Friday Flash 55

Write a tale with exactly 55 words, and tell the g-man about it



This muscle bound city has turned to flab.

Homes designed by Kahn and Kamper crumble upon themselves like cardboard models.

People shuffle along dirty, cracked streets.

Hearts made mean by poverty, 90 proof, and China White.

Children shot dead at home and at school.

Keep ignoring this city.

It can never happen to your city.

*** image from 100abandonedhouses

Midweek Gratitude

A few things I'm grateful for:

• Andrew has never fathered a child
• If he did, my husband would be right beside me in taking responsibility for that child
  
• I'm not one of the 85 million people taking Xanax
  
• My husband gases up and cleans out my car, first thing every Sunday morning
• When I wonder if I'm making a difference in the prison ministry, God gives me a sign
• "Thy will, not mine" will get me through today in fine fashion
• Seven teenagers shot at a bus stop in broad daylight in Detroit are receiving the finest efforts of many medical professionals
• When reading a blog yesterday, the person was writing about me, and they expressed kindness and prayers for me even though their life is far removed from mine
• My daughter will make a difference in the world with her PhD
• I have three people who would miss me if I were gone

What is #1 on your gratitude list?

Last Book Review

I've made a habit of reading every book, fiction and nonfiction, about drug addiction/alcoholism. I'm done.

I just finished Cost: A Novel by Roxana Robinson. This is a beautifully written story of three generations of a family gathered together, only to find out that the protagonist's youngest son is addicted to heroin. The author writes so knowingly about how addiction effects every member of the family, I finished the book depressed and weary.

When someone finally says the word "heroin" out loud, the mother, Julia, thinks:

"All new from here on. We haven't been here before."

Later she is walking on a busy street imaging everyone knows the family secret:

"A wave of shame hit Julia. She had been moved into a different part of humanity. She was now behind a high wall, in the shadow. Other people, other parents walked on the other side in the sunlight, talking and laughing."

I remember that feeling exactly. I had a disease, I had brought a sickness on my family. Heroin. It set me apart, like a leper.

The book is excellent, the words capturing all the stages of grief, guilt, fear, anger, and acceptance. I highly recommend this book, if you think your heart can take it.


For new readers, here is a list of my favorite nonfiction books on substance abuse.

One Way Ticket by Rita Lowenthal
The Lost Years by Kristina Wandzilak and Constance Curry
Addict in the Family by Beverly Conyers
Drinking: A Love Story by Caroline Knapp

Gulf Breezes

I'm longing to move to Corpus Christi, Texas.

The name means Body of Christ (named by the Spanish in honor of the Eucharist). I just love the breezes of the west Texas side of the Gulf.

Actually, I want to move to Padre Island, which is just a bridge away from Corpus Christi proper. Don't confuse this Padre Island with the spring break Padre Island. They are not the same. This Padre Island has affordable water living, and the Padre Island National Seashore.

The National Seashore is the longest stretch of undeveloped barrier island in the world, and hosts a large population of nesting Kemp's ridley sea turtles. The park is perfect for all the activities I enjoy, like running, hiking, and being in nature.
The fishing is great along the beaches of Corpus and in nearby Port Aransas. The living is slow paced; the people friendly, but not cloying.

Being closer to my mother (who lives in East Texas) is something that has started weighing on me. When I talk to her on the phone I'm starting to detect a fear of driving, fear of being alone, fear of falling...it is subtle, but the changes are coming. I'm her only child, and I intend to care for her when the time comes.

Two years ago, while on vacation, we fell in love with this city. We put an offer on a house (yes, after three days there!), although we were torn about moving. On the plane home, my husband and I decided if the offer was not accepted we would take it as sign, and stay put. As we landed, the Realtor called and said the sellers had declined our offer. Today I looked the house up on the Internet; it's for sale again, for $8,000 less than we offered.

Guest Poster Lori

Lori blogs at Clarity in Muddy Waters. She had a heroin habit for well over a decade, now 3 years sober. She just lost her husband, also an addict in recovery, to cancer. This is her story.

"My dad was a wonderful man.

I was clean in '03 for a period, and he was so proud. He would bring his wife into the restaurant where I waitressed, and eat dinner, shake hands with the owner. He was proud of me being a good wife, mother and human being.

Well the demon came calling again. I borrowed $300 from my dad, was supposed to give it back to him the next day. I was so high the next day when he pulled up. When he saw me he screamed, pounded his fist on the steering wheel, and began sobbing and crying. Finally, he drove away. I would never get to speak to him again.

I was arrested on a warrant in '05. I was talking to my husband on the jail phone when he told me my dad wasn't going to make it.

I was in City Jail, waiting for the state to come get me. The smell, rats, and filth at Baltimore City Jail are indescribable. I was in a dorm with the other cesspool collected from our great city. I watched an old woman sitting on the steel sink urinating and vomiting at the same time, the poison coming out of her system.

I grabbed a pencil and paper. I wrote and wrote, four pages to the man who raised me. I wanted him to know what he meant to me. I knew I wasn't going to see him again. My tears fell over the paper. I knew he wanted the absolution that all parents of kids need who suffer from addiction. I wrote about the great vacations, all the shoes he had bought my kids. He wanted me to be a doctor or lawyer and he got me enrolled in college at 16. He had such high hopes for me.

My dad got my letter, and my husband was at the hospital holding his hand when they unplugged him. I got out of prison the day after he died.

I like to think my dad knew how much I loved him. He did his best. I was adopted at 4 months, he said I was special because I was handpicked. I never felt unloved. Middle class upbringing all the way, I got everything I needed. My father was there for every parent's day at school.

If you are a parent it's not your fault. I was not abused. I made choices. I used heroin for the first time at 22. I was an adult; I had kids, a job, a car. It was my choice. One day I woke up sick. It was no longer a choice; I was an addict.

The first three years I was able to hide my addiction from my family. One day I took my dad to Dunkin Donuts for coffee. I was 25 and had just gotten on my first methadone program. Over coffee I proceeded to tell him I was in treatment. He looked at me and said, "Isn't methadone for those heroin addicts?" We locked eyes, and the truth washed over him like rain.

As he looked into his coffee, tears rolling down his face, I watched a very proud man lose something. A part of his heart broke loose, never to find it's way back to wholeness .

But he never lost hope. He was always there for me. Still is. I'm just now learning and understanding all the life lessons he gave me ."