Spilled Granola

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.

Punishment Surely Works

I knew the minute I saw the “Inmate has been discharged” on the prison message system that we were in deep do-do. Or More do-do…..

As I posted in this blog, I knew that 47 days in jail with 21 of them in solitary confinement, hadn’t brought my son to a place of clarity about treatment or a forward motion on fixing his life. I also realized that getting out on a Saturday afternoon without a home or car or even a job; was not going to be in his best interest. But to a jail with 100’s of inmates, one less to deal with, probably sounded good to them.

I mean I can understand the courts not knowing what to do with him but after 2 years of delays due to covid; to let him out thinking he was somehow cured and suddenly responsibly, is ridiculous.

What I didn’t anticipate, is that he would spend almost a month in Vegas with ‘professional gamblers” yet scavenging around for a room and food too.

So, now, after a few weeks of my horrible dreams of mafia leaving him in the desert, with a surprising(?) new addiction of gambling; here I am- no solution in sight and only envisioning more problems for him.

Meanwhile, I do still agree with Gabor Mate, that the “correctional” system doesn’t correct anything:

This is a great interview by ‘The Clearing Maia Szalavitz” that I may have shared before. The transcript is pretty long, so if you don’t have time to read it here are my favorite takeaways:

"We've been using punishment to try to treat a condition that is defined by its resistance to punishment."

"Treatment that is punitive, shaming, and humiliating is not good for addiction … All those tactics are aimed at making you hit bottom and experiencing consequences and all this stuff like this, because clearly the problem is that you just haven't suffered enough yet.

If you're willing to persist despite negative consequences to get your drugs and you lose your house and your car and your friends and everything else like that, why is another punishment going to help?
It is not."

https://www.theclearingnw.com/blog/tough-love-and-addiction-interview-with-maia-szalavitz

I know my son is suffering. I also know what his coping skills for ANY EMOTION are. Yesterday when I tried to talk to him about his friend being buried, he deflected to: “The good news is, ****( the ICU guy) was given 3 days to live, and he’s s driving around in a truck today”.

“Yes, yes son that’s amazing”.

I’m tired.

Carry Yourself Darling

No, no one said that to me. What they really said was:

“What exactly is your deal?

You look like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders…..

I mean it can’t be THAT bad……

Just tell whoever’s bothering you to go away…..

Have you gained weight?
You look….different…..

Your hair….. it’s so thin….”

And what I’d like to say back is:

“Do you know what’s it’s like to wake up and not dare look at your phone for a missed call?

“THE CALL?”

Do you know what’s it’s like to fix coffee & breakfast when you know your son has lost over 100 lbs and probably hasn’t eaten since a week ago when you sent him a hamburger while he was stranded in Vegas because his “friends” got arrested?

Do you know what’s it like to struggle with the simple choice of getting your son a $54 hotel room until morning when the bus leaves to take him home?

Do you know the reason you struggle with it is due to the risk of having the hotel call you and say there are loud people in the room and now a dog and now it’s a $450 cleaning fee added to your credit card.?

Do you know what’s it’s like to have your son say security keeps escorting him out because he stinks & isn’t gambling and only has one shoe on?

Then have him say that he can’t stay outside for longer than 10 minutes or his fingers go numb?

Do you know what’s it’s like to finally convince him to  Uber to the homeless shelter only to have him send a picture saying it was closed & he was running from some guys who jumped him?

30 long minutes of imagining my boy being beat & stabbed in the darkness of Vegas’s back street while trying to get the Uber driver to go back?

Then ubering him to the shuttle to which he didn’t make the 6 am run.

Then, Suddenly he texts his ex-wife that he loves her and isn’t going to make it because he can’t move, his lips are blue and has no where to go and no shoes to get there. 

Do you know the feeling of your son being in a large city somewhere between the Uber dropoff and a slow cold death?

21 phone calls made to resources throughout the night, hundreds of texts begging for help, 3 Uber rides, a missing person report after 30 minutes of trying to call 911 into a different state…..

And a quick suitcase pack to drive the 6 hours to possibly identify my firstborn son’s body.😭

4 hrs later an airport security policeman calls and said: “He can’t sleep here, he needs to get on the shuttle or leave…..”

Relief.
Anger.
Sorrow.
Sadness.

Naranon go-ers would cringe.

“Go to bed they say.
Give it to God. ” They say with pierced lips…..

But they’re not me.
And my son is not theirs.

So I look at the rising sun, and I drag myself to the shower to actually start my day…….

So you see dear co- worker…..
I may not look like I came from a spa, but I surely just climbed out of hell and I’m damn lucky to have shoes on………