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<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"\u201cI get it. It\u2019s just small talk. It shouldn\u2019t matter, and it certainly shouldn\u2019t have me up at 3 a.m. sobbing. But I cannot help it. The reality is that small talk can truly unveil all of the demons we hide away in a larger way on a day-to-day basis. In other words, the talk may be small, but the feelings are surely not.<\/p>\n
Last week, as I was getting my nails painted an autumn-friendly rusty orange in anticipation for the Thanksgiving holiday, I ran into an old friend Shelly. I hadn\u2019t seen her in maybe 18 years. The last I remember her, she was pregnant with her third and ready to pop em\u2019 out of the oven. Her eyes bulged out of her head at the sight of me.<\/p>\n
\u2018Kerry, is that YOUUU?!\u2019 I\u2019m a pretty timid person to begin with. I flashed what I hoped was a warm smile as she gestured to sit next to me for some chit chat. I obliged. Right off the bat, she asked me what I was doing in life, if I was still married to my husband Bill, and if I was happy in our marriage.<\/p>\n
(I found to be a little on the invasive side of things. Luckily, we aren\u2019t having marital problems or are divorced, but we very well could have been. And who wants to bring that up in the middle of getting their nails clipped, filed, and marinated in a public space?)<\/p>\n
I told her I was working in real estate. Yes, we are married. Yes, we\u2019re happy. I left it at that, hoping she wouldn\u2019t prod any more. She did. She kept asking me uncomfortable questions despite my visible discomfort. \u2018So, how\u2019s the sex life?\u2019 \u2018You still drinking too much?\u2019 \u2018You\u2019ve gained a little weight. It looks good on you though!\u2019 The conversation only got worse from there.<\/p>\n
She proceeded to ask about my kid. \u2018What are your kids doing nowadays?\u2019 Before I could even answer, she went on to brag about how one of her son\u2019s was an attorney, another was studying at Yale, and the third was on the high school honor roll for the second year in a row. \u2018Isn\u2019t that just WONDERFUL?\u2019 she added. Suddenly, I got the sense she was trying to one-up me.<\/p>\n
I congratulated her for her children\u2019s successes. Truly, I was happy for her. But her next question dug like a knife. \u2018So, how\u2019s your son doing? Is he finally that TV star he wanted to be?\u2019 Her question stopped me dead in my tracks. I completely froze up. Half my brain wanted to lie, the other half wanted to say, \u2018Shame on you.\u2019<\/p>\n
You see, my son has been missing for nearly 2 years. His opioid addiction began just a few months before that. I hadn\u2019t even remembered the last time he mentioned an acting career. The last thing I ever heard him say he wanted in life was \u2018not to die.\u2019 That was the night before we planned to get him set up in rehab. He disappeared overnight out of fear. We didn\u2019t see him again for 2 months.<\/p>\n
When I saw him again, he was shaking on the floor under a park bench. He didn\u2019t even look at me twice when I passed him by. Was I a stranger to my little boy now? Could he not recognize me through the high? But I could see him. My sweet boy with those beautiful, piercing eyes. The same ones that uses to swell with tears when I left him for work in the morning. The same ones that lit up with joy the second I came home. Now, they were dull. I could see pain through them. This was not my boy.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll never forget the shakiness in his voice when he called that one night. I picked up immediately, hoping it was him. A childless mother is always on edge. \u2018Mom, can you please come and get me? I don\u2019t know where I am. Please help me.\u2019 The desperation in his voice nearly killed me. It took 4 hours for the police to find him based on his vague description of a statue. He was a whole state over, left for dead by his so-called \u2018friends\u2019 who gave him a bad fix of heroin. I took him to the hospital, then home with me. He was gone again by sunrise. How could I not hear him slink out the doorway?<\/p>\n
So, here we are, smack in the middle of a nail salon. The question echoes in my head and fades with my mind: \u2018How\u2019s your son doing?\u2019 Half my brain wanted to lie, the other half wanted to say \u2018Shame on you.\u2019 I did neither. I gave the honest truth, and I don\u2019t think she was ready for it.<\/p>\n
\u2018My son is a homeless heroin addict and he\u2019s been missing for 2 years. I don\u2019t know if he is dead or alive.\u2019<\/p>\n
Silence.<\/p>\n
\u2018Now, please. I would like to get my nails done in peace.\u2019<\/p>\n
Silence.<\/p>\n
She swiveled to the left, got up, turned around to face me like she had something to say, closed her mouth, and went to sit back in the waiting area. I left the salon with red, tear-filled eyes and rusty orange nails. I won\u2019t be seeing my son for Thanksgiving, but a mother can only hope. To those reading, please lead life with kindness, awareness, and compassion.<\/p>\n
Until we meet again, my sweet son. I love you to the moon and back.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cI get it. It\u2019s just small talk. It shouldn\u2019t matter, and it certainly shouldn\u2019t have me up at 3 a.m. sobbing. But I cannot help<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3274,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3273","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3273","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3273"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3273\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3275,"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3273\/revisions\/3275"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3274"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3273"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3273"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storieshub.xyz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3273"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}