Drug Addiction Stories

I love to talk to my mama. Every day I tell her about how my day is going, my problems, my hopes, my dreams. She is right there, always listening. She does not put me down like she used to when she was hooked on drugs. She quietly listens, taking in every thing I say. I can cry, I can laugh, I can be angry and I have no fear of her hitting me or calling me names like she used to do when I was little.

My mama was not always a good parent. She partied all through school and on into her twenties. I was an unplanned pregnancy. She partied till my grandparents found out about me and they insisted on her getting treatment and round the clock supervision. I had a couple of learning disabilities as a child but by the grace of a higher power, I muddled through and did okay.

When my mama stopped taking drugs at 34, I was barely 16. I had mostly lived with my grandparents but having her off of drugs made it possible for me to visit with her every day. The day I got asked to the prom, I ran and told her. The day I picked out my prom dress, I dressed in it and showed it to her. I told her about my high school boyfriend proposing to me the night of our graduation. I shared all the details of my wedding with her and showed her pictures of our honeymoon. The day the doctor told me I was pregnant, I told my mother even before I told my husband.

I have two children now, a boy and a girl. My son is ten and my daughter is eight. My mother quietly listens as I share every important moment of their lives with her. With my family, I am busier these days and only get to visit with her every couple of weeks now on the weekend. She understands, though.

As I lay the flowers at her graveside, I tell her I love her. I tell her how much I have missed her every day since she died of an overdose at the age of 34. I pull out my children’s pictures and tell her how proud she would be of them and how proud she would be of me because I never hit them and I never drink or do drugs I thank her for giving me life and I thank her for allowing my grandparents to keep me when she could have just given me away because I have my own two children and my wonderful husband.

My mama just listens quietly. As I sit at her grave, I hear the peaceful tranquility and I know that somehow, somewhere, she sees me and is proud of me, too. We don’t talk about regrets. I know hers are monumental. I whisper “I love you, Mama” and walk out of the cemetery to hurry home to see my beloved son and daughter, the tears streaming down my face. Mama listens to me now.