The sun was beating down on my rented black Nissan Ultima as I pulled into the gas station. The temperature was going to reach a balmy 96 degrees in Las Vegas today.
As I stepped out of the car to pump the gas, the heat hit my body like a wave of lava. I
hurriedly took off my button- up shirt to reveal only the tank top I had under it.
Suddenly, little specks of granola pieces were flying all over the clean vinyl seat of my rental car.
I stopped momentarily wondering what the heck! Then I remembered…..Like a chipmunk preparing for winter, I had stuffed that little container of granola into my pocket that morning at the hotel breakfast. Except I wasn’t preparing for winter, I was hoarding food for my unhoused son.
I was in Vegas, again, to “meet him where he’s at,” give him things to reduce harm, and give him a hug, of course.
Every time I meet up with him he scans the seats and my bags for food and yummy treats and always says the same thing, ” I forgot, I haven’t eaten today”.
Years ago, I would have thought, “How do you forget to eat?” But as we head into year 5 of his active chaotic addiction-I know better.
Daily survival to him, means: getting from point A to point B; hustling to find some money, maybe some water and whatever else he needs to stay "well" with his condition.
It’s also a battle trying to keep his truck from being towed as it is unable to be driven more than a few blocks.
Having a car while homeless seems like a great idea for winter, but in summer it becomes just an oven– especially without gas in it to cool it down.
My boy. He is my eldest son and what a man he grew into. He became an entrepreneur and the family hero and rock. He was everyone’s go-to…for a job, a vehicle, tires, or just solving a problem. He was/is gregarious, funny, and smart. He had an opinion and a comment on everything. Riding in a car with him was always a complete adventure and still is. He sees everything. He notices trucks, trailers, semis, cranes, drills and people. He either has a story about them all or an idea of how they can make their life better. It sounds crass but all my kids and I have the same sense of humor when it comes to seeing someone on a funny bike or with a strangely shaped face or hat. But this boy is the King of sarcasm and wonderment. “I wonder what happened in his life to make him choose that {low-rider, bright yellow El Camino}” would send us into fits of laughter.
Just last time I “visited”, I hit a speed bump so hard that he said I flew over the kid on the scooter and then informed me to take him back to the Motel 6 because he’s safer with the gang bangers”. We laughed… hard. I was so grateful he still had his sense of humor but I wanted to cry at the irony and patheticness of the whole situation.
Why was this man who used to run 3 companies and 50 employees living in a Motel 6? And that’s only once every few weeks just to get a shower.
How did Motel 6 become a luxury?
Why did his 55 year old mom have to drive or fly 600 miles just to be able to see or talk to him?
Why can’t he keep a phone charged? Why doesn’t he ever have $30 for data- only using Wi-Fi when available?
Honestly, all these questions only drive families crazy and they inflict more shame onto an already shamed, defeated mind when they are mentioned. "Trying to get them to see how far they've fallen" is cruel in my opinion.
I didn’t always feel that way. I used to actually send him split screen shots of him as a healthy 260 lb tan buff man next to his 195 lb scarred and pale frame.
As if…..
As if that would somehow heal him. Or “make him hit rock bottom and want to change”.
I didn’t get many pictures after that.
The trouble is: whether it’s fat-shaming, sexual- shaming or drug-shaming; you can’t force someone to self-reflect and/or self-correct.
You can’t bully or scare a teen out of having sex or tell someone that their form of stress/pain relief isn’t working for you and expect them to just stop.
Even if it isn’t working for you. Even if it has been the most devastating thing to ever happen to you and everyone else around you.
They know.
They know what their life has become.
They feel disappointed too. They know how far they’ve fallen–especially when they have no place to call home, no real job, and are labeled a criminal or a nuisance to society.
It’s no wonder why they become more criminally minded while constantly looking over their shoulder just to survive. And when your only current source to not be sick is illegal, the risk of overdosing or getting arrested is increased.
Even during my time there– in my nice rental car–I feel the sense of “move along, you can’t park/stop/use the bathroom here”. I feel rushed, herded, treated like a number to be dealt with rather than a person.
This trip, I finally met up with my son. Although I didn’t have granola for him, I did have 3 muffins, a cup full of sausages and and a bag of juicy fruit, salad and candy from Whole Foods.
I did my usual during the visit:
- 1) Mention how he could make a change and have a better life.
- 2) Update him on the fam and what everyone’s doing.
- 3) Ask him how I can help him today.
I usually leave with tears running down my face. Leaving my boy in that city that is hell bent on destroying him, is always traumatic.
It takes me days to recover. But at least I had one more hug, one more shared laugh, one more meal together, and one more chance to hand him a handful of granola.
Next time I will keep it in my purse instead of my pocket.
