I am captivated by Anne Lamott’s book, Imperfect Birds. Certainly, Anne was channeling me as she wrote this novel about a daughter’s secretive addiction.
Her book, although fiction, is uncannily familiar as she describes the seeming innocence of her daughter and friends, who were blatantly using drugs right in front of oblivious parents like me. Instead of “lame,” I prefer to look back at myself as trusting, hopeful, and a firm believer in the innocence and purity of childhood. Drug addiction did not fit into that idyllic picture.
Anne Lamott and I are now kindred spirits, bonded by the experience of addicted children, real or fictional. I am buoyed by this sisterhood of understanding and compassion. It’s the same sisterhood that blossomed at a parents’ Al-Anon meeting where I discovered that many of us were struggling through the dark and uncertain woods. After weeping uncontrollably in a room filled with total strangers, I was brought into the fold. We shared the common threads of grief and despair and even hope, although I couldn’t see that at the time. But I knew I was no longer alone, and that made all the difference.
I’m not far into the book, so I don’t know how the story ends. Guess what? We never know how the story ends until we get there. Until then, we need to forge ahead through the uncertainty, reach out to others who are stumbling alongside us, and head towards the light of day—one step at a time.