Monday, July 15, 2013

Dear Shane,

You've been in detox for about thirty six hours now. It hasn't been easy on you. You're on Vallium, Haladol, and some other drugs. You stunk and have the runs. You can't dress yourself or put your shoes on. You've seen dragons on the ceiling and men with bandannas. You yell at Mom and Dad. You look like a homeless man. You asked the nurses to tell you what is real."We are real. Your family is real and you're real Shane," they say.

The doctors said you could have died had you stayed lying on the bathroom floor. Your blood pressure was very high and your magnesium out of whack. You could have had a stroke.

Maybe you'll remember all these things or at least some things. I hope you never forget this hell you're in. I hope you stay somber from now on. This isn't you. You haven't been you for such a long, long, time. Do you even remember who you are?

The nurses and doctors say that Mom and Dad are amazing and one in a million. Most people just drop their loved ones off and go. Not our parents. There is always one by your side. How did we get so lucky? Please don't do this again. It breaks my heart.

I love you Shane.


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