Susan Avery is the author of Addicted: Our Strength Under the Influence, published in 2023 under her pen name, Annie Augustus Rose. She is a facilitator for Nar-Anon Family Groups.
Dear Son,
My December birthday came and went last week. I thought I might've heard from you, but I did not. And then came Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and, as family and friends gathered at home to celebrate, there was something missing.
I didn't hear from you.
I know you are out there somewhere; I try and believe you are OK, but my mother's intuition tells me otherwise. Yet, because I am your mom and I love you, I will remain hopeful.
You didn't choose to become addicted to stuff like cocaine, crack, or heroin, but somehow it found you and then really spoke to you, lulled you into the lifestyle that has taken you away from me and your family.
The year 2023 held promise. My memoir was on track to being published. Your three-year prison sentence was to end early - you worked hard in a recovery program earning your certificate, which gave you "good time" off your sentence. We were looking forward to May, when you would be released back into the world, into a sober house close by. We had great conversations and good belly laughs together.
Your birthday breakfast in September held an ominous tone. I told you it would "kill me" if you started using again, to which you replied, "Yeah, it will kill me, too."
Little did I know "it" had already called your name and you had answered as before - and here we were face to face and you had already spiraled into using.
* * *
When it became clear, by your own admission, that you were using just a few short weeks later, I was disappointed yet not surprised, because I've been walking this road right alongside you for … how long now?
Sadly, addiction takes our loved ones from us and turns them into entities - beings we barely recognize. Ghosts, really. Yet, somehow the faces are still so familiar.
In October, I watched a 2022 interview where Matthew Perry, of Friends, your all-time-favorite show, sat across from Diane Sawyer and spoke of his struggle with addiction.
I thought something was off, untruthful.
Not three weeks later, he died, at home, by drowning in his own hot tub - the cause, the coroner concluded, was "acute effects of ketamine."
My thoughts - how sadly cruel - went immediately to his mom and dad. They had their hopes and dreams for his well-being dashed once again. But this time, the grieving would be their final act.
No more lingering in the constant wondering of "when," grieving their son who was still alive but not "alive," wounded with each breath.
* * *
So today, as I do every day, I think of you and pray for your safety.
"Any word from your son?" people ask. I shake my head no, or comment, "Nothing."
Which is why I knew I wanted to write this letter to you.
Because I choose to believe addiction has not taken you from us as it has taken Matthew Perry, so I say, "I know you are somewhere, perhaps wondering how or why this happened to you and how these lonesome feelings of shame and isolation, of rejection and detestation, could be your life."
The insidious nature of addiction - it takes our loved ones away from us and from themselves, too.
In the meantime, I'll still wait for my phone to ring until I hear otherwise.
Love,
Mom
This Voices Open Letter was submitted to The Commons.