this way too, and I believe him. I have been so only a few times with him, but what it feels like is this: I will do anything to stop what is hurting me. I know what I am doing when I do it. And I could stop it, I think, but I do not want to.

M is the same. He would tell you so himself. Me, I may go for the jugular. In him it looks like extreme, immediate, relentless defensiveness that feels worse than an attack.

He and his older brother left home when M was 11.

They wandered deserts...were hungry and thirsty...hid in trees from snakes.

M stepped in to protect his mother from yet another beating. His father stomped on him with his boots and kicked the two boys out of their home forever.

Sometimes, it is a matter of the perspective you take on a thing.

You would not, would you, think of me as a snake?

When we are crazy in pain and in fear...and we are blind to what is coming at us. We strike. Only to stop it.

 

[Scent of Cedar *]

Isn't this worth every bit as much or more than having kids in whose reflected brilliance we shine?

No, Copa. Naming the missing thing, the killing thing, can help us see ourselves with compassion. Knowing what that would feel like, to have a child whose love we could safely and dependably build our lives around, we can strive for that feeling tone within ourselves whether we have those wonderful things in reality or not.

We are betrayed by our children, Copa.

Everything we do here is about how to survive this very hard thing.

***

When we are crazy in pain and in fear...and we are blind to what is coming at us. We strike. Only to stop it.

Are you likening your response to your child's destructive addictive behaviors to a snake's strike, Copa? There is no venom that will stop or deter or change any of this.

Or are you feeling remorse over how you have had to learn to respond to your son since his addiction.

I am so sorry Copa, but if you are going to survive this thing, you need to take firm, determined responsibility for your responses to your child. This has to be an eyes open thing. It is hurtful. We need to be certain of our courses of action Copa, and we need to tell ourselves as much of the truth as we can handle. It is true that we love them. There is nothing noble about addiction, Copa. Our children have betrayed us, whether through an act of will or through having their will destroyed by their addictions.

It is a very hard thing, Copa.

I think you handled it well. However it happened that you did not take your son in, you handled it beautifully.

I am proud for you, Copa. That must have been hard.

You are doing well.

Cedar