I have three children. Two were diagnosed with bipolar disorder when they were seventeen. One of those two is, like a large percentage of people with a serious mental illness, an addict.

My husband and I have supported, sponsored, paid for, participated with and encouraged our son in nearly every type of rehab program available. He continues to make progress, but continues to relapse, too.

Years ago, every relapse seemed devastating. Now, while disappointed, I don’t fall apart. I express my concern and dismay, I stick to my standards, rules and requirements; and I continue to love him completely. He is an addict. I am not. I cannot fix this. I am not responsible for it. There is no blame.

I wish for nothing more than I wish for my son’s sobriety. He truly wants a life free of addiction and all that accompanies that path, that choice. The sad truth is, once addicted to opiates, the challenge to be free of the addiction is monumental and omnipresent. If there was a wand, I would wave it. But there isn’t.

So I do what I’ve counseled many other parents to do: I love him, unconditionally, freely, completely. Long ago I released the notion that I had the right to judge him (or anyone else). When he’s not doing well, I feel sad for him and pray for better days. But I never withhold love and support.

I never want him to feel alone in the world.

I will always love him.

He is my son.

He is my beautiful son.

This entry was posted on Friday, January 2nd, 2009 at 11:03 am and is filed under Mental Health. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.