The Twelve Steps

[vison]

Yesterday was a bright and breezy day here, warm enough when the air was still and the sun shone right on you, but chilly in the shade. New leaves tossed like flounced skirts, showing their paler underside. The wind caught up the limed lines on the baseball diamond and sent white bitter dust whirling toward the pitcher’s mound. It was a hard game, since the opposing coach got miserable as his boys fell further behind each inning. He started making snarky comments to the umpires, who are only kids themselves, and capped his folly by snarling at one of our coaches. His behavior spoiled the game for me, I am raw and vulnerable beyond the common right now, unable to bear the least discord, the smallest hint of sarcasm or ill humour.

Driving from home to the park we had been on the freeway for a space. There was a lot of traffic, but it moved quickly, no backups, no clogging of the arteries. I felt, driving along, as if I’d got into that future I was promised as a child, where happy prosperous people zoomed about in fine automobiles, off on some cheery family outing: Mother dressed in her new spring outfit and wearing a hat and gloves, holding her purse nicely in her lap. Father in his Sunday suit, his hat tipped back, a hint of rakishness suitable to a not-work day. In the back was Dick with his red-blonde crewcut and a tie like Father’s; pigtailed Jane in a pink dress and black patent shoes. After church they’d had lunch at the new diner, where you could drive in and girls wearing roller skates would bring your food to the car. Everything swell and modern. It was an entrancing few minutes, there, on the wide black road with the bright white lines, the shiny cars, the sense of freedom and well-being. I would have liked to drive on and see if this road would really take us to that land of curving streets and wide lawns, dogs named Spot and cats named Puff, where no one ever seemed to do anything but smile.

Yes, there are times when I think like that.

And there are times when I think like this -- after we got off the freeway and turned 90 degrees: Below us, as we waited for the light to change, was the traffic we had just left. Now the sunlight glittered ominously on the double line of vehicles. The light was so bright it obscured their colour and they all seemed black, like the carapaces of big swift beetles moving purposefully to the West. From the East they came in that endless double line, under us, silent and blind, driven, drawn, over the western hill and then down into the city beyond. I was glad the windows were up tight, what if the busy wind brought the pheromones to us, the irresistible stink of concrete alleys and highrise nests teeming with soft lumpy drones?

I have to do this. I have to keep entering these little alternate universes because right now the one I’m actually in is hard to bear.

About a year ago I began my chemo treatments for breast cancer. I remember all of that very well, it was another one of the “other” places, only it was one I really went to. You know, you make these little bargains with Fate even when you think you know better. (I guess maybe that religion gene is in us all, all right, what other earthly consideration would have me be so foolish?) I think I had made this bargain almost unconsciously, but I expected Fate or the fates to honour it nonetheless and guess what? They haven’t. They aren’t. My old motto of “Shit happens” is still as valid as ever and right now, today, I see no reason to imagine that it’s ever going to be untrue. I went there to Chemo World and the deal was, I thought the deal was, that would be my share. I thought I would have paid and my slate would be wiped clean. No, I didn’t “think” it, but I hoped it against hope, stupidly, down in the pit of my belly, in the corners of my heart.

Things don’t work that way.

Once I said that there are worse things than a cancer in the breast. Now, this is something I would never have known if I hadn’t learned it by experience. Broadening my horizons, as they say. And broadening the shoulders that have to bear the pain. I wish it was possible for me to just shut up about it and stay shut up, but I am beginning to understand that isn’t going to be possible for me. I could just write it all out and then put it aside. Is it the writing? No, obviously there is more to it than that. I have this compulsion to share it with a not-waiting world, to air my dirty laundry, to expose myself shamelessly, to uncover the shame and anger and anger and shame that are nearly burying me, the me myself and I that just wants to get over it all and move on.

(I come to the crux of it in my usual verbose fashion, why tell a straight tale when a long and wandering one will do? Having been immersed in Alice Munro lately, I know what terseness and brevity can accomplish in the way of communicating. But then, she’s Alice Munro and I’m not.)

Our oldest son is a drug addict. Addicted to methamphetamines. It is now about two weeks since I saw him in person and that was one of the worst days of my life. He came into the house when I was alone and began to beg me for money. I mean, he begged, on his knees, weeping and pleading. I shook with anger and disgust, no softer feelings. If I’d had a gun, I might have shot him. There. That’s one ugly truth. He is a big man, tall and rawboned, dressed in filthy clothes, his hair unkempt, his face gouged with the meth-eaten lines that mark him as an addict. He was here with me for about a half hour and I was having a very very bad time of it, when luckily for us both my other son drove in and drove him away. The police came, but then, what could they do? So we began proceedings the next day to get a restraining order, a no-contact order, one that would include a clause whereby he would be arrested should he come here again. Talking to the lawyer, I had to recite the long, sad litany of his past few years. The broken hearts of his children, the hundreds of thousands of dollars burned up in that foulsmelling drug, the intersection of our quiet lives with the nasty lives of petty criminals and thugs.

The lawyer listened and made notes. She was kind and sympathetic. The process was begun. Affadavits written and signed.

The next time he was at our house, I didn’t see him. He broke in and took my husband’s keys and stole our truck.

Once, in another world, I had a little boy who used to put on his dad’s workboots and clomp around the house carrying a lunch kit. He had a dozen big Tonka toys on a dirt pile in the back yard and played for hours out there. He had honey coloured hair and big green eyes in a sweet little boy’s face. He didn’t call me “Mummy” until he started school, up till then he called me by my first name. This bothered some people but it never bothered us. (Did it mean something? When you bring the word Fate into a story, you have to be aware of omens and portents, signs and signals.) From about the time he started school things began to go wrong. Yet, in the true fashion of unhappy tales, the characters go into it by little steps, hardly noticing them, until one day, BOOM, there they are, trapped in the haunted house or on the alien planet, helpless. With monsters lurking. We, watching, see it all. But they are heedless, and we can do nothing to stop it. Looking back I see it all as plain as a movie, but my younger self is as oblivious as anyone in a movie ever was and she never hears my cries of warning.

Of the troubles that there are, surely a troublesome child is the worst. Would we not cut off our hands if it would help our child? Do we not, like the Pelican, tear at our own breasts so we can feed them with our blood? Once I cared about his pain. It seems that now I can’t care about that any more. That child is dead, the little boy I loved, and in his place is this skinny scary stranger.

My dearest friend lost her son in an accident when he was thirteen. I think she was luckier than I am. And I’m ashamed, I am ashamed, that my own misery weighs so heavy on me. What I suffer is nothing to what he must suffer. I am, mostly, well and healthy and strong. He is not.

I read and re-read the story of the Prodigal son in the bible. How many fatted calves would I kill, if my son could come home clean and cured, repentant? Even leave the “repentant” out of it, let him start fresh and new, we could set the past aside and just go on from there. He doesn’t need to make amends to me, I know all I want to know of his sins and crimes, there is nothing I can do with that knowledge except to willingly forget it, if that time ever comes.

But this is another one of the little worlds I go to. A day dream. Tempting. One I can’t really imagine properly, it’s too undefined, too much like a child’s colouring book with its outlined pictures, the infilling beyond me.

An unseasonal thought, of Jacob Marley dragging his chains along on his visit to Scrooge. We can’t escape our pasts, and we certainly can’t rewrite them. No, no matter how often and for how long I sit here typing, what WAS will not change. There are infinite futures opening, they say. Every millisecond offers that infinite choice! Yet before me I see a straight plain road. (I revisit the past, mulling it over, turning it about and about in my hands, looking for the key, the thing that will show me how to fix it all. There are times when I know what a fool I am, but being a fool is easier than stopping, much easier, it seems to come naturally to me.)

In some ways I have a lively and spacious imagination but it is usually useless in my daily life. Over the next few days my husband and I are going to have to tell our little boys about the stolen truck. I am daunted and disheartened by the prospect, remembering their faces when we first had to tell them what was wrong with their dad.

Two years ago I attended some Al-Anon meetings, that group devoted to those of us who have addicts and alcoholics in our lives. It is the expectation or design of Al-Anon that we go through the same 12 steps the alcoholic does, seeking what is offered in the prayer:

"God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change,
courage to change the things we can,
and wisdom to know the difference."


The twelve steps: The 12 Suggested Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol--that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

I know that millions of people have found aid and comfort in the 12 steps, but I also knew almost immediately that I would never get beyond about step 4. Mostly, I thought, I was going to be stuck on step 1, and sure enough that’s been the case.

It isn’t because the 12 steps mention God. It’s something I can’t quite pin down. At the meetings the main business is to read one of the chapters proceeding from a step. There is, of course, a time at the beginning when newcomers are made welcome, and where you get to tell your sad story. I told my tale quite calmly. But I remember sitting there for the whole rest of that meeting, and the rest that I went to, with tears running down my face. Not sobbing, just this flow of tears. I never had anything new to say. I never made any progress. And, so as not to waste my time and the time of the lovely people I met there, I stopped going.

It is now, after two years, that I know why I was crying: here was another hope snuffed at birth.

I've been thinking about trying again. But I am also thinking that I want to stop telling that story and start telling a new one. Where is the new story going to come from?

I ask your pardon for posting this. I don't want sympathy. I don't know what I want that anyone here can give me.

[TheEllipticalDisillusion]

That's rough, vison.

[The Watcher]

Vison -

First, do you want eloquence, or reality?

Your son was not thinking about you or your husband (his parents) when he abandoned his sons, when he sponged and leaked his way through life living off of your guilt and largesse because he was blood related, literally from your womb... and after several stints at having life face him with consequences, he now has screwed up again.

You go on about a 12 step program.

GET OVER IT!!

There is absolutely NOTHING in some huge harmful degree that you did wrong here.

Go forward with the plans that you already put into place, prosecute the heck out of him for the truck theft, and thank whatever lucky stars that exist out there that your other WORTHY son and TWO worthy grandsons are so different from the bad'un.

I am realistic. Sometimes, there is just what used to be called the "bad seed." Agonizing over it is not going to do anything, a mother's guilt can never be assuaged, but, GOSH DARN IT, sometimes I just want to fish slap you.

I think you know why!!

[vison]

I know you're right. And I suspect that the above was just me making sure I knew what I was doing. Does that make sense?

Since the day I saw the lawyer I've felt as though I'm moving forward. I guess there are going to be bumps in the road, but the road is there.

Don't worry. The issue of prosecution is out of our hands, and we would not interfere anyway.

Also, I told the kids about the truck and after some tears and anger, they seem ok for the moment.

Maybe after awhile I'll have more sense.

[Jnyusa]

vison,

And a coupla' other things ...

The addict you are dealing with today is not the honey-haired boy that you raised. It is that child tranformed and made monstrous by drugs. Yes, he made the first choice sober, but every choice after that was not a choice at all. It is a foul, foul disease that destroys the person and leaves someone else in their place. You cannot think of there being anything that you did which causes his actions today, or anything that he does today as resulting from a choice that he makes. Until he gets clean, there is no 'person' to talk about; one can only talk about the addiction.

My dearest friend lost her son in an accident when he was thirteen. I think she was luckier than I am.

Yes, of course. Because as long as there is life there is hope, and it is the hope that shreds us up inside.

After I divorced, a friend of mine 'consoled' me by telling me that it is easier to be a widow than a divorcée. I believe that she is right. As long as that other person lives, the reminder of failure lives; and as long as they have ways to interfere with your life, the opportunity for pain never ends. A wound cannot heal if it is being continuously re-inflicted.

It is now, after two years, that I know why I was crying: here was another hope snuffed at birth.

Do you mean because you knew you would not get from the program what was promised?

I don't know. I think it depends on what we believe is being promised.

As for the religious aspect, I know it is important to 12-steppers ... but
for my part, I always figured it should be sufficient for the person to admit that they themselves are not God for the worth of those steps to be felt. It is the illusion of control that is so damaging to recovery ...

For example (my underline): We, watching, see it all. But they are heedless, and we can do nothing to stop it. Looking back I see it all as plain as a movie, but my younger self is as oblivious as anyone in a movie ever was and she never hears my cries of warning.

How is that not the first step?

Finally, I agree with Watcher that your son is not at a point right now where kindness is a favor to him. It would be better to prosecute him and get him in a place where he will be forced off the drugs .... though I don't know if prison is such a place in Canada. Prisons are not drug-free in the U.S. A forced treatment program would be best of all, but the person has to want to be drug free ... at some point they must want it for themselves. But I also doubt that your son can even want that while he is under the influence. First they have to be sober, and then they have to want to continue to be sober.

A very dear friend of my parents ... their next door neighbor when they were both living and in their last home ... his son had a law degree and a very lucrative position with a firm somewhere on the East Coast. He made one very, very bad choice. He began using cocaine as a recreational drug. Many in his social group used it. He could afford it. What's the harm?

He's serving a twenty-year prison sentence right now for dealing. This is after being arrested multiple times for using, and being disbarred and bankrupted. His father took him back home while he was in recovery the first time, and for this kindness he was robbed. The son ran away repeatedly ... the father would only learn of his whereabouts when he got arrested ... and so on it went like this for ten years until the son was given a maximum sentence under the 3 strikes law.

I remember this kid when he was little. His problems started when his Mom died, in her forties, from a brain tumor ... the family was devastated, and the little guy took it the hardest. He had just started high school.

What can one say about a path like this? Whose fault is it? He made one really bad choice and could never again get clean of it. My heart goes out to him, and to his father who feels so ashamed when none of it is his fault. My heart goes out to his sisters and brothers who in some way must have relived their mother's death every time something bad happened to their little brother.

These things defy explanation, like earthquakes and tornadoes. Yes, you can tick off all the causal factors, but why does this one individual not make it out of the building or up to the roof? Why can this one individual reclaim their life from a drug addiction and the other individual not? It is terrible to accept that there may be no answer, but I think that where grief is the deepest it is because that is what we are called upon to do - accept that there may be no answer.

Jn

[vison]

Thank you, Jnyusa.

What I wanted when I posted the above was catharsis, I think. Or something like it. It was not sufficient to keep it to myself, only by putting it out there did it mean anything.

Yes, I think I have taken the first step.

I don't know what the law will do. He has a criminal record, so he will not get the breaks that a first offender gets. The trouble is, the Crown can decide which charges to prosecute: in this case there is break and enter, and theft of the truck, and driving without a license (if he is caught driving). What they often do is toss out the least charges, in this case the driving without a license will probably be thrown away if it gets laid at all.

Then, they might decide that it will be difficult to convict him of break and enter, since he entered his parents' house. Who knows? We want that charge laid, we made that plain to the police. The house was locked, he forced a window. Yet the police did not look at the "evidence", they were not interested in it. So I have my doubts on that score.

The last time he went to court he had plenty of money for a lawyer. This time he has none. He will get a legal aid lawyer. Will he get bail? I doubt it, I don't think anyone will go his bail. Will he be released on his own recognizance while awaiting trial? It is possible. If there is to be a trial, that is if he doesn't enter a guilty plea when he's brought up on the charges, the trial could be two years away. And anyway, he has not yet been arrested.

The first time he was in jail he used drugs the whole time he was in there. Last time he stayed clean. But it's easy to get drugs in jail, of course.

You are right. The hardest thing is to accept that there may be no answer. Most days I chug along pretty good. Only this last uproar brought it up all fresh again.

[The Watcher]

Vison -

Is there any ANY possibility that once found, he could plead guilty and GET the treatment that it seems that he so desperately needs? I know absolutely NADDA about Canadian laws, but it seems that in his case, he is a severe addict. Does that skew anything against more prison time but getting him into instead a prison/treatment program at least at the onset, and here I mean a serious one, treated by doctors and not just withholding him from access, which we all know really means squat for a serious addict, who in prison will do anything to get whatever it is that they need, want, and crave.

I suppose the other option is serious long term jail time. We are aware taht all that will do is turn him, if not already, into a institutionalized felon, where he gets his meds, room, board, and reasons for existing.

If he cannot break himself of the need for the fix, realize that he has serious problems, etc., what on earth is it that you think you could do in any case? What if he ever gets so desperate next time that something FAR more serious results? I am not trying to be scary, but it seems like that needs to be a VERY serious consideration.

I am not trying to be harsh, I worry about you SO much......physically, safety wise, psychologically, ...

Catharsis is good.

Now, take steps to protect yourselves. Seriously. You cannot look back.

[vison]

Sadly, treatment is probably not an option, at least as far as the law is concerned. There are no places to send him that I know about. Theoretically he can be treated in prison.

We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess.

[Erunáme]

[Ethel]

Is there any ANY possibility that once found, he could plead guilty and GET the treatment that it seems that he so desperately needs? I know absolutely NADDA about Canadian laws, but it seems that in his case, he is a severe addict. Does that skew anything against more prison time but getting him into instead a prison/treatment program at least at the onset, and here I mean a serious one, treated by doctors and not just withholding him from access, which we all know really means squat for a serious addict, who in prison will do anything to get whatever it is that they need, want, and crave.

You know, my favorite lightbulb joke - there are so many good ones - is "How many psychiatrists does it take to change a lightbulb?" The answer is, "Only one, but the lightbulb has to really want to change."

Evidently vison thinks treatment will not be offered. I believe it would not be effective even if it were. Either this man will decide to save himself or he won't. No one else can do it for him. Right now it doesn't look good, but so long as he lives there is still some small hope that he'll change direction.

Perhaps at present the best thing that could happen to him would be to be apprehended and incarcerated - preferably in the 'can't get drugs' jail.

Oh, my dear vison. This is a terrible thing. Maybe the only hope left for this man is those precious boys you are raising. Maybe he'll never pull himself together, but if the boys do well - and I know you are giving them every chance - that's a kind of victory.

[Primula Baggins]

Yes. Ethel is exactly right. You are saving what can be saved, and it's a victory and an important one. Without your help, those boys could have gone right down with their father, through no fault of their own. You're giving them the best chance they can have.

I know you don't want sympathy, but my heart aches for you, and to say anything different would be a lie.

I know you will do well in the end. You are too sensible not to. It just can be hard, to do the right thing.

[JewelSong]

vison, your post broke my heart. And I think you are so courageous for posting it at all - I know what you mean by catharsis.

There comes a time when no matter how much we love someone, we need to let go and get on with our lives and the lives of those who remain.

That doesn't mean the door is shut. It simply means that your son is the one who needs to make the effort to walk through the door. Meanwhile, you do what you can for those boys and your other son. And pray, if you can pray, I guess.

And if someday your son comes "home" you will be there with open arms and the feast. But that is not in your hands. It is, indeed, as if your son is dead for now. I am so sorry.

There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, "Father, give me my share of the estate." So he divided his property between them. Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living.
After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything. When he came to his senses, he said, "How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men." So he got up and went to his father.

But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. The son said to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son." But the father said to his servants, "Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found."

[Nin]

Vison, it is heartwrenching to read your post, and I have neither advice nor help to offer. When you reach the bottom of things, there is no fault, it is just life and it's not fair and apparently was not meant to be - I don't know in the end, I know nothing.

I only know I hate to read you in pain. I hate the idea of the children in pain. I don't think you son is like dead - if he were you could grieve and give up, keep some memories safe and start to forget. But now you can't, for you never know what suffering still may come.

I read Jny's words too about being a widow being easier than a divorcée... it all appeals to me, very strongly obviously.

Maybe I should say nothing when I have so little to say as now. Just let me admire you from afar.

[Maria]

For some reason, Vison, as I read your post I was reminded of when I first saw Star Wars, Episode I. We saw it in the theater, and I literally cried through almost all of the entire show, because it hit me then that no matter how cute Anakin was, no matter how smart and talented and especially no matter how much his mother loved him... he still turns into Darth Vader in the end. And that is unforgivable.

I think it you have to let go the connection between the adult and the cute kid, or the transition will forever tear you apart. What you have now is a dangerous stranger who might physically hurt you to achieve his own ends. You are right to do whatever it takes to protect yourself.

[Cerin]

I'm so sorry, vison.

I don't have any personal experience with AA or Al-Anon. I'm not sure I understand why the relatives of addicts would have to start by admitting they were powerless over the drug -- except in the indirect sense that they are powerless over the actions of the addict, and those actions affect their life as well. But it seems to me that the thing you're trying (general 'you') to do is make sure the addict's actions don't continue affecting your life, in so far as it is possible to do so.

But it struck me that you decided rather quickly that those meetings wouldn't work for you. It may be that they would serve some purpose you haven't anticipated, even if not the proscribed one. And I can't imagine those people thinking you were wasting their time. Maybe you should consider going back, for whatever support is available to you there. Unless you feel strongly at odds with the procedures, etc. What I'm trying to say is, I don't think you should not go because you think you're wasting other people's time; if there is not some strong internal objection to the methods, if you're not required to actually do things you don't wish to do, perhaps you could try going a bit longer, without specific expectations, just for the support of knowing others who are going through the same thing you are.

Other than that, I can only say how sorry I am ... that your son ever tried drugs in the first place, that he was one of those susceptible to addiction.

[Teremia]

If you had just told this story in Quaker Meeting, vison, I would be simply standing in silence now -- that's how deep it seems to go, all the way down to the root of suffering and love.

When you say you were stuck on the First Step of the twelve, I can see what you mean -- you still cannot release yourself from blame, as if YOU (unlike all other people suffering from addiction, or suffering from others' addiction) could have changed the course of your son's life. That is absolutely human of you, and I'm sure any of us would be right there with you, shouting at our younger selves to Watch out! Watch out! DO something! as the tragedy approaches. But maybe the Al-Anon people are right, and it doesn't help to think of ourselves as failed gods, all-powerful beings who somehow messed up just at the moment that mattered most. Maybe we really can't change the past or reform addicts by means of wisdom and great effort. And that's awfully painful, too.

I am so sorry about your son and so grateful to the universe for your being alive, with your strong spirit and strong voice!

[vison]

Thank you all. There is a lot of kindness and goodness in all your posts and it all means a lot to me.

I do feel better today. I think it was something I had to do.

The thing is, most of the time I'm fine, it's just now and again it gets the better of me.

Thank you all again. You are good people.

[Whistler]

Sorry to be so late here, vision, but I'm painfully inept at this sort of thing...so much so that I can only resort to this...



...and hope that it's an acceptable substitute for the ten paragraphs of wisom I'd contribute, if I could manage them.

[truehobbit]

My thoughts on reading your posts here are a bit divided - I hope it's not hurtful what I have to say.

I can't begin to imagine how it must hurt for a parent to see their child go such a way, but I think it would be good if extremes of either direction could be avoided.
It's not your fault that he's a drug addict, and thinking now about things that could have been different in the past is no help at all, because they are not going to be different, and you know well that you always just did what you thought best and loved him - so I think it's important for you to realise that there's nothing to blame yourself for.

But also I don't think this is the time to reject him. Like Jny says, this is a nasty disease and it's not his fault either, just as little as it is yours.

Can't you have him put in a hospital or drug clinic? I would think that once a person is so little to be trusted with themselves as your son seems to be, it should be possible to admit them to a drug clinic whether they agree or not. I think it might just help to have him forcefully freed from drugs for a time. Not that I'm convinced this will cure him - I know from experience there is very little hope of success with that. But there's always a chance.
I'm not saying you should give in to his demands - quite the opposite, it was good that you were firm against his begging, and understandable that you were angry, too - but I think for his family to give up on him when he's fallen so low would be the most cruel of all.

I didn't know the AA were so much into religion - I'm a religious person myself, as you all know, but I think the schedule you posted sucks! If a drug addict happens to be religious, grappling the problem from a religious perspective might of course be a good idea - but apart from the fact that they can't assume someone is, I also think the guilt-trip that these twelve steps represent can't really be helpful. Even for me, as a religious person, the procedure suggested there would only make the problem worse - how dare they suggest it's a character flaw that someone is a drug-addict?
I'd say, forget about the AA and try to get your son some physical, material help!

[The Watcher]

truehobbit -

It is nearly impossible to get someone into a drug treatment clinic against their will unless it is a condition of sentencing (like the celebs you always are reading about over here) or unless they are found to be legally incompetent - a VERY difficult thing to do.

That being said, the costs are terrible high, and I doubt that vison's son would have any means to pay for such a thing, or how Canada's government healthcare program would treat it. Here in America, unless it was mandated by the courts that one was incompetent, the costs would still need to be picked up by private means for the most part. And the success rates are not all that good - a person has to WANT to change in order for them to be of any use, and even then, the addictive behaviors and cravings will mostly be a lifelong battle.