I pray you never know the fear of going to bed not knowing if your son will wake up in the morning.
To the girl who introduced my son to the dark, damaging world of drugs ...
I often think of you and hope that you are not still destroying other lives.
You have no idea how your actions impacted ours.
You saw him lose his innocence. You saw that first high in his eyes. You cultivated and pressured him.
I pray only good things for you. I pray that God finds you and heals you of your wounds that I have no doubt led you to that life.
I pray you never have sleepless nights and restless days.
I pray you never know the fear that keeps you awake not knowing if your son will wake up in the morning.
May you never know what it feels like to be paralyzed with fear every time the doorbell rings in the middle of the night — thinking, crying, hoping it's not someone there to give you the news your son has overdosed.
May you never know the longing to see your son, to pray without ceasing that a change is indeed in his future, that he is free, clean, accepted, loved, cherished, cleansed, whole, complete.
May you never have to tell your heart and doubt in your mind "I will not bury my son," "I will not bury my son."
I do not blame you. I pray for you.
The high is temporary, but the effects leave a wound that only time can heal ... a scar that is forever engraved ... a haunting that is overcast by hope that those days are over ...