Z was born the day I entered detox for the last time.
I remember my mom on facetime with his mom, coaching her through what was happening as I was chugging vodka in the back seat on our way to the DMV to get my car out before I went to my assesment and back into treatment.
Long story short I didnt go to treatment. I went to detox and there decided my life was going to be drastically different and I was going to do it MY WAY.
Z was born to a mother who battled (and still does) extreme mental health issues and addiction. He was the third of 3 boys. My Mom had met his mom at church and took her in as family. Coaching her through life, making sure the boys were taken care of. They became family to me too.
About a week after I left detox I got a message from my mom asking if I could watch Z on Friday night. His Mom needed a break.
I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Friday night.
Friday nights were tough. The usual night I would go out, get beligerant and black out. The FOMO was heavy for a while, but he made it significantly better. That Friday night turned into every weekend, and eventually Z would move in with my fiance and I after we bought our first house.
His Mom couldnt do it anymore, his brothers were able to go with their father, but the cost of childcare was unobtainable for his Dad, and I worked from home so we became his guardians.
Going from 2 young people in love and in recovery to being responsible for an almost one year old was profound.
We absolutely loved giving him the love and space he deserved. Since we’d known him since birth it was an easy transition.
But what I didnt think about, and I wish someone had warned me about, was the inevitable end.
The goal was always get get him back to his father and his brothers. We were never going to be his permanent home. But it felt like we were building one.
Z had been there from my recovery day 1. Being responsible for him gave me pride and purpose. Giving him a loving home, teaching him things, and being the one to work with him through all the shit his family had gone through gave me a great sense of pride and accomplishment.
Then the text from his Dad came " Were ready for Z! He has childcare starting Monday, can we come get him this weekend?"
And I fell to the bathroom floor. This constant presence who brought us SO MUCH JOY and healing, was going home. And I was happy for him!
But it felt like I was losing a limb. He had been with me for almost 2 years.
He deserved to be with family. With his Dad and with his brothers.
Things were hard after Z left. It was quiet. It was boring. We lacked purpose. But we figured it out.
The boys would come stay weekends with us. We always facetimed. It was good.
He was happy and he was thriving.
I dont know if he will ever understand how much his presence changed me. How being his guardian saved me.
When people ask me about my “Pathway of recovery” I dont say “I spent my weekends with an infant who eventually lived with me” But he truly was a defining factor.