My Drug of Choice

I don't drink coffee. I drink herbal tea only. I don't imbibe alcohol, I don't
smoke pot and, my some miracle, I'm not on any antidepressants either. But it finally occurred to me that I do indeed have a drug of choice. It may not be the most conventional type of drug, but it does definitely induce a chemically-based high.

If you're my husband and you're reading this right now, and you are probably
guessing that it is chocolate chip cookies. I have to be honest, good cookies of any type runs a very close second. Well maybe not second-maybe fourth after my family.

I got in the car this morning to take my son to school. Nothing uniquely
different about this ride to school versus any other day. Blake and I buckled
up. I turned on the Navigation, a requirement of you know who. He can't possibly ride in the car without the map of the GPS being front and center. Flipped on the CD player
to the same CDs, same tracks as always (The Eagles: Long Road Out of Eden, or sometimes Santana or Bob Marley). And now comes my drug fix: I look in the rear view mirror, and I see Blake laughing and smiling and rocking out to the tunes on the CD player.






The truth is that I have a really strong addiction and it's not to any
chemical that I ingest. My drug of choice is a smile from Blake. And I don't
delude myself to thinking that it's not a chemically reaction. I am sure that
endorphins are running wildly through my body at the time creating a feeling of
euphoria that I get when my son is happy, smiling and laughing

So yes I'm hooked on him. I'm hooked on his joy. I'm hooked on his elation at
the little things of life like turning on the radio in the car, and when he
starts rocking out in the backseat I look in my rearview mirror and catch a
glimpse of his life when he's at his best.

Of course there's a flipside to this story. As Blake is bipolar, there's a lot
of days or minutes where his demeanor doesn't exude happiness. And then the
chemicals in my body exerts some other chemical, probably adrenaline, which
isn't as pleasant as endorphine.

Coincidentally, I had lunch with a long time acquaintance of mine. She was telling me that her son is moving out of her house into a group home in a couple of days. She is absolutely panic-stricken. I totally understand. Aside from the concern she has about how her son will manage in a brand new environment, she is overwhelmed about how she is going to handle it. Her son has been her life for so many years. She kisses him goodnight every evening. She has help with him, but manages every aspect of his existence. She has had the same caregivers for years and years. They are her friends as well as her support. She is concerned about what her life will be after he moves out. We both recognize there will be a period of mourning the old life, before embracing the new one can happen.

We talked for several hours. She knows it will be hard. But, she also knows that it has to happen. One day, we will all be needing to allow our son or daughter with autism or other special needs, to move out of our home and into a place that will be their home for when we are no longer able to take care of them. It's hard to fathom for most of us. But it is a part of the process.

But for the next few years, at least. I hope to still be able to get my "fix."