Nearly 26 years ago, my son Danny was born. A beautiful, healthy baby who I wanted the way I wanted oxygen. My husband and I wanted to start a family shortly after we were married. We were both in our late 20s, and in a good position to bring a baby into the world. Rob had a good job. I had a good job. I had just finished my MBA at Wharton, Rob finished his at Lehigh. We had a great little townhouse. We had medical care. We were healthy.
On a rainy night in November, 1988, just after watching Dynasty, my water broke. I was ecstatic. It was a few days after the official due date, and waiting was agony. I simply could not wait to meet this baby, and hold him, and get to know him.
We went to the hospital in the pouring rain and after I was admitted, Rob left, since they told us it would be a while. He came back around 4 a.m. and at 7:23 a.m. Danny entered our lives in the flesh, and I became a mother. The joy I felt, we felt, is indescribable. It was the most magical moment of my life and I was wholly, completely, over the top in love with my baby.
Life was pretty good as time went on. We had a few nannies that lived with us in succession - all sort of a pain in the neck in one way or the other but good with Danny. He thrived. He was smart, and funny, and happy. He hit his developmental marks with flying colors. He was extremely affectionate and verbal. He loved books, and his teddy bear, and his blanket. He developed a fascination with trains and airplanes and knew all of his train and airplane books by heart as a little toddler. I'd start one page and he'd keep going, from memory. He loved ice cream and asked frequently to go to the little ice cream stand near our house in the summer. He called the bank the 'right back' because I used to jump out of the car to use the ATM and said "I'll be right back," We used to rush through dinner so we could run up to the little train station and ride the NJ transit train from our station to the next, where Rob would pick us up by car. Or sit at the 'little airport' in our town, watching the private planes take off and land. It was a magical time.
If I had a day off from work, he and I would spend the day together. He called them 'mommy Danny days.' We did a mommy and me music class together. I sewed him a clown costume. It took weeks and was way too big but he loved it.
We had another baby, my daughter Becky. As with Danny, her entrance into the world was a joy and a gift. She was absorbed into our happy family and we welcomed her with delight. Danny took pride in being a big brother. He wore his 'big brothersaurus' shirt - he liked dinosaurs too.
So, life was good. I had 2 happy, healthy, smart, funny kids. We did so many wonderful things as a family. Weeks at the beach with the cousins. Trips out west to ski. Trips to visit family in Israel, in Europe, so many great experiences.
Danny asked to learn to play the violin. He practiced in earnest and liked it. He played sports and kind of liked it - but not a huge amount. Didn't like baseball, liked lacrosse. This was not going to be a big draw for him.
His teachers liked him, he had lots of friends. He was motivated and so smart - did really well in school. He got his homework done independently with few exceptions. He was a happy, normal, friendly, little kid.
Four years ago, halfway through college, Danny ended up in inpatient rehab for drug addiction. He got back on his feet, went back to school, finished college and got a job. Three weeks ago, he was back in rehab. This time for heroin.
I can't connect the dots. Sure, lots of stuff happened in between idyllic childhood and age 20. Divorce, gay dad, personality development of an adolescent, the world. But still, so many other kids went through that too - and they aren't heroin addicts.
I keep thinking back to this timeline of dot to dot - baby toddler little guy awkward tween cute teen drug addict. It's like falling off a cliff. Why does it matter that I need to connect the dots? I feel like I must have made a terrible mistake not to have seen the missing dots - the ones that connect my beautiful son to this suffering man. Everything says its not my fault. I want to believe that. I can still remember the first time Danny cried and I couldn't comfort him. He was a baby, but I remember how I felt at that moment. He had his own pain that I couldn't ease. Only comfort him as he worked it out.
But what did I miss? I thought I was a great mom. It meant the world to me to be a good mother. I never took it for granted. I really made an effort and it was my top priority. I feel like a joke. I feel guilty. I feel helpless. My heart is broken.
I want to be hopeful and positive. I want to send my signals out into this world that Danny is going to make it. I want to believe it with all my heart. I want him to benefit from the power of my belief in him. I'm trying but I'm also so scarred. I keep seeing him dead. I don't know how to do this.
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