I sat on the desert sortof-green grass in a little park in the middle of Las Vegas. I swooshed the bright red polish onto my toes as if I didn’t have a care in the world. At that moment, I didn’t. Or at the very least I didn’t care what anyone else thought of what I was doing. Because in Vegas, anything goes. Everyone is completely anonymous and autonomous to an extent.
You can be a rich high roller flying in to spend $10,000 in one weekend or you can be an unhoused person just trying to use the restroom and get told to move along.
The disparity of class is front and center yet completely ignored. At first it’s shocking to see a fellow human being lying on the sidewalk, disheveled and tattered. But by the fourth or fifth, you feel a shift inside you that you are helpless to an extent. In order to get where you are going and see all the "activities" and take care of your own physical needs; you become somewhat indifferent to the broken-ness that seems strewn about.
As I finished with my paint job, I let out a sigh. A sigh not of relief but of trepidation. You see, I did have a care in the world. I wasn’t in Vegas to see the sights. I was in Vegas to find my son. Again.
He was entrenched and entranced in the fast paced autonomous world that Vegas was specifically designed to be.
What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
It isn’t just a slogan, it means business.
A business that brings in 100 million a day. From people like us. People who work hard and want a short vacation to forget our worries. We can see a show, eat some yummy food, people watch, and shop or browse in all the stores and displays.
It’s a world that makes people like me break at least one of the ten commandments almost immediately:
Thou shalt not worship false Gods and thou shall not covet they neighbors house.
We can’t help it.
We wish we had money to buy all the shiny things and even get in one of the fancy black suv’s or limousines just once-- instead of walking a hundred miles to the shuttle-for-average persons.
Aside from all this, this post isn’t about the division of wealth or the separation of class. It isn’t about socialism or equalizing wealth. Because with those 2 things (and no entrepreneurs) there would be no fun places and unique businesses to edify our lives with. We would be caught in a predictable boredom relying on a government agency to tell us where to go and what to do.
No, what this post is about is a Mom, trying to navigate a huge city of flashing lights and honking horns and music and fountains and tourists and locals who make money off the tourists.
My son sort-of fits into the last group.
He is an entrepreneur who lost everything due to his addiction and is having a hard time getting back into the life game without anything to his name. Vegas offerred him plenty of dopamine release and no one badgering him to fix everything in his life.
For being one of the smartest people I know, the fact that he got sucked into every single business plan ever drawn up in Vegas--which is to trap people into the illusion of wealth and a complete life change, is surprising.
Later though, after I found him, we were sitting in a Fridays restaurant inside The Orleans casino. He was telling me how futile this town is without money and if he just had some more capital he could get enough to come home and get a place to live and a reliable truck. I told him like a hundred times before that I would be happy to open another credit card and help him get going again--- if it meant he would leave this town. He responded his usual,
No, You’ve done enough Mom, I can’t keep relying on you. I have to find my way out of this”
"Yes son, you do, but your thinking is skewed right now. After 6 months of constant survival mode you have a sort-of trauma bond with this place and these people. So its almost impossible for you to leave on your own.
(As evidenced by the 30+ texts he had sent me saying he was leaving the next day, or week).
Tomorrow never comes in Vegas. It is purposely designed without windows and clocks. He said even the carpet is made so that if you drop money on it, you won’t see it in the pattern. He recognises the absurdity of it, yet can’t seem to break free. Does that mean he has an illness?
Many people call addiction a disease, but my son believes in the choice model. So he is choosing this life to an extent, even though he admits he’s not happy and not accomplishing anything except survival.
"I’m going to go from the addict everyone loves to hate to being the hero again". He said on one of our last visits.
What a clue that he wants to be thought well of!
He wants respect and dignity. He craves and dreams of connection again.
My mama heart aches to hear this. What does this say about connection being the "cure" or at least a better way to manage addiction’s ravaging effects? What does this say about how a man’s worth being tied up in what he can provide? In what society expects from him.
In reality, as a homeless person who’s addicted, nothing is expected of him except to move along and bother someone else. He receives no emotional help or compassion. No hugs, no deepfelt conversations about what his story is. Because he’s just one in million. But to those people who do miss and love him; he’s thought of daily. They just don’t know how to show it, unless he does it their way--full on abstinence and full on recovery to the 10th degree. This generally takes 6-18 months of stable life.
It’s not a surprise that most people relapse with that kind of instant pressure.
So where are we now?
I’m sitting in the airport awaiting my flight home after this exhausting weekend. I am watching the families and people coming and going. I’m imagining a future life where my family takes vacations again together. Where my son has his kids and he doesn’t have to numb his pain. He gets joy from kisses and hugs not flashing slot machines and shiny things. He doesn’t have to wonder where he’s sleeping that night or when he will eat again. He can now be focused on building the new instead of running from the old.
I had to swallow my fear that I get every time I leave him in this horrible place. I have to learn to speak life and healing over him.
I have to believe and pray that someday we will be sitting in these very seats and he will say, "Remember when you used to come down to try to get me to come home? Now we are flying to San Diego, can you believe it?" "No, son I can’t. I never thought it would happen."
As I dreamed of San Diego, one of our favorite places before addiction crushed our family; I realized the time. Why had they not called for my flight? I went up to the desk and presented my boarding pass." You were supposed to be at gate C4 not C14. C14 is your loading order. Your flight has left."
Great.
I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I had to be home to work early the next morning.
Now I had six more hours to wait for the next flight which was full but I might could get on with stand-by. Plenty of time for more daydreaming.
I ended up renting another rental car and driving home. Back to the shuttle to the car rental place that I had just returned from.
On the way home without my boy.....again. But at least I had plenty of time to daydream about San Diego and La Jolla beach where my son kept yelling "MOM!! MOM!!" to make sure I wasn’t lost. And going to old town for Mexican food and finding the Whaley
haunted house. Oh and that little sandwich shop that serves macaroni and cheese on a pulled pork sandwich that my son made us drive to Ocean Beach to find.
Addiction and mental illness affect millions of families. It’s a long road with more questions than answers. It requires an extreme commitment in finding ways to survive and set boundaries while keeping a strong and loving connection. I do this by learning all I can about addiction and keeping an open mind about harm reduction, and other solutions to keep our kids safe.
As the bright neon lights of Vegas faded in my rear view mirror, the tears flowed deeply and freely. My boy, my family. Our memories. I hold them all close to my heart wherever they may be physically. I will not let this darkness invade my soul. I won’t let the devil have my love for my son and for my family. Addiction takes enough prisoners--there shouldn’t be a 2 for one-deal. Even in Vegas.
Read more on how to love an addict on Samantha-waters.com
My first book is coming out July 2023 1000 last goodbyes.
https://samantha-waters.com/2022/10/10/excerpt-from-1000-last-goodbyes-2/