THANKSGIVING, CHRISTMAS, EASTER, birthdays, Mother’s Day, and Father’s Day were once occasions we looked forward to with joyful anticipation. They were days spent gathered with family and friends, celebrating our lives together, reminiscing about the past, and dreaming about the future.
But for families affected by substance abuse, those holidays often become something entirely different. Instead of excitement, we simply wish the day would hurry and pass. We count the hours until we can just get through it and move on.
When addiction enters a family, there is an EMPTY CHAIR in the room.
You feel it most deeply on the days that once brought celebration. Whether we have lost someone to death or to addiction, their absence fills the room even when no one speaks of it. Like the proverbial “elephant in the room,” everyone feels the loss, yet few know how to talk about it.
Friends and family want to help, but they are often afraid that mentioning the obvious pain will somehow make it worse. So instead, we pretend we are fine. We smile through the gathering, try to enjoy the celebration, and silently pray for the day to be over.
It took me many years of recovery to let go of expectations about what holidays were supposed to look like. I missed my son terribly, but after years of broken promises and disappointment, I slowly stopped clinging to what I wished our family could be and began accepting what was.
That did not mean I stopped loving him or stopped hoping.
I still prayed constantly and held tightly to the belief that someday our family might heal. But I also realized that if I stayed emotionally trapped in the desperate waiting for my son to return, I would miss the life still happening around me.
Yes, his chair was empty, but the room was still filled with people who loved me and needed me to be emotionally present in their lives.
As I began accepting this truth, I slowly found happiness again.
This past Mother’s Day, I chose not to place expectations on how the day would unfold. Instead, the day before, I joined a group of women in recovery to celebrate our lives as mothers.
Together, we reflected on the journey of motherhood — beginning the moment our babies were first placed in our arms and we felt that fierce, overwhelming love that instantly changed us forever.
We remembered pacing the floors at night with sick children, desperately trying to comfort them. We talked about the ache of sending them off to kindergarten and later watching them struggle through adolescence in a world filled with challenges.
None of us imagined motherhood would lead us here.
Sitting in that room with thirty other mothers whose lives had been affected by addiction moved me deeply. I saw incredible strength in those women. I saw mothers who continued holding on while watching their precious children disappear into the darkness of addiction.
No matter what happened, they never stopped loving them.
I felt immense gratitude for those women who stood beside me during the years when I believed I no longer had the strength to face another day.
This certainly was not the life I once imagined for our family, but it is the life we were given.
And somehow, within that reality, we learned to keep living.
This Mother’s Day was different because my son was sober. We spent the day together as a family, the way I had dreamed about during so many painful years.
It was a beautiful gift, and I felt overwhelming gratitude as I watched our family begin healing.
But what surprised me most was that I no longer needed the day to unfold perfectly in order to be happy.
Recovery taught me that I am responsible for my own peace and happiness. Letting go of expectations freed me from the prison of constant disappointment and taught me to notice the small miracles hidden inside ordinary moments.
Today is Father’s Day.
We did not make elaborate plans. Our daughter lives eight hours away, and our son — though sober — has a busy life of his own.
But as I write this, my adult son is asleep in the next room.
That is enough for me.
He chose to set aside his busy schedule to spend the weekend with his dad, and I know my husband feels the same gratitude I do.
There is no greater gift than seeing our son sober.
Last night the three of us took a train ride into town for dinner. On the ride home, my son showed us funny things on his phone, and we laughed together — really laughed — in a way we had not for a very long time.
It was one of those moments I wanted to freeze forever.
Addiction took our family to some very dark places. I do not know what the future holds or whether we will ever face those dark days again. But I do know this:
If I spend today fearing the loss of these moments, I will miss the miracle of living them.
So today, I am simply grateful.
Grateful that my son is sleeping peacefully in the next room.
Grateful that when he wakes up, he will join his father and me to celebrate Father’s Day.
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