You’re never going to be the reason I relapse.” He’s said those words before, but today they travel through me. Soaking into my bloodstream. My eyes fall to Ripley, the little guy against my chest. My son. The responsibility I feel for him is immeasurable, and I’ve tried all my life to take that responsibility off my parents. To unburden them. I hope when I grow old and my son grows old, he still turns to me. That he never feels like I won’t or can’t help him, and I feel like I’ve made a mistake somewhere with my own dad.
