This is your brain...This is your brain on drugs

I was watching a show on tv today about parents on drugs. I'm not talking smoking weed, I'm talking serious heavy duty drugs... The kind that rob you of any rational thoughts, the kind  that steal your soul. I must say many emotions came flooding over me as I was watching this; sadness, pitty, anger... Anger at the thought of someone being so selfish that they cannot think of their children before themselves. And I couldn't help thinking, "HEY! What right do you have?"  What right do you have to bring these children into the world and  corrupt their innocence? What right do you have to rob them of their sense of security? What right do you have to take away their future, their life? None, absolutely none. May God have mercy on your soul...

 

I can remember it all so vividly. The 1st time my younger sister, Brandi and I found the needles up above the towel closet in a blue wash basin. We had no idea what they were for . Oh how young and naive we were.What we did  know was that they were bad and that they had to be my father's. He had been an alcoholic for many years..But drugs? You just never expect that from your parent, I guess. We had both been living with him and I must say that through all his drinking he had offered us some sense of stability up to this point, anyway. I guess we eventually figured out what was going on with the needles. And as time went on he became more lapsed with trying to hide it from us. I can remember him missing work, sometimes for a month at a time. He had a union job. I can remember Brandi and I driving him to rehab..oh I don't know, atleast 15 times. I can remember going to school and telling my teachers, going to church and telling the preacher... Hell, everyone knew. And for some reason no one did a thing. Not a damn thing. I can remember him coming home and passing out in the recliner, breathing slower and slower..and I remember us being to scarred to call 911. We thought if they came and saved him that the police would find out and take him to jail. We knew he would be so angry. We actually thought he was going to die and we still didn't call. We didn't want him to be angry. When my Dad was angry, he was angry all over. It turned out it wasn't a heroin overdose, he had drank an entire bottle of some powerful prescription cough syrup and mixed it with some pills. I don't care what it was caused by, it was terrifying. My Dad continued on this path of destruction even after my sister and I moved away. She to church college and I eventually to get married and have a son, Andrew. He lost his house, his cabin, his family, everything. Let me just interject here and say that somewhere along the way I had become his enabler. I felt so much pitty and sorrow for this man. I loved him, he was my father. I never forgot the man he was when we were younger. He was brilliant and handsome. He had everything going for him.  Eventually I had my son and I was working up north. I called  to talk to my Dad often and he seemed so alone. All alone. So it was the weekend after Easter and I had asked for some days  off so that I could take Andrew to see his Grandpa. I thought maybe Andrew could brighten his life as he had for me. I spent all day Friday with my father and Saturday morning had decided  to go out to breakfast with Christina, an old friend of mine I hadn't seen in a while. When I returned home, just as I was reaching for the door that led into the hallway to my father's apartment, I was met by my father's longtime druggie pal and coworker Joe. He had a look of pure terror on his face, which I believe came more from being "caught" by me than from what was happening in my dad's apartment. He told me my Dad was passed out in there. I asked what he meant, my dad hadn't been drinking when I left an hour before. He said he didn't know and I suddenly felt his terror spread to me. I raced down the hallway, carrying Andrew, who was sleeping, in his car seat. When I opened the door I could tell something was horribly wrong. He was slumped over in his recliner and his face was turning blue and purple. I started screaming and called 911. I remember tring to open my Dad's mouth  to get an airway but his tongue was swollen and turning purple in his mouth. I was screaming at Joe( who was high) to help him. He started smacking my Dad really hard in the face and screaming at him to wake up. He didn't. Instead he started to have a seizure. The 911 operator didn't want to talk to me because I wouldn't stop screaming. I guess talking to the high guy was better than talkin to some raving lunatic. I remember walking of to the side of the room and thinking, "Oh my God! My Dad's going to die. Please God, please don't let him die!" And so not being able to do anything physically to help him, I did the only thing I knew to do. I prayed. I prayed at the top of my lungs. Please God, please don't take my father. Within a few minutes (and what seemed like an eternity to me) the ambulance had arrived and I told them that I thought that he had taken heroin. They said they needed to be sure what kind of drugs he had taken. I told them to ask Joe. He was the one who had brought them to my father in the 1st place. At 1st he didn't want to say what my dad had taken but they threatened him and finally he admitted that my father had indeed taken heroin. They gave my father a shot of some miracle drug and his faced returned to it's  normal color. When I went to the hospital and asked him what he had seen or if remembered anything he told me he had sen blackness. Those were his excact words...Blackness. He didn't really seem to understand or want to know what he and I had been through that day. I guess that is a burden I shall carry alone. My Dad didn't learn his lesson and about 2 yrs later he overdosed again. And once again I was there. This time my Mom was there too. This time I wasn't quite as scared as last time. I suppose it was because I had spent such a long time thinking he was going to die that I had come to grips with it. I still prayed though. This time in my head because I was doind cpr. ( his tongue wasn't in the way this time) And once again God saved him. I'm not sure why God chose me to be there both times this happened. But I do know that God knows what he's doing. I'm happy to  say that my Father is no longer shooting heroin. He had a massive stroke July 13, 2004 and is mostly parilyzed on  his left side. He can no longer tie a belt around his arm or ready the drugs. Sometimes  I think God saved him all those times thinking that we might get a sober Dad out of it. This time we did. Thanks God. So, if you know someone who has kids and is doing things they shouldn't be doing. Please use this story as your inspiration and go up to them and ask, " Hey, what right do you have?" NONE!