Normal conversations include questions, right?

When my son was abusing drugs – now nearly a decade ago – normal conversations were impossible. He was either rarely around or often groggy when he was.

How many times did I want to ask him so many questions?
– Where’d you go last night?
– What time did you get in? (Just to verify what the bedside clock told me.)
– What’s your plan for today?

And later, after he’d had time in outpatient treatment, I ached to ask:
– How was the meeting last night?
– Meet anyone?
– When’s your next meeting?

Much later, after he moved to a recovery house in Florida, questions persisted. He was no longer in my sight every day. I worried over everyday needs a child has.
– How is the food? Are you eating?
– What’s your roommate like?
– Are you biking everywhere? What if it’s raining?

But Jacob wasn’t a child. He was a 21-year-old doing the best he could to become a man.

Still, questions grew. Like little pricks against my skin, I chafed to flick them off.
– How’s the job?
– When do you get paid?
– How many meetings are you going to?
– What’s your sponsor like?

Questions I wanted to hurl at my son, until – thanks to friends in Al-Anon – I realized this was none of my business. It was his. My business was to take care of myself.

Even today – after years in recovery for both of us – I work hard to remember to back off. Give him the dignity he deserves. He’s certainly earned it.

We both have.