A recovering alcoholic wrote to me: The illness of alcoholism thrives in the dark and isolating world of silence. Let the light in and the glimmer of hope be seen. We say in AA that ‘we are as sick as our secrets.’ We are lucky to be able to talk freely to our fellow members and this helps us manage to keep the darkness at bay.
My reflection: When my son was in active addiction, I kept the silence for many years, allowing shame, guilt, and fear of judgment isolate me. I finally learned that the only way to fight addiction is to bring it into the open. When I was young, we didn’t talk about abortion or homosexuality or even breast cancer. Today, conversations about these topics bring us closer to understanding.
Today’s Promise to consider: Only by lifting addiction out of the shadows and into the light can we truly confront it. Today, let us learn about the disease, participate in support groups, and talk with professionals, other parents, and those courageous souls in recovery. In our pain, we will bond. In our stories, we will find hope. In our love, we will continue to believe.
My son said to me: I heard an Al-Anon quote that I really liked: I’m not responsible for my first thought, but I am responsible for my first action. To me, this means that the mind will react as it does. I don’t have control over its racing thoughts, but I do have control over my behavior in response to them.
A mom wrote this poem: 
A mother wrote to me: My son walked out of his fourth rehab, and in November of last year my husband kicked him out of our house, again. I couldn’t help but mourn. I lay on my bed and didn’t move for two days. He’s presently in an outpatient methadone program. His addiction has claimed him for five years. Methadone is not the permanent answer for my son, but he is doing better. His drug addiction has had such a big impact on our lives. I want to see him whole and clean and well again. His bruises on his arms are fading. 
A mom wrote to me: I remember my son saying two things to me about relapse:
A mom wrote to me: Two weeks ago, one of my worst nightmares occurred. My son, who had been ‘clean for 3 years,’ overdosed in my house. Luckily, his friend went to check on him, and found him down. I had Narcan in the house and, thankfully, it saved his life. I never heard him come into the house and never heard him drop to the floor. If his friend hadn’t checked on him, my son would be dead! I still cannot get the image of his face, blue and not breathing, out of my head. I thank God that I had Narcan in my home. Now, all of my family members carry it, even my son.
The Washington Post reports that drug overdoses nationally jumped 18% in March, 29% in April, a staggering 42% in May. 
A mother wrote to me: My daughter has been in sober houses, psychiatry hospitals, jails, and detoxes. She’s attempted suicide. Like a merry-go-round, she’s been sober, until she wasn’t. I can’t make her do what she refuses to do. If I could climb into her body, I would. But I can’t. It’s her journey.
Liz Moore wrote: In a moment of clarity, Kacey (my addicted sister) told me that time spent in addiction feels looped. Each morning brings with it the possibility of change, each evening the shame of failure. The only task becomes the seeking of the fix. The days themselves become chartable, according to how much time, in sum, the user spends in comfort or in pain. Confounding all of this are periods of sobriety, which occur voluntarily on some occasions – when, for example, Kacey checks herself into local rehab facilities with dubious success rates – and involuntarily on others: when Kacey finds herself in trouble and then in prison. These periods, too, become part of the pattern: waves of sobriety, followed by relapse, followed by larger waves of active use.
Dr. MacAfee, my son’s beloved addiction therapist, wrote to me: When people meet on the common ground of truth, healing happens. One of the gifts that you and Jeff share with the field of addiction is the rare and open dialogue between afflicted and affected. This has been sincerely earned.
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