By Angela Perry


He quit. For anyone who read part 1 of this story you know that things were getting bumpier than the Democrat’s road to take back the Senate. But he quit. It took basically alienating myself from him and ultimately deciding that I was just going to leave him alone. Meaning, I wasn’t going to get mad at him anymore for smoking. I came up with that because I felt that I was only hurting myself every time I got mad, while he continued on. Now it didn’t mean that I was going to smoke myself, because I quit. It also didn’t mean that I was going to sit with him while he smoked. I had shit to do. But he stopped; and while I’d like to think that it had something to do with me, I can’t take that credit. So how did he quit?
It may sound like the cliche of all cliches, but he started praying. Let me say that I believe in God though I don’t regularly attend church and neither does he. But he started praying. A lot. Even asking for God’s help to quit and now it’s been well over a month. I know that’s not a long time, but it’s a start. It also feels different than the many times he’s quit in the past. It seems like God has somehow inserted himself in the space where the weed was. Now I’m not saying that things have fallen magically in place. Actually, things have at times been more hectic than ever because when you smoke around the clock the sky could be falling, but weed will make you feel like it’s okay. Now all the things that were swept under the rug have come bubbling to the surface…the months, and in some cases years, spent hiding from family and friends because when you ain’t living right you don’t call people back, the painful reality that you had chances to make a career but you chose mediocrity instead, and just the money you owe people. Sometimes he was just plain irritable because like any addict who is withdrawing from a drug you get nasty towards the people closest to you. “Good morning,” could be interpreted any number of a different ways. So sometimes I just chose silence over niceties. I also chose to keep going with my own work and with the kids, making sure that no matter what, I wasn’t going to make his issue mine. I know, sounds kinda crazy and a contradiction because you’re married to someone and yet you’re separating in your head. The truth was that I was separating in my head, choosing to know that I could actually walk if things got too bad because maybe it was the smoke keeping us together, bonding us in a make-believe world. Could we make it in reality?

I’m glad I’ve stuck it out. Through the bumps have come some miraculous connections as a couple and a family. We now talk about where we were, grateful to be clean and clear, and although not fully knowing the future, leaning on God every step of the way. One thing this whole addiction thing has taught us is that we know nothing. Not even why he or I would ever become clean. The other day I saw two crack heads walking somewhere fast- probably to get more drugs, which is usually the case. I saw him and I in those two. The happiness of lighting up. The years spent. The fast talk. The future that only promises more of the same. Our kids growing up and out and us still sitting in the same spot, and I had to ask, why us God and not them? Because really, we are no better. Addiction is addiction whether it’s weed, crack, heroin or food. If it’s stopping you from living your best life then it’s a problem. The only thing that came to me was God’s grace, and for that do we ever really know the reason? I don’t know if that couple will ever come out of the cloud. I’ve seen people addicted their whole lives. Ruined. As if destiny placed them there. All I know is that he saved us, and me, and for that I am eternally grateful. And even if, God forbid, my husband should fall back into the clutches, I’m forging ahead. Because once you truly experience freedom and the grace that comes with it you can’t take it for granted. Who knows if you’ll ever get another chance. 

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