Beautiful Boy: A Heartbreaking Memoir of a Father's Struggle with His Son's Addiction and the Journey to Recovery

by David Sheff

Lying with me, Karen holds my hand and we watch the only television channel that I can tolerate—the only plot that I can follow—a broadcast of an unchanging picture of a mountain. I miss step-up day. I miss Daisy’s birthday.

I twist completely inside out, from feeling extremely unlucky—how did I get here?—to feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

On my walks, I see the ill and maimed, the frightened and feeble, fighting to stay alive.

I look at them and then back at the faces that pass by me in the corridor—a tremulous, shrunken yellow-haired ghost with palsy, grasping a metal walker in his white claws, and a shriveled woman with petrified eyes on a gurney pushed by an aide.

Jasper and Daisy come to see me. Their light fills the room. I reassure them. I’m going to be fine. They scramble into my bed. I can’t respond too much and I worry that it scares them, but I can’t do anything other than tell them I love them. I thought it would be good for them to see me, that I’m all right, but maybe my judgment isn’t the best it has ever been.

Nic calls. Nic calls. Nic. Is fine. Nic has been speaking to Karen every day since I arrived in the hospital. He jokes about the hole in my head. He says tha...

From bed, I see the garden through the room’s glass doors. I am stunned by color, the greens of every leaf, plant stalk, and cypress needle. And soft white. Hydrangeas. Sun yellow. Roses. Lavender. Violets growing from the cracks on the terraced stepping stones. I watch a small bird with purple feathers preen and...

Every day. Nic and I talk on the phone. Karen and I lie in bed together side by side, she reading the Times and me trying to read a sentence in a magazine. Finally I make it through a capsule review in The New Yorker. When I make it through a Talk of the Town piece I feel as if I have earned a Ph.D. Karen and I hold hands. I am swept over by the elusive, pure, and precious feeling that settles here with us in bed.

“Nic called. He’ll be here soon. How do you feel about seeing him?” “I can’t wait.” Nic pops through the front door and is met by barking Brutus, followed by charging Daisy and Jasper. I can hear them from my room. “Hi, Nicky.” “Nic.” “Bop!” “Nickypoo!” “Dais!” “Hey.” “Ouch.” “Nicky.” Barking.

“Boinkers.” “Poopyboy.” Then Karen. “Hey, Mamacita!” “Sputnik.” “KB.” “So good.” “And you.” “To see you.” “How was?” “Quick. Fine.” “Good.” “The drive.” “You too.”