Parents, Pills, and Prison

Matt with his brother and two old friends on his release day. 

This post is a prequel.  For those of you who read my previous post about my son, I thought I would give you some context of the entire situation by reposting a portion of something I wrote earlier in the year. This will give you a brief perspective on the entire events of his life, and show you how addiction can destroy everyone it comes in contact with. 

My oldest son is an addict. It began when he was about 15 years old.  It was a textbook case - starting with marijuana and progressing to opioids. He’s also a genius, with an IQ over 150.  And we learned over the years that addiction and high intelligence are a lethal combination.    He walked down the path to hell one step at a time despite our efforts to pull him back. 

What’s worse; he dragged us down the path with him.  He stole, he lied, he played one parent against the other. He caused family wounds that are still there. He made his other two brothers turn against him.  He drained us of a lot of money. He went to no fewer than four rehabs - none of them worked.   Looking back, it’s clear to me that if an addict doesn’t want to be cured, nothing you can do will help him. 

Finally, on January 9, 2010 it all came to a head.  That was when we got a phone call that had a profound effect on my life. As I reflect on it, memories are flooding back so fast that my hands can hardly keep up on the keyboard.  

Iit’s hard to believe I went from the highest high to the lowest low in such a short period of time.  On January 9th, 2010, I boarded a plane in LAX to come home.  The days preceding the flight were as good as anything I had ever experienced.  I got to witness Nick Saban’s first national championship at Alabama in the Rose Bowl.  To make the trip even better, we entertained a customer, so the whole thing was on the company dime!  After the game, we took an extra day to go to the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and then got the VIP treatment at the Tonight Show, hanging out with old pal Jay Leno. What a trifecta this was.

So we flew back to Birmingham, arriving home in the early Saturday afternoon.  I spent the rest of the day unpacking, telling trip stories, and handing out gifts that I bought.  Sleep came easily that night.  

The phone woke us at 11:45. Carol took the  call, but I saw the number – it was UAB Hospital.  I sat up.  A nurse from the Trauma Unit called to tell us that Matt had been shot, and would soon be facing surgery. We were awake now, jolted by those words like an open-handed slap to your face.

My wife asked,” How serious is it?  Will he survive?”

The nurse responded, “I can let you speak to him for just a few minutes.”

We both took a breath.  At least he was conscious. Matt spoke weakly.

“Hey. Uh, someone broke in the house and shot me with an AK-47.  It was close.”  

Then he continued.  “Before you come over here, will you run by the house and lock the door?  If they know I’m gone, they may come back.”

The nurse had the phone again.  “The doctor will give you more information when you get here.” And like that, this conversation was over.

I can’t tell you the feelings we felt.  Stunned, disbelief, concern, anger, and certainly doubt.  With an addict, you always have doubts about their story - especially when something bad happens.   We dressed quickly and made our first stop - a small white clapboard house that was his great-grandmothers when she was alive.   What we saw was upsetting to say the least - 6 police cars with lights flashing, crime scene tape strung around the property, cops everywhere.

I walked up to someone who appeared to be in charge and identified myself.  It turned out to the be the head detective on the case.

Once he knew who we were, he said to both of us, “Your son is in so far over his head.”   There’s a great opening statement for a parent to hear.  At first, I thought they caught Matt stealing airbags out of cars and reselling them.  During one of his lucid moments, he confessed that crime to me.   But no, it turned out to be so much worse.  The detective told me that they found several bottles of unopened Class 2 narcotics in the house, and they believed he had taken them from 2 pharmacies in the area.  We are talking armed robbery.  I was almost physically sick, and we hadn’t even been to the hospital yet.  

The UAB emergency room was about what you would expect on a Saturday night.  It was full of people with all types of maladies and injuries.  It was going to be a long wait for them; however, once we identified ourselves, we were immediately escorted thru the double doors into a small room where a doctor was waiting.  

It was a brief conversation.  He told us that my son had indeed been shot point blank with an assault rifle.  The bullet went thru his arm before puncturing his lung.  Because of the close distance and the velocity of the slug, if it had initially hit anywhere in his thoracic cavity, the shock wave would have torn the sack around his heart, killing him instantly.  Only later did we discover that the gun was aimed at Matt’s head, and he deflected the barrel an instant before it discharged.  

After a few other quick questions, he stood up.  I asked him one final thing.

“My son has no insurance, who’s going to pay for all this?”

He answered, “Mr.  Hobby, that is not my concern.  My concern is saving your son’s life.”

That was the beginning of surgeries, legal issues, lawyers, plea bargains, prison time, release, recovery, and the road for redemption for all of us.   The decade went by fast and slow. 

What a time to have a great church family.  I honestly do not what we would have done without their support.  There was nothing  but loving words, comfort, and prayers.  This was a key factor in our family’s ability to make it through this ordeal. Thank God for all of them. They continue to be a blessing

From the beginning, we decided to be very open with our issues of drugs, addiction, and family.  In doing so, we have learned how widespread these problems are.  While we don’t have all the answers, we know one absolute truth. And I tell it to anyone with friends or relatives who suffer from addiction.  It may be cliche, but it’s true. There are only 3 possible outcomes to a drug addict’s life. He can:  1) Break the addiction, 2) Go to prison, or, 3) Die.  Little did I know that on that night 10 years ago, I would watch my son go thru two of these outcomes - almost three.

The story isn’t over yet.  People ask me how he’s doing and I say, “Ok.”  Not terrible, but not great.  He’s home now.  And believe me,  that is a challenge.  Having a normal 40 year old son live with their parents is bad enough.  Add to that a drug addict who's spent 7 years in Federal prison, and look out!   I’m sure he has PTSD.  Believe me,  It’s no fun.  This is not the way I want to begin my retirement.  

On the plus side, he has been working for over two years at my company’s warehouse.  Overall, he’s doing a pretty good job.  

I had hoped he would have come home with a passion to help other addicts, but I haven’t seen that yet.  That is personally disappointing. I really believe it’s because his time in prison affected him in such a negative way. However, if he hadn’t gone to prison, I’m certain he would be dead now.  So, in that regard,  it’s a double edged sword. That is advice I also impart to parents of addicts: there are worse places for an addict to be than in prison. 

Being a believer, I’m convinced that his life  has been repeatedly spared for a reason, even though I don’t know why. But as I told you in my previous post, I’m not in control of any of this. God is.  And as difficult as that can be sometimes, it gives me hope for the future. 

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#addictionisthegreatdestroyer

#GodisincontrolevenwhenithinkIam