He had his own way of molding me. Dad always gave me tough tasks at the shop. He wanted me to learn what it meant to work a tough, grueling summer day with no air conditioning, getting grease under my fingernails and paint on my clothing. I needed to pay my dues, and the easy life could only come much later, after I’d earned it. We worked on cars together, played basketball, and functioned as friends every bit as much as father and son. But he wasn’t the one to play the stern disciplinarian. I always knew his resolve would crumble, and he’d throw open his arms and say, “Let’s just forget the whole thing.”
Good cop, bad cop—a tried-and-true formula.
Mom understood that you couldn’t just throw your arms open for the addict and ignore the issue. Addiction is a war, and it’s not fought with pillows and warm hugs. Serious weaponry is required. So just about now, I figured, Dad would be saying, “C’mon, honey, let’s drive over there and check on him. Let’s make sure he’s all right—maybe take him some food and mend fences. What do you say?”
And she’d be saying, “Nope. It doesn’t work like that. He’s done something terrible, there are consequences, and he has to get himself together. Then he can start mending fences with us.”
Cold, unyielding, and a powerful expression of love that cuts through the blackest darkness. In the end, the tough love of my mother would save my life. I can’t imagine how strong she had to be for that level of personal discipline. Because she loved me as deeply as any mother for her child, but she knew what I needed, and if she hadn’t been there to give it, I wouldn’t be here now.
The morning of the family party, I woke up with a clear grasp of what day it was. What’s more, I knew I was going to go to the party. I hadn’t gone to bed with anything resembling that conviction.
I have no idea what changed overnight. I just sat up in bed and knew. Some powerful impulse broke through just enough of my pride. I was able to tell myself I could go to the party and make an appearance. For Pawpaw’s sake. No big deal. It didn’t have to be a dramatic scene. Prodigal Dad didn’t have to come sprinting down the road to embrace me. Just a drop-in, a hug for my grandfather. I could shower, make myself presentable, and take care of business.
When it was time, I snorted two Oxy-40s, showered in cold water, got myself dressed, and headed for the party. As I walked up to the door, I could feel my heart beating. What did I think I was doing? It was too late to back down now.
I opened the door and there was my family—Mom, Dad, Lori, the others. Heads turned my way as I walked in. I put on a big smile and acted as if it were just another day. It was silent for a minute, then people resumed the laughter and conversation.
Mom walked over to where I was standing. I wasn’t sure I could keep breathing. I could hear my heart pounding.
“Hello, Robby. How are you?”
Then I fell apart inside. It took all my strength to avoid melting down in front of Pawpaw and everyone else, but somehow I kept it all together. Mom could see what was going on inside me, though—she knew me too well.
“I’m not too good, Mom,” I said.
“I know.”
“I need help.”
She nodded, and I saw the sadness in her, the worry-lines around her eyes, and I realized just how deep were my parents’ wounds.
I couldn’t hold in what I was feeling. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I said, “Mom—can I come to your house after the party?”
“Yes, Robby. Of course.”
If I were the Prodigal, my long road wasn’t about miles and distance. It was about finding three words. I need help. It was about coming to the end of myself and facing where I was. Pride is the last tower to fall.
With the help of OxyContin, I kept my composure for the rest of that celebration. I may not have been the life of the party; it was probably more than obvious I was no longer the Robby they knew. I was thin; I was quiet; I was somebody else wearing Robby’s skin.
But I got through it, I followed my parents home, and there I humbled myself as deeply as I knew how. I got down on my knees before my mom and my dad. “Please help me,” I said.
“Of course we will.”
They welcomed me. They forgave me. And they told me they’d do everything in their power to rescue me from the mess I found myself in.
Chapter 10
Coming Clean
Where did it all go?”
My parents stood in the middle of my desolate apartment. They had once set me up in it, and they’d furnished it to make me comfortable. At one time this place had been filled with friends, refreshments, and festive banners congratulating me for my promising new career in the financial sector.
Now the unit was little more than a shell. I’d sold everything I could to keep the drugs coursing through my body.
“I’m sorry, Mom. Dad.”
“You can’t change the past. Just tell us where you took everything.”
I brought my parents to the pawn shops, and piece by piece they bought back the things of mine that were still there—music gear, baseball cards, personal items. But there wasn’t a need for furniture. The plan was to move me home, then figure out some way to get the drugs out of my system.
“You guys just need to
