Don’t lie to me

Don’t lie to me

Mom: “Don’t lie to me.”
Son: “Then don’t ask.”

This conversation never happened.
But it could have.

How many times did I want to grill my son during his last year of high school?
Why did you drop off the track team?
Did you know you’re failing English, History?
Where were you last night?

Questions mounted as Jacob’s drug use deepened.
Calculated to uncover the truth, they festered.
Was he still using? How much? Where? And with whom?

I imagined the litany:
Did you really meet up with (name the friend) last night?
How was the AA meeting?
What time did you leave work?
When do you next work?
Have you gotten paid?
Are you saving any money?
No? Why not?

Looking back at these troubled days, somehow I knew these questions would lead down an even darker and more dangerous path than the drugs themselves.

His answers would not help me – and certainly not him.
They would only force my son to lie to me.
And I didn’t want to put him a place where he would.

Instead, I tried to hold tight to that bond, that thin but indissoluble thread that tethers a mother and child forever.

So I didn’t ask.

Even today – years in recovery for both of us – the only question I really need to ask is, Do I need to know?