At a meeting recently a father shared this:

“I don’t like feeling like a warden around my son.”

The word startled me.

His son, now in his thirties, has a history of addiction and recovery and was living on his own for years.  But a serious injury forced his move back into his parents’ home and their care.   Surgery and rehabilitation would take several months.

“I just want to be a father again, “the dad said.

The word encapsulates so many experiences with my own son.  It dredges up images from years ago when Jacob was living at home, working part time, and attending community college.

I policed his every move.

Vivid memories more than 15 years ago flare up – of how I swapped “Mother” for “Cop.”

Like the time he told me he wanted to borrow my car to meet a high school friend.

Shortly after he left, I jumped into our other car and drove past the parking lot where he said they would meet. The car wasn’t there.

Later, when I questioned him, he mumbled plans had changed.

Then there were the times he drove my car to his job as a barista at a coffee shop in a nearby strip mall.  But it was often not there during his working hours.

By then my suspicions about his growing addiction had me patrolling his locations….by car, or phone.  And too often he was never where he’d said he would be.

Searching his room also became a thing I had to do – a scary activity I both feared and hated.

Being the cop, looking back on that time, screams how addiction can make a mom or dad into someone they never dreamed they would be.

But today, thanks to recovery for both Jacob and me, I am a mother again.

And a warden no more.