A Mother Knows

by Wayne Scheer

I knew something was wrong, terribly, horribly wrong, the moment I saw Jonathon's name on my telephone screen.  Call it a mother's intuition.  Call it an appreciation of history. 

In the past, these calls would come late at night.  He wrecked his car.  He was mugged and had no way to get home.  He needed to be bailed out of jail.  He loved us, he cried.  We loved him too, and paid his debts.

We knew he had a problem with alcohol.  Throughout his teen years, we spent a fortune on private schools and therapists.  Even two weeks in rehab.  

He smoked pot--what teenager didn't?  We even told him stories of our own pot-smoking exploits when we were young.  But the point of our stories was that we were smart enough not to get caught and smart enough to stay away from stronger stuff. 

He told us he had tried cocaine, but didn't like the heart-thumping way it made him feel.  We exhaled, convinced that he was taking control of his life.

He was a lifetime more experienced than his high school classmates when he graduated, with honors, and scored near perfect on his SATs.  Always a bright child, we convinced ourselves he was bored and needed a challenge.  We saw his high school graduation as him turning his life around.  When he and his father hugged after the graduation ceremony, they cried the tears of men.

He entered Georgia Tech with an interest in industrial engineering.  He thanked us.  We felt genuine pride.  And relief.  Our boy had survived adolescence; he would live to be a man.

But a semester later, he dropped out of school and took off with his girlfriend to California.  We didn't hear from him for over six months.  He came home with tiny red eyes and needle marks up his arm.  He stayed long enough to steal my mother's diamond broach and our laptop.  He called two weeks later, apologizing, begging forgiveness and asking for more money.  His Dad and I said no.

I exploded in a way I had never done before.  I told him I hated him, I hated what he was doing to us and what he was doing to himself.  I refused to help him destroy himself.

So when I saw his name on the telephone screen, my stomach tightened and my hands shook.

“Mom.”  He was crying now.  “There's so much blood.  So much blood.”