I need an author’s note to explain this one. This is not like what I have sent you before and something inside of me is compelling to tell it. Let’s clear up some stuff first. Sheldon gave me permission to share, he is sober and finding his way one day at a time. I hope that our continuing story may help someone who is struggling and wondering how you live through addiction. Hoping that you glean something from this sharing of my thoughts around living with addiction for so many years in my family. I do have hope and pray that you do too!!! Now on to my story: These are thoughts that arise during another Father’s Day that I am praying and wishing for life to be different for all of us.
Dear Happy Asses,
Another Father’s Day — 6/15/25
It’s another Father’s Day, and once again, Sheldon is in a long-term sober living facility.
I’m sitting in church, begging God one more time to either take him or heal him. It’s exhausting. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve been here, how many times I’ve had boundless hope that this would finally be the last time.
I remember one of my first family group sessions at Cumberland — a spotless, expensive rehab. I can still feel what it was like to look around the room at all the hopeful parents, siblings, and spouses. I didn’t know then that this would be the first of many. The hope we left with was the same hope I kept grabbing every time there was another relapse… and there were many. Now, years later, I know many of those families have buried their loved ones. I’m surprised I have not buried mine.
Today, Sheldon is once again diving headfirst into AA and recovery. He seems to be doing well. When we were at Cumberland, he was just 17. The truth is, we had been dealing with what we now know was addiction since he was a precious, innocent child — just 12 years old.
Sheldon now has three children. Two of them, sweet babies at six and four years old — came to me after their mother died of an overdose, and Sheldon was nowhere to be found. There’s a third now, a beautiful little boy, two and a half, who goes back and forth between Sheldon and his mother.
I don’t know if this is the story I’m supposed to tell — honestly, I don’t even want to tell it, but I’m writing notes as the memories surface.
Sitting in Church, Asking About Deliverance
This Father’s Day, Rob is preaching about deliverance from oppression, and I find myself wondering: When does that happen for the addict — and for their family? I know hope exists because I’ve lived with it. I was married to a sober alcoholic who carried the message of recovery to countless people. Even now, people tell me his story saved them. His love and compassion gave hope a place to live. He gave me hope for the future of my kids — kids who were, for as long as I can remember, caught in the grip of addiction.
For the Mama Who’s Wondering
If you’re a mama reading this and asking, Where were you when your son was using drugs and making destructive choices? What kind of mom lets that happen? — don’t worry, I’ve asked myself the same questions more times than I can count. Even though my head knows I’m not responsible for my sons’ addictions, my heart still wrestles with guilt. There have been seasons where I’ve felt paralyzed — like if I can’t mother well, then what can I do? I’ve compared myself to moms whose kids never touched drugs and wondered, Why my family?
The Long Road
Sheldon is now 37. One day, he was performing “Rapping Rudolph” at his middle school Christmas program. The next, I was being called to the office because he had pot in his pocket and was trying to sell it. (As an aside: the very next day I was scheduled for brain surgery, I could barely walk into that office to get my child. Another aside, I was a respected teacher at that very school.)
What I Know Now
What I need you to know and what we’ll talk more about as I keep writing and remembering, is this:
Addiction is a disease with no cure.
But don’t let that scare you.
There is hope. There is a daily reprieve, tied to spiritual growth and surrender. The life that emerges in recovery can be the best life imaginable.
The question, the one I’ve wrestled with for decades, is: How do you live in the meantime?
To be continued……..
Love you all,
Karen Key Smith
