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Our Stories
Nancy Bauman
Bountiful, UT
I am a secondary victim (parent, sibling, friend, etc) in the drug war. Two of my sons have been addicted to drugs; one to cocaine and one to oxycontin. Through the years I have done desperate research and tried all sorts of methods to at first, understand and then to deal with my sons’ decision to take drugs. I am also a published author. I write for both recreational and emotional therapy. So my experiences have drifted onto the pages of my books; One of my books deals with the impact drug abuse has on families. I have included journal writings from a mother (me), law enforcement efforts to stop drug trafficking and various theories about rehabilitation. The book is called "Starlite" and can be accessed on my website: nancyhbauman.com. I have worked through the legal system with my boys from high school DUI's to eventual felonies for insurance fraud. I worked with psychiatrists and various drugs to deal with cocaine’s "profound depression" and been shocked, surprised, and helpless to solve my children’s problems for them. But we moms have to keep trying. In supporting one of my boys in a twelve-step meeting to help him work towards recovery, at the first meeting I kept my mouth shut and asked to be passed by from sharing experiences. I was not the addict and in my support role I didn’t feel like I had anything worthwhile to share. At the second meeting I changed my mind.
The impact of my son’s addiction on my family was worth recounting. I discovered that I was not the only one there in the support role. Drug addiction’s network infiltrates everybody’s lives and information and understanding are most important. Here are a couple of the poems that are in Starlite:
RACING THE DEVIL
Deceit, lies, devil's tricks.
They work for Satan...why not for me?
We're racing for my boy's soul...
Lord, help me to succeed!
Tricks and deceit, so alien to me;
I use them for my child's good.
Marijuana induced manipulation,
camouflaged cries for help?
If I watch him slip away,
unable to stop the awful plague...
I'll bear the scars left from Hells' burns when loved ones drag me
weepingly home.
TUG-OF-WAR
This tug-of-war with Satan...
my boy between us as the rope.
I pull against the devil's strength.
The rope is slippery first, then burns
as bleeding hands strain so.
The rope pulls on. It bleeds my heart,
it challenges love's meaning.
Yet, somewhere in this awkward stance
who the struggle is against comes clear.
I'm not throwing my son away,
I've tried so hard, the hurt's so deep...
He, in his immaturity must choose.
Regrets, death, future scapegoats,
hundreds of daggers hit me hard
as my son joins Satan, detesting me.
And I will join the throngs of moms
who let go, who wait, who cry at night, every night, all night.
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