Scars. Everybody has them. Some are hidden, some are not. Some are deeper than others. Some fade over time, others remain. Regardless of whether or not you see them, they are there. And each one tells a story.
Rylen asked daddy about his scars yesterday. Daddy told him that was a conversation for another day. Rylen moved on. My mind can’t seem to let it go.
With having two addicts as parents, chances are high that one, two or all three of our boys will, at some point or another, become addicted. It’s likely that they all carry the gene. This fact doesn’t scare me. It’s a sobering reality that many parents face. What scares me is the speed and fury at which their disease will progress once it has them.
Kyle and I both had fierce diseases. Not that everyone’s disease isn’t fierce, but we both hit very low bottoms in a very short amount of time. I started drinking at 18 and by 21 I was walking and talking with a BAC of .49. I had to have lethal levels of alcohol in my blood for me to function “normally” after only three years. Upon waking, I immediately had to take a drink to stop my whole body from shaking. I lived through two overdoses and an alcohol induced coma. Kyle’s disease took a little longer to progress but within a few years of active addiction he was on a daily suicide mission.
The fact that we have fierce diseases that want us dead, fast, does not make us more addicted than others. But it does make me afraid for my kids. Malekai is just like me and Rylen is a miniature Kyle. It is absolutely terrifying to think about the degrees of hell through which they will walk before reaching their points of desperation. To think of the physical and emotional scars that they will either bury or carry with them when they are through.
Our boys are way too young to hear this right now, but this is what I would want them to know about mine and daddy’s scars.
My dearest child,
You are a miracle. Each and every breath you take is proof that miracles happen. Proof that God exists. Proof that life wins. And that love sustains.
You see daddy’s scars every day. They are deep. They are ugly. They look painful. They were painful. But what you don’t see is the beauty behind them. They hold a story unlike any other. A story of hope. A story of redemption. A story that we want you to know.
You see, mommy and daddy’s scars are not just scars. They are battle wounds. They are daily reminders that we survived war.