Page 52 of Impacted by Love

"There's nowhere else I would be."

Call me naïve,delusional, or out of touch, but I didn't anticipate losing my parents so soon in my life. What's worse than that is that I didn't expect them to check out simultaneously. How the hell did they have a conference call about their plans without consulting me? I've been struggling with searching for someone to blame for how this happened. I've also been through the various stages of grief, and I've found myself resting in the place of anger more times than not.

Anger had me snapping at Onesti for trying to comfort me in the darkest place of my life. Dealing with Mom and Dad being dead feels worse than the times I spent crouching in their closet while their cravings for getting high erased their need to be parents, not to mention the fact that I have to reach the final stage of grief… acceptance. It seems unrealistic to accept that your parents are no longer breathing because their actions placed them in the ring with Satan. Praying for change didn't prepare me for this moment, regardless of the writing on the wall outlining this outcome.

If I keep it one hundred, I have spun the block on bargaining with God to rewind the clock and change the outcome. I would love to relive the years with my mom and dad before my sugar turned to shit, so to speak. When I was seven, my dad lost his job, and one of his buddies from around the way introduced him to a method of coping. I remember waking up to go to the bathroom one night and hearing music in the living room. Seeing Mom and Dad with their noses rolling over a white substance on our coffee table made me piss on myself.

In my naivety, I didn't understand what was happening, but their glossy eyes and zombie-like countenance had a cold shiver flowing through my body. It turns out that my dad had been so enamored with the feeling from his first hit that he came home so Mom could experience it.

"I snorted so much cocaine that I didn't know whether I was coming or going. It didn't help that I had recently given birth. The baby's crying was driving me crazy and fucking up my high. Snorting another line gave me the courage to take the baby to a fire station that was close to the abandoned house I was copping from. I didn't know who his daddy was. My family had long turned their backs on me, so I didn't have any other option but to get rid of him. I have spent the last thirty-plus years running from the warm cinnamon eyes of my baby boy. Every time I think I've overcome my guilt, his sweet face flashes in my mind, and I fall off again," one of the attendees recalls, with tears and mucus mixing and running down her face.

I'm not sure why I'm sitting in the Narcotics Anonymous meeting room in the wake of the tragic end of my parents, yet here I am. The woman's confession pulls at my heartstrings because I can see the struggle on her aging brown face and the remorse in her eyes.

"Thank you for sharing. Would anyone else like to share?" the meeting host asks.

My body heats, and my stomach becomes squeamish from knowing what I've come here to do. With a shaky hand, I signal my desire to go next to the host. Standing on wobbly legs, I take a couple of cleansing breaths before clearing my throat of the lump threatening to prevent me from speaking.

"My name is Asaiah. I know names aren't common in this setting, but I need to be a physical reference for you and one you can associate a name with. I've been attending these meetings for personal gain. You see, I am the child of two parents whose drug addiction has had me in a chokehold for nearly my entire life."

When my throat tightens, I stop talking to regain control of my emotions. My arms are perspiring from the intense stares from the attendees, and my shoulders are sagging from the weight I'm feeling. Closing my eyes, I say a quick prayer for strength and continue with the encouragement from the host.

"It's alright. Take your time, Asaiah," the host speaks encouragingly.

"While I don't have time to give you a complete history of my upbringing, I will tell you that it was less than stellar. I have done and seen things in the name of security for my parents that could bring you to your knees. Today, I'm standing here to share a story with you that I hope will motivate you to kick your habits. As a kid, I thought the most traumatic thing my parents went through was Mom forgetting an ingredient in her meatloaf. Then I turned seven, and the bottom dropped out of my world."

Ignoring the various faces and bodies beginning to shift in the hard chairs in this room, I keep talking, desperate to reach my finish line.

"I went from hot meals and bedtime stories to putting band-aids on my cuts from the splinters I got from hiding in the closet of my parents' bedroom while they took repeated hits from their crack pipe. Without specific details, I'll inform you that it got worse from there, and I became the only person who didn't walk out on them. As an adult, I supplied them with a stable place to lay their heads and removed every financial aspect from their plates. I paid their rent, bought groceries, and paid their utilities to make them comfortable. Somehow, I led myself to believe they would lose the desire to get high if they were out of the projects."

"Aw, honey," an unknown woman mumbles, hanging her head while wiping her face to erase the water slipping from her eyes.

"I know, but I was a son willing to show them that I wanted the best for them without supplying the drugs they so desperately craved. Not long ago, I picked them up from the projects, trying to stop them from getting their fix. Well… they showed me when I got a call informing me they were at the hospital. Again, running to their rescue with hopes of recovery in mind, I dang near broke every traffic law possible trying to reach them. Only this time… their time had run out. I had to watch the medical personnel turn off the lifesaving equipment for both of my parents, seemingly at the same time. When my dad took his last breath, it was like he beckoned for my mom to hurry up because not a minute later, she did the same." Tears rapidly flowing from my eyes make the attendees unrecognizable, and a stabbing in my chest forces me to stop talking.

"Um… okay," the host begins before I lift my index finger so I can get the last thing out that will allow me to take my seat.

"I understand that all of you have your demons and reasons for returning to your vice, but please think about those silently praying for your healing and recovery. My dad was stabbed by another addict after trying to steal a few rocks. My mom, overcome with my dad's impending fate, found herself snorting a line of coke that had been purposely intended to kill her. Now here I am left wondering why they loved their vice more than they loved the two kids they left behind." Wiping my face, I sit and close my eyes again, asking God for strength.

* * *

"You're quite the overachiever, Dr. Baxter."

"Please call me Letitia."

"Bet. You can call me Asaiah, then."

This is my first appointment with Dr. Letitia Baxter, and after leaving the NA meeting, it was right on time. My body and emotions feel like they're on the brink of combusting, so I might as well continue to be raw today. Life has been ebbing and flowing, so I didn't get around to making an appointment until now. After a Google search, I found out that Letitia has a phenomenal track record and excellent reviews from past and current clients. Seeing others singing her praises put me at ease and pushed me to take this step toward obtaining healing from the sting of my upbringing and adulthood up to this point.

"Sure thing. So, tell me a little about yourself. It doesn't have to be anything major unless you want to rip the band-aid off and jump into the meat of sitting with me."

"I don't mind jumping into the cusp of why I'm here, but let's start with an icebreaker?—"

"Oh goodness. I hope it's not too deep in the weeds," Letitia says bashfully.

"No, it's my version of an icebreaker. Let's see, I'm a member of Pursuing His Glory Ministries. My pastor is actually the one who put you on my radar. I also thought you might be the lady keeping him at the altar," I say, smirking.

"Then I'll let you in on something I don't share with most clients, but your statement leads me to do so. Pastor Reece and I are acquainted, but it's by blood. We're cousins," Letitia relays, smiling.

"Oh, you sure y'all ain't West Virginia related, Doc?" I smirk while hiking my left brow.

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