Day 3

Dear David,

In July, when you first went missing, I told everyone I knew. I needed support. I needed prayers. And I got both. The second time you left the house to live on the streets, I again asked for prayers and support. Now we are on the third round. We have told no one. There is an incredible invisible line one crosses when their child is missing. One day, he is safe at Hazelden, and the next day he is gone. Gone. And we have no idea where you are. Before the call from Hazelden, I was happy. Now I am sad. It is as simple as that. And the thought of bringing our loved ones, and your loved ones, from happy to sad with one pronouncement, “David is missing…again”, seems too cruel a burden. The sun is shining. The weather is warm. It is the weekend. We are, were, happy. So, John and I will let people have their happiness until Monday. At which time they will hear the news, and they will cry, and pray, and offer support, and wonder wonder wonder where our David could be.

Love,

Mom

Day 2

Dear David,

Yesterday I went to a pawn shop. I have never been to a pawn shop, and really have no desire to go in the future. Actually, the store was clean and well lit, and had lots of interesting items. It’s just the thought that all the items for sale here came out of some sadness. I mean, why else take your possessions to a pawn shop unless you are financially strapped? Loss of job, bad divorces, poor decisions…all might lead a person to a pawn shop.

You, of course, led me to the pawn shop. On your latest stretch of living on the streets this summer, you pawned your watch. You told me later that they gave you $20. It was a “G-Shock”, which is what boys your age wear. You had saved many months for that watch, and you were never without it. You know I didn’t much like it at first, but after a while, it became such a part of you and your “look”. So although we learned that you pawned a number of items to support your drug habit (and just to live), the only thing I felt sad about you losing was that watch.

So, there I was at a pawn shop, looking for it. I wanted it back. I was willing to pay to get it back. Sadly, it was not there; some other good looking young man now wears it. I did find another one, not nearly as nice, but a “G-Shock” just the same. I bought this watch for you, but it was really for me. I wanted to see you as your old carefree self, wearing that big black watch. To have a part of your old exterior self back, before everything went terribly wrong.

Today we got a call from you. You told us you were checking yourself out of Hazelden, after 5 weeks of inpatient treatment. You could not be swayed. I tried. We all tried. So, now, once again, you are living on the streets, and we don’t know where you are. And you never got the new watch I bought for you. So I will wear it.

This watch on my wrist was traded in by some other desperate young man, out of what I imagine must have been an incredibly sad situation. And someone else has your beautiful watch, out of your incredibly sad situation. The grief goes around and around.

I will wear this watch until you come home.

Love,

Mom

Day 1

Dear David,

Last night I got a call from you. Actually, it was your chemical-dependency counselor at the Treatment Center, informing me that you were planning on checking yourself out. After seven weeks of inpatient treatment, you had decided you’d had enough.

I’m thinking this counselor believed I would be able to persuade you to stay. I will give the Center credit; they really tried to keep you there—pulled out all the arguments, called in all the big guns like your mother and your counselor and the therapist. You could not be swayed. So, I said good-bye. And a few hours later the Center called to tell me that you were, in fact, gone.

So now, once again, you are living on the streets, and we don’t know where you are. We’ve been through this before, but even so, it is still so painful.

Do keep in touch.

Love,
Mom