Food

22 January 2013

Vaughn my dearest. My darling. How I love you still. How I long for you to come back. Come home. How I hate to see you suffering. My darling. If only there were something I could do. Something to help you.

And yet I could have brought you food today and I didn’t. You said you understood. I don’t understand. How can a mother not bring food to her hungry son? It breaks my heart.

And maybe it was the right thing, but I could have seen you, hugged you. I could have talked with you–told you you should turn yourself in. But I did tell you that on the phone.

I thought–it’s hard for me to see you. But it’s hard not to see you.

Please be safe my darling. I send you whatever love or strength or protection I have. I pray your higher self looks out for you.

Here I am again. In that place again. Feeling my pain and my love–yes. But also second-guessing myself. Wondering if what I did or didn’t do will make a difference–or could have made a difference. I can choose to do it differently next time–see him, give him some food. But I’m kidding myself if I think my actions at this point have much effect one way or the other.

Vaughn knows I love him. He knows I’ve stood by him. He knows I’ll be there if he makes any effort to get off drugs. He knows why I’m not helping him with money or food.

But still–I would have liked to hug him. I hope I will have another opportunity. But I don’t know what’s going to happen. I have no control over the future and no control over Vaughn.