I’ll be home for Christmas

Habili-blog 12/21/18
“I’ll be home for Christmas”
by Jared Mayes

Hello, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m your son, your brother, your friend, your boyfriend, your cousin, and your nephew.

You may not recognize me because I haven’t been in any family pictures for years. My invitation for the last few family reunions must have got lost in the mail. Christmas is coming up again, I wonder if Santa just stopped bringing me presents because I never show up to unwrap them anyways. Should I feel forgotten? Disowned? Neglected? Of course not. I have no room to make this about me. I’m the one who was too busy every year. I’m the one who was worried if I could keep it together enough to hide my addiction. I’m the one who chose drugs over my family.

I’ll never fully understand the pain and guilt that comes along with having to explain why one son is AWOL from the family gatherings. When the perfect Aunt walks in with her perfect family and her Betty Crocker brownies asking where her nephew is, and you don’t know whether to lie and say he couldn’t get off work or tell the truth that you honestly have no idea where he’s at. When the little rug rats bring you an old family picture and point to his picture with a puzzled look asking, “Who’s that?” and you have to debate if it’s worth giving the false hope to them that they might one day actually have a present uncle in their lives.

I can’t count the family gatherings that I’ve missed, but I guarantee you my family can.

To be honest with you I don’t even remember off the top of my head the last time I, the missing puzzle piece to my beautiful family, was put in it’s fitting place. The holidays are a time for joy and love, not pain and sorrow. Unfortunately, those who have been plagued with a family member struggling with addiction is often times forced to choose between those two realities. Whether it’s the nearly 300,000 individuals currently incarcerated for drug related offenses, the 72,000 who died of drug overdoses in 2017 alone, or the countless otherwise unaccounted-for drug addicts, there will be a lot of empty chairs at the dinner table this Holiday season. There will be a lot of pictures missing loved ones and unopened presents underneath the tree. There will be a lot of tears shed and unanswered questions left up in the air.

To say it’s unfair to put our loved ones through that predicament would be a gross understatement.

Those empty chairs will more often than not never be filled again. Mine, however dusty it might be, is rightfully still saved. I have not given a present to anyone in too many years to count, but this Christmas I went all out. It’s not the diamonds my mom always wanted. It’s not the classic car that my dad would spend hours upon hours buffing in the garage. The present they are getting this year is worth way more than those things. This year my parents will be getting hope. Peace of mind that their little boy is ok. The seat won’t be filled once again but this Christmas they won’t be focused on the fear that once overpowered the joy of being around loved ones. This year they can enjoy themselves fully and deservingly knowing that I am in a safe place and am putting in the work to one day sit proudly at the dinner table and reclaim my rightful spot.

To all the moms, dads, brothers, sisters, and anyone in between, I want to apologize for our absence this year.

I’m sorry you won’t be able to hug your loved one Christmas morning and watch as they tear into the perfect gift you’ve been waiting in anticipation to give them. I wish more than anything that we could be boarding a plane to go visit our families, or to take that dream ski vacation to the mountains. I don’t remember seeing Rehab on Fromer’s top winter vacation spots, but what I can say is I’m proud. I’m proud that this year I’m not in jail, shacked up in a hotel, on the streets, or worse, dead. I’m proud that myself and all my other fellow residents are together and helping each other move forward towards our goals.

I know it’s hard to be away from the ones you love, but if you look underneath the tree this year, you’ll see that mystery box wrapped in the most beautiful wrapping paper you can imagine. The box will be empty, but your heart will become full because the once M.I.A drug addict is safe and sound. Merry Christmas to everyone who reads this and misses their loved ones. The truth is, we miss you too. I urge you not to feel sad, guilty or for lack of a better term, bad. This holiday season let the feeling of hope fill you and carry you into the new year with the satisfaction of knowing that one day your family will be reunited and stronger than before.