Troubled Teens. An interview series.
Over the next few months we’ll be posting an interview series from some of the boys who have been through the Triumph program as well as some of their parents. The hope is to show what impact getting treatment can have for troubled teens as well as provide some hope and encouragement for the boys and their parents who are looking for help.
I started an interview series on my personal blog interviewing the loved ones of addicts. My hope is to provide a safe place to talk about addiction as well as dispel some of the shame attached to it.
If there is one thing that has been harder than any other as my family has waded through the murky waters of addiction, it is the direct and painful impact it has on my parents. Years and years and years (and years) of anguish. Mental, emotional, and physical. But they have never given up on him. Ever. Which has taken its toll. Though my brother is currently sober, the repercussions continue. Most of my anger and sadness has come through watching my parents suffer.
My parents are brilliant, loving, kind, and generous. They parented each of their kids differently (as all parents do) and they did the very best they could with what they had. The choices my brother made were HIS choices and are in NO WAY a reflection of their parenting. I hope I never have to know what it’s like to be the parent of a child who struggles with addiction. It’s been hard enough being the sister of one.
My hope for the articles on my blog is to open doors for people to feel safe talking about addiction. No shame. Just truth. My hope for the interviews posted here on the Triumph blog is the same. No shame. Just truth. And hope for the future. And hope there is help. And hope that troubled teens CAN get the help they need and can turn their lives around.
Here is the beginning of what my mom had to say:
“One night in mid-June 2011, very late in the evening, there was a quiet knock on our front door. I hesitated, waiting to see if it came again. It did. I checked to make sure my husband was close by, turned on the outside light and opened the door. There stood two very young-looking uniformed female police officers. “There has been an accident,” one of them said. Immediately my mind and body went cold-fear numb. I invited them in. They informed us that our son had been hit by a car as he had been crossing a dimly-lit highway on foot, and had been taken to Intermountain Medical Center, alive but critical. Any questions we asked for clarification were answered with “that’s all the information we have.”
About a half hour later, we arrived at the hospital where one of our daughters had already arrived, and had ascertained that our son was soon to be taken to surgery. Somehow we got to where he was. He was almost unrecognizable. He was bruised and swollen, and there were multiple beepers going off and tubes everywhere. The smell of body odor and alcohol was overpowering. His eyes were open and I thought I saw a flicker of recognition in them as I took his hand. There was a flurry of activity as we arranged for a rapid priesthood blessing. And then he was wheeled away to the OR.”
