Control was the topic of a meeting–as in support group meeting–that I recently attended. All who deal with a loved one’s addiction eventually realize that they have zero control over the addict. The problem is some won’t admit it. It is one thing to intellectually accept the thoughts of the Serenity Prayer. It is quite another to have the “courage to change the things I can.” And that means changing your “things”, not the addict’s.
Below is the ending to a short story I wrote several years ago that, I hope, illustrates that moment of epiphany that defines control for those trying to set boundaries. The story is called “Under 95” and describes an encounter between a father and his homeless son, who, on this night, does not recognize his dad :
“Recently, the father had developed the fantasy of Chris appearing at his door dressed in a white shirt and dark blue tie announcing that he was sober, that he had a great job, and that he was happy. “You did the right thing by kicking me out. Thank you,” he would say before showing off pictures of his wife. Dad would have two Eagles tickets for Sunday. At the game, Chris would break the news, “Dad, you’re gonna be a grandpop.”
Dad shook away the reverie. “Stay in the present.”
A security guard was closing one of the gates. He glanced at the idling, gray Altima. Dad took one final look into the darkness, shifted into drive, and headed for the last open exit.
Stopped at the intersection with Darien St., he looked to the left but couldn’t see the camp anymore.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,” the father prayed.
“Goodnight, Chris.”
The Altima turned toward home.
The Q-View 