Epilogue Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son? Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one? —BOB DYLAN, "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" Ha Jin writes: "Some great men and women are fortified and redeemed through their suffering, and they even seek sadness instead of happiness, just as van Gogh asserted, 'Sorrow is better than joy,' and Balzac declared, 'Suffering is one's teacher.' But these dicta are suitable only for extraordinary souls, for the select few For ordinary people like us, too much suffering can only make us meaner, crazier, pettier, and more wretched." I am no great man, but I do not feel meaner, crazier, pettier, or more wretched There were periods when I did, but now I feel fine, at least much of the time Nic completed three months at Santa Fe, and his counselors recommended that he next go to a program in northern Arizona where he would continue his work in recovery, plus get a job and volunteer He said no He told me: "I know this will worry you, but I have to get on with my life." He tried to reassure me "It will be all right." At first I said, "No, you can't," but then I remembered: It's your life Nic caught a bus east He went to see a friend he met at the program We didn't speak for a while, but then we began talking again Now we check in with each other fairly regularly He met someone new She's an art student They got a place together Nic is working at a café, serving decaf (he says) when a customer asks for it And he's writing again He's back writing his book Now he has more to say about how hard it is to stay sober We talk about our writing We talk about our lives and the news and books we read, music and movies (Little Miss Sunshine!) I calculate that it has been—what, a year since he left LA As far as I know, he's a year sober again After everything, do I trust that he has remained sober? Do I deny what we have been through? Do I ignore how difficult it is and will continue to be? Never But I hope I continue to believe in him In the immediate aftermath of my brain hemorrhage, I complained that I had missed out on what I imagined might be a benefit of surviving a near-death experience—that is, beyond the ultimate perk: still being alive As I said, I have often heard and read survivors describe the epiphanies that came from tragedy Their lives transformed, became simpler, with clearer priorities They had a new appreciation for life But as I also said, I always appreciated life Instead, for me, the brain hemorrhage made life seem scarier I learned that tragedy could hit any of us—or our children—at any moment and without warning I was judging too early Things have shifted since then Just as there are stages of grieving or dying, there must be stages after a trauma, because the lessons of the neuro ICU sank in over time I turned fifty in December At the time, I was speaking to a therapist about the past few years When I told him that the neurologists had all dismissed the idea that my brain hemorrhage was related to the stress in my life, he looked at me indulgently and said, "Well, it sure didn't help." He pointed out that before my head literally exploded, it often felt as if it could explode For years, I had lived with intense and relentless worry about Nic I had rationalized it: no conscientious parent of a drug addict could expect to be happy for long I was grateful for the moments of relief—when Nic seemed better, at least when he was OK In the meantime, I did my best to enjoy my life—Karen, Jasper, Daisy, and the rest of my family and friends, the respites, however exiguous and short-lived The doctor pointed out that I could make a different choice Without invoking AA or Al-Anon, he basically restated the Serenity Prayer I could decide once and for all to accept the things I cannot change, have the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference The key was the second of those Did I have the courage to change the things I could? "I've tried," I said "I have tried for years." "Apparently you haven't tried hard enough." The doctor asked why I was in therapy only once a week I said that I didn't have the time or money for more Of the financial excuse, he responded, "If, during these past few years, someone told you that Nic needed more therapy in order to get well, would you have found a way to pay for it?" I answered honestly: "Yes." "Is his mental health more important than yours?" I got the point As to the question of time for therapy, he asked, "How much time is it worth to end a person's suffering? How much time do you waste suffering now?" Then: "You almost died You are fifty years old How do you want to spend the rest of your life? It's up to you." My brain hemorrhage ultimately has made me appreciate, rather than fear, the profound truth of this cliché: our time here is finite This realization impelled me to listen to the doctor and do whatever I could to get past my obsessive worry about Nic I could not change Nic, only me And so instead of focusing on Nic's recovery, since then I have focused on mine I attended Al-Anon meetings I also had twice-weekly therapy sessions and, for the first time ever, I lay down on the doctor's couch The difference has been profound—like disassembling a multilevel Lego building with hidden rooms and attics, dismantling it brick by brick, examining each one—a meticulous, often frightening process I learned that at some point, focusing on Nic's perpetual crises became safer territory than focusing on myself It was even safer to have a near-fatal brain hemorrhage As anyone in intensive therapy knows, though it's not easy, there can be a deep transformative benefit to the work I have been uncovering layers of guilt and shame that help explain why I was so willing to take on the responsibility for Nic's addiction—for his life, in fact As a result, those other clichés of Al-Anon and recovery no longer feel like clichés I still don't fully accept the initial C Instead, I recognize that I will never know how much I caused or contributed to it Recently in the New York Times Magazine, William C Moyers, the son of the journalist Bill Moyers and a recovering addict, said, "Recovery is about dealing with that hole in the soul." What made the hole? No one knows How innocent we are of our mistakes, but how responsible we are for them I accept that I made terrible mistakes raising Nic I don't absolve myself—even now As you know, Nic, I am so sorry I have accepted the other Cs I cannot control it and I cannot cure it "For all their tears and heartache and desperately good intentions, most families of addicts are defeated in the end," writes Beverly Conyers "Addicts persist in their self-destructive, addictive behavior until something within themselves—something quite apart from anyone else's efforts—changes so radically that the desire for the high is dulled and ultimately deadened by the desire for a better life." It's one thing to read this It's another to evolve toward a true acceptance of it I am confident that I have done everything I could do to help Nic Now it's up to him I accept that I have to let him go and he will or will not figure things out I imagine that Nic, too, may be relieved that I have stopped trying to take on his recovery It sets the stage for a different kind of relationship for us—like the one he envisioned in Santa Fe Rather than co-dependent and enabling, with me trying to control him—even if to save him—our relationship can evolve into one of independence, acceptance, and compassion, with healthy boundaries The love is a given The brain hemorrhage helped me understand the distinction It was something that I knew intellectually, but it has sunk in and I now know it emotionally My children will live with or without me It is a staggering realization for a parent, but one that ultimately frees us to let our children grow up I wish I had gotten here quicker, but I couldn't If only parent ing were easier It never will be If only life were easier It isn't—nor is that my goal any longer Once I desperately wanted things to be simpler, but my worldview was broken over the course of Nic's ... We talk about our lives and the news and books we read, music and movies (Little Miss Sunshine!) I calculate that it has been—what, a year since he left LA As far as I know, he's a year sober again... But as I also said, I always appreciated life Instead, for me, the brain hemorrhage made life seem scarier I learned that tragedy could hit any of us—or our children—at any moment and without warning... learned that at some point, focusing on Nic's perpetual crises became safer territory than focusing on myself It was even safer to have a near-fatal brain hemorrhage As anyone in intensive therapy knows, though it's not easy, there can be a deep transformative benefit to the work