One More Day...

Well, actually, it's four more days...
Four more days until my son, who's been incarcerated for the last 10 months, comes home.

He comes home, to start anew.
He comes home, to nightmares of what happened at home before he was sent away.
He comes home, to battle his addiction.
He comes home, to fight an uphill battle.
He comes home, to leave the past in the past.
He comes home, to face the stigma of incarceration, addiction and whatever else goes with it.
He comes home, to work hard to get the life he deserves.
He comes home, to a family that loves him.
He comes home, to me.


And so, my maternal instinct to worry about him will return.  I will try to keep it at bay.  I know I have no control over his decisions, his life, his actions.  I will try to let go and let God.  I will try to be supportive, yet not enabling.

Allowing him to come back to our home places a heavy burden on my husband and me.  Our home has to be a certain way, rules and regulations... and yes, we have agreed to these inconveniences 
in the hope that he has a fresh start, 
in the hope he can overcome the negativity that he will face
in the hope that he can overcome his addiction
in the hope that he never uses heroin again
in the hope that our support will see him onto a happy, successful life
in the hope for the best possible outcome for him.
You see, we still have hope.

And so, my dear reader, four more days, until my son comes home...

I could use your prayers.

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