The flowers all float together, crossing paths and riding the small ripples they each create. Together.
“I’ve forgiven him, Garrett,” she whispers as tears fall down her cheeks. “I’ve forgiven them,” she corrects herself. “Sadie didn’t intend to cause harm to her son. She just didn’t know any better. And I know that if your father could have made a different choice, he would have. I forgive them,” she says again and wipes her tears away. “It’s time that you did too.”
I reach out and wipe her tears. She leans into my hand as I sweep the curls from her face. I kiss the tip of her nose and rest my forehead against hers.
“I already have—I forgave them the day I realized we’d be together forever.”
The End
Standalone
Winter/Spring - 2016
If you or someone you know is pregnant and has a drug or alcohol problem, please seek help.
For more information about how to help yourself or a loved one, please visit one of these important websites or call the toll-free hotlines.
The Watershed Addiction Treatment Programs
www.thewatershed.com
1-855-771-3970
New Directions for Women
www.newdirectionsforwomen.org
800-939-6636
National Drug Help Hotline
800-662-4357
National Alcohol and Drug Dependence Hopeline
800-622-2255
Information on Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome:
www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/007313.htm
*may contain spoilers
Okay, so I know way too much about Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome (NAS). Way too much. This book came from a place that I was afraid to write about for so long. A time, after we adopted our son, that I wanted to forget. But also a time that I needed to remember for the rest of my life. A time that was painful while experiencing it but is now a distant memory.
Listening to your child cry and scream in pain is a heart-wrenching and gut-ripping feeling. Something my husband and I felt for exactly nine months. Nine long months. Although doctors and textbooks and Google all tell you that NAS can last anywhere from one week to six months after birth, our experience lasted a bit longer than that. Nine months. You hear your child’s painful pleas for help through these cries as they can’t tell you exactly what hurts, but you just know that it’s everything. You rarely sleep, and when you do, you’re holding your child tight, close to your chest so he can feel you and derive some sort of comfort from that. To feel protected. Safe. You’re terrified that your child won’t thrive because eating rips apart his insides. You worry that his condition will only get worse and he’ll be in pain for his entire life. You worry that all of your efforts in helping him heal will take away from your other child, a baby girl, adopted just nine months before. My husband and I know very well what Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome is because we lived through it. We conquered it. We won. Our healthy son is eight years old now and is known for his huge heart and infectious smile. He’s perfect, and looking back, I can say whole-heartedly that I would trade places with him in a second so he would never experience that kind of pain ever again.
I realize that we are so incredibly blessed because some babies aren’t as lucky as our little guy. Some don’t get better. Some live with debilitating illness and developmental delays. It can remain so bad for so many of these children exposed to drugs and alcohol. Our dude is lucky, and for that we are forever grateful. Our hearts are with so many other babies and children out there who struggle with the prolonged effects of NAS.