Looking out my Backdoor: Bridges

What a precious two weeks in Poulsbo, Washington, while I stayed with my son, Ben.

Ben and I had always been close; we’d weathered some tough early years together. Ben, at 35, a responsible family man with the best computer job in the world, working for a toy company where he went to work to play games, hit some extremely painful emotional times. He chose to opt out of the pain. At that time, Ben pushed me out of his life and, in retrospect, I’m glad he did so.

It took a while for our family to piece through his lies and figure out what he was doing. Addiction is a terrible thing. His addiction stripped my son of his job, his wife, his daughter, his home, his health, possessions and self-respect.

I am proud to say that two-and-a-half years ago, Ben hit bottom, changed direction and chose a different road on which to walk. Jail wasn’t his “hitting bottom” but he was in jail when he chose to climb the long, hard road to sobriety. This took courage I cannot even imagine.

Kitsap County had instituted a new program for drug treatment for people while incarcerated. Ben qualified for the rigorous program, with hours of daily counseling sessions, group therapy, meetings and service work. My son finished out his jail time in the program, months-long intensive work.

His first six months out of jail, he continued the program in a group home. During this time, he was offered a job but his counselor said, “No, I don’t want you to work a job; I want you to work on yourself.”

And hard work that has been. Trust is not an easy thing to rebuild once it is shattered. Slowly, Ben has evolved a working relationship with Shea, his former wife. He has earned ever-increasing time to spend with his daughter, Lexi.

Ben has built a new spirituality upon which to base his life. He has found a solid support base of friends he can turn to for help. He has reconnected with family.

Ben works a manual-labor job, repairing and renovating houses for a man who may be the best boss in Kitsap County. He has learned every phase of remodeling while building physical strength and endurance. Because of his degenerated health, Ben arrives home from work exhausted, yet he is determined to push through, to meet his obligations and support himself and family.

His back-trail is littered with the debris of his past, including bills, taxes, and medical expenses. It’s not easy. He tackles them one-by-one as he is able. The trail ahead will be cluttered with serious medical issues for a long time.

When I look into my son’s eyes, I see love and determination and self-respect and pain. I see gratitude. He said he experiences glimmers of what it might be to be happy again. He forges ahead. None of this is easy for him. It is a long, tough road upon which he has embarked.

I am grateful for Kitsap County’s innovative approach to treatment that helped him get started on his road to recovery. He’s definitely one of a lucky chosen few.

I am grateful my son changed directions, chose the harder road. During this time, Ben began communicating with me once again. My recent trip to Washington was the first time we’d been together in four years.

Every moment of time spent with Ben, my granddaughter Lexi, my forever-daughter, Shea, was a sweet gift. I treasure time spent with Kristen, especially our afternoon mucking about, transplanting, gardening.

A poetry reading at the Poulsbohemian, a visit with Havre’s Dick Looby in a Care Center in Bremerton, dinner and many talks with my forever-friend Gary as well as gallons of good Seattle coffee I savored with other friends from my past years in Poulsbo, especially Al, Steve, Kathy and Cass; all are experiences which will be treasured memories. I’d rather forget the blackberry attack, but life isn’t all sugar.

My son is back, only better. Only someone who has been through similar trauma can understand what I mean by “better.” Ben says it helps to have Kristen in his life, a woman who has had similar past experiences and trials. And Deckard. “Despite his crazy hair shedding,” Ben told me, “sometimes a doggy hug is what keeps you going at the end of a long day.”

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. Email [email protected].