Something about the man’s big, moon face lingers.

Maybe it was the way he stared at me, searching.  He was sure I had the answer.

It was a Saturday afternoon and the first time my husband and I were in this room since pre-Covid.  We were speakers at our local treatment center’s biweekly Family Workshop.

Ten men and women sat in a semi-circle facing us.  As we spoke, they hung on every syllable.  It was hope they came for, and it was hope we wanted to give.  After all, if this couple has a son who abused drugs, and now he is in recovery, maybe mine could be, too?

We cautioned: this isn’t about your child, your spouse or your friend.  This is about you.  This is about the effects of addiction on you.

You can’t cure your loved one.  You didn’t cause the addiction.  And you can’t control it.

Still, they asked: what surprised you the most?  When he came home from rehab, did you get rid of the alcohol?   Do you ever drink in front of him?  What about vacations?

Finally, the question they all want answered, as if the magic in the air around us held the coveted solution: What did it?  What made him stop using?

Jacob was not with us that day.  Sometimes he is. So I try to channel his words, and it always includes “God,” or “Higher Power,” or “spiritual awakening.”

Would you like his phone number? I ask.   He’s always available to talk.

The man with the big moon face carefully writes my son’s cell number on a slip of paper.  He tucks it into his shirt pocket and thanks me.

Will he call Jacob?

I may never know.

But I hope he does.

Therein lies the hope he seeks.

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