He used to carry handfuls of white, oblong pills in his pocket. This scared me because when he sat down they would fall out, leaving the story of where he’d been and what he’d been doing scattered around like crazy, white, mood-altering sprinkles all over the carpet. At least I always knew where he’d been. Whenever we were out with my family, in a doctor’s office, in the living room with a visitor, or even at some random appointment, I would have to pinch him, kick him under the table, address him in a voice dripping with the unsaid “Dude, you better wake the eff up right now or I will tan your hide” to keep him from falling asleep in his soup in the middle of a sentence. He wasn’t allowed to drive. Ever. He fell asleep. At the wheel. Thank God it was in our development, on our street no less, but still. People saw him. They complained to the security guard. Frankly, I don’t blame them. It was horrifying to watch, let alone to be the one who was responsible all the time. Passing out while standing up with the baby in his arms was an occurrence to numerous to count. Thankfully, Baby One only fell on the floor once before I realized I couldn’t leave him alone with the Baby, like, ever. I’ve lived that way for the past two years with him. Constantly monitoring him, being on Red Alert for something, anything, to go wrong. It’s not surprising that the last few weeks without Him were much easier than I had thought they would be.

But now he’s home and he’s a different person altogether. He has kept his word. He has attended a meeting of recovery every day since his arrival. He hasn’t drifted off while telling me something. He hasn’t denied my reality– No, baby, what you’re seeing isn’t real. It’s not there. It’s like this. . . The reality has been no less than fantastic. He hasn’t let me down. I’m impressed, but I’ve always known he’s had it in him. The man I met and fell in love with was this man, not the high, dead one. He works hard. He keeps promises. He is consistent. He is the father to his children.

However, I’m not inside his head. I can’t read his thoughts. Sometimes the internal change we feel takes much longer to see on the outside. And while there is many new and wonderful things to see and feel, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. It will fall, it has to. Is that its shadow I see, falling across the lawn? I’ve realized, over the course of the last few days, that what “they” say is true: the addict’s family gets sick right along with him. Damn those experts for knowing their shit. I guess I need to practice some of that compassionate detachment that “they” are always saying such good things about. Whenever I get a whiff of a behavior that might be something he would have done a few months ago, I feel a rage so overpowering that I need a tranq dart in my neck. Being in this position is just so strange to me. I’ve been on the flip side of this very same coin many a time, but I’ve never been so close to another who has fallen and gotten back up again. I guess I now know how my family has felt for all these years.

I look forward to what may come with my eyes and heart open. The future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades.