therapy

It was the first Christmas after my yearlong cancer treatment, and I learned that my son would be spending the holiday in rehab. My then-husband gathered our children and lied to them, telling them I had sent their brother to rehab. I was too weak to stand up for the truth, to stand up for myself; I was too weary to fight back. Rather, I watched the lie unfold as the pain suffocated me.
The rest of the family would still be going on our planned vacation, but part of me, my heart, my soul, my life would be left in some drug facility as I writhed in agony without any support.

Like any mother whose child ends up in rehab, I mistakenly asked, “What had I possibly done wrong?” How did I have a child on drugs?