On blame, addiction, and the grief that keeps going.
She found him passed out behind the beer store.
She is his girlfriend.
That would be enough, right? Hearing just that is enough to make any mom’s heart and stomach collide.
It’s been a few days since his girlfriend texted me that he had gone out and was gone for hours. He wouldn’t say where he was, so she went looking for him and found him passed out behind the beer store.
Flip.
Other people had already called an ambulance. She didn’t know if he had seized or not.
I don’t know if the hospital can determine recent seizures from some kind of test. And even if they can, if she tells them he seizes when he drinks, not when he withdraws, and he tells them that, then they won’t likely treat him for the seizures he could potentially have after he gets home.
They used to keep him for four days until the seizure risk had passed. Now it looks like they send people home as soon as they can stand on their own.
He was going home before I was going to bed.
Pretty damned early.
She corrected me when I asked about seizure danger, given his history of ICU visits and status epilepticus events. But she believes, because he told her, that he gets the seizures when he drinks, not when his body starts to withdraw.
The Details Start to Blur
I could get into every word exchanged over the course of 24 hours or so, but that would make this about me and her, and it’s not that.
It’s not even about him so much anymore.
Other than the “He’s relapsed. He’s alive.” news, the details all start to blur.
Self-protection, I imagine.
Part of the numbing process.
Or not.
I really don’t know.
I feel disconnected mostly, and a great deal of let down.
But then things happen.
I’m crafting the next part of this blog entry and calmly thinking out the words as I type something to the effect of:
She corrected me when I asked about seizure danger…
And then the next part comes out sounding like I’ve been possessed by demons and my head is spinning:
“given his *(^*&^*(**& history of *()^&*&^ seizure dis_))(*&^^^orders”
I’m completely oblivious and just continue typing like nothing happened.
Apparently my subconscious had opinions.
Looking for Someone to Blame
I remembered reading a post on the MADD Facebook page where someone said that alcohol use disorder is the parents’ fault.
The reasoning went something like this:
“Parents let their kids drink alcohol during their teen years while their brains are still developing and craving bigger and better experiences. Alcohol gives them a huge dopamine hit, and they spend the rest of their lives chasing the feeling they found in a bottle.”
That’s a pretty simplistic explanation with a remarkable lack of nuance for a very complex issue.
The science tells us that delaying alcohol exposure can reduce risk.
It does not tell us that parents cause alcohol use disorder.
Addiction develops at the intersection of biology, life experience, mental health, social influences, and exposure to an addictive substance.
Focusing on blame may feel satisfying, but it does little to help families or prevent addiction.
A More Honest Question
When people talk about addiction, they often look for someone to blame.
In our family, there were genetic risks, ADHD, emotional pain, major life stresses, and alcohol itself.
Mine was a child who was older than his years from the start.
There was a family history where addiction touched nearly every branch of the tree.
There were losses that didn’t look like losses at the time.
There was ADHD.
And there was probably more going on than any of us realized.
The filter we need to use when asking why is:
What factors increased vulnerability, and what can we do differently for the next generation?
Changing Alcohol Culture
Combating alcohol culture starts today.
Not because anyone wants to ban alcohol, but because we’ve normalized things that shouldn’t be normal.
A bad day automatically calls for a stiff drink.
Having one too many at a party is funny.
Falling-down drunk is entertainment.
Maybe alcohol doesn’t need to become illegal.
Maybe it simply needs to become less celebrated.
Maybe the alcohol of today can become as “wonderful” as the tobacco of yesterday.
The Grief Goes On
My son is okay today.
As far as I know.
And I really don’t know.
I know he doesn’t want me to know when he falls.
I don’t think it’s because he thinks I’ll be disappointed.
I think he thinks I’ll be disappointed in him.
If I thought it was really a choice, maybe then I would be disappointed in his choices.
But now I am just disappointed.
And sad.
And the grief goes on.