I remember hating weekends. The weekend meant there was no rest from parenting an addict. You were home with crisis and drama slamming you into the wall at every turn. Calls from jail asking for bail money. New dents and damage to vehicles. Incoherent conversations that end up being a catalyst for more self hurt. Unknown noises at 3 in the morning and not getting out of bed to investigate. People showing up at your home at midnight and you have no idea who they are and being smart enough not to confront them. Sirens wailing outside wondering who they are chasing and in your heart hoping it is........
I wanna go back to work so I can focus on something resembling sanity. Just an office where I can close the door, hide and work in peace.
Today weekends are once again a time to relish. Babysitting a grandchild from a son you never thought would be alive. Looking forward to a visit from a son that spent Friday night at a family bonfire and a Saturday night at Haunted Houses. Listening to tales of fun and joy from those events on Sunday morning. Watching a 1 year old grandson run into his daddy's arms. This is what weekends are suppose to be like. That's what is called appreciation.
The past seems so long ago now.