Letter written to my son one year ago

I sit here thinking. Thinking about what is my next step? What is my plan? What can I possibly do that will make a difference? My thoughts, waking and asleep, are consumed with you, my heart is full of love for you and sadness too. I have watched you slip in and out of drug use and I have felt intense grief when the Son we know and love is replaced with the addict. I have come to realize, at this time, that our Son  is only about two days away. Seems so close but yet so unreachable. I feel like I'm reaching my hand out to you as you slip further and further away each time. Two days away. When I see you I feel like I have been given a gift, it is brief now, usually only a few hours but I cherish those hours with you. You ask questions, just like you always have, you have intense curiosity, always have ever since you were really little. You smile, you have such a beautiful smile. You read, you talk to us, just like you used to. Then out you go and you are gone again. You will come home, usually very moody, sharp in your answers, defensive, not pleasant. Sometimes you eat, I mean anything you can get your hands on, other times you eat nothing at all. Then you sleep. Unless you are on the computer, you are sleeping. You can't remember anything you are passionate about, you don't want to join us, talk to us, you don't smile and you never ask questions. Sometimes you will sleep all day. Sometimes it seems you can't sleep at all, other times, I can't get you up. Then after two days, there you are. My son. You ask me a question, you smile, I know it's you. I have missed you so much. I just want to wrap my arms around you and tell you how much I have missed you, but I'm scared I will miss it, I am scared I will say the wrong thing and miss your brief visit. I wish you could see how wonderful you are. I wish you knew how much I miss you. I wish you cared. I wish you would stay.

This is what Relapse feels like.