It’s a hell of a thing, turning your back on your child. At some point you just stop lying to yourself and you think “He is going to end up in jail or dead”, and you hate yourself for the thought. Some part of you still clings to the optimism of his youth when he was still young and impressionable and you think “He’ll return. He’ll come back to his senses. He’ll see the folly of these life choices.” You fantasize about the day he’ll be himself again, free of the bad influences and the terrible choices, and then you finally turn within yourself and retort “No.”
Reluctantly, you accept the fact that your child is imprisoned in a hell you don’t understand, can’t imagine, and of which there is no breach point; you can effect no rescue. You finally understand that he is in a prison of his own making and that only he can fashion his escape. Continue reading
