Please Stop Licking the Window

By Carol Gilreath

This book describes the difficulties a family encounters as they live through a heartrending journey with a son who has chosen a life of addiction. Many families will be able to relate to the scenarios within their own lives. It is written with an interesting twist of nursery rhymes revised to describe a young mans attempt at life. Don't be surprised to read that Cliff could jump over the moon or that the Son came down and washed the devil out. In this account of a familys attempt at normalcy, one realizes that a life guided by Christ will never be normal, because He specializes in the unbelievable. The faith of a mother, the grace of the Lord, and the undeniable hold of addiction are all rolled up in this story of a boy who always seems to be just beyond the window.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449732912

Carol Gilreath

This is the first book written by Carol Gilreath.  Though her experiences as a writer are few, she and her family have become quiet the experts on how to cope with a drug addict in your home.  She is a mother of three, and has been married to her husband for thirty one years. The helplessness this mother felt as her young son dove into the depths of drug addiction, forced her to realize we have very little control over some of the obstacles in life.   A wide range of emotions are expressed by the author as the life of this child is torn  apart.  This book is the product of many sleepless nights and thousands of prayers. It is the sincere prayer of this author that this book will help another family to find a source of hope and faith in their time of need. The author's firm belief in life is, the Lord holds us firmly in His hands, and close to His heart.

Book preview

Chapter 1:

Please Stop Licking The Window

I come by this window several times a day, and most trips I have to stop and clean little nose smudges off the window panes. This window is at the top of our staircase and looks out over our yard. It has a window seat where you can sit and observe the things that are going on in the world outside. My dog Sammy has witnessed me sitting in this place and looking out the window into the dark night trying to see any sign of him. In the daylight it is a beautiful yard. Beyond the yard is a lake which mirrors the foliage surrounding it, and beyond the lake a highway, with cars hurrying by, unaware of the fact that I am sitting in that window seat watching them go by. I am looking for him, praying for him, and for myself. If he didn’t make it home this time, I could somehow go on without him. The thought of life without one of my children is unbearable. I sit there praying, crying, and making deals with God. I have promised God so many things that it would take me nine lifetimes to complete my I owe you list to God. Through all of the nights and prayers and crying spells, I don’t think I have ever licked the window, so where Sammy has picked up this disgusting habit I do not know. Nevertheless, if Sammy has been there, he has left his mark. I go around behind him and clean those little tongue marks away. I just take out my little paper towel and wipe. How easily they disappear. I just wish it were as easy to wipe away the memories of all those sleepless nights. Car after car would come down the road, headlights would appear and I would say to myself and to God, if this is him, I will feed all of the hungry children in North America. Tail lights would disappear along with tiny bits of hope. As the night turned into morning the cars were farther and farther apart, and my promises got bigger and bigger. By the time daylight arrived, I would be feeding not only all the hungry children, but also their parents and aunts and uncles, and washing their dirty clothes. So you see this drug habit has been very taxing on me, my stove, and my washing machine, not to mention my husband and my other children. Too many nights have turned into day without him coming home. This scene would replay many nights in the life of our middle child’s long battle with drug addiction.

The funny thing about a window is that during the day you can see out better than you can see in, but at night, it is much easier to see in than it is to see out. I know this because I have spent countless hours sitting in a window looking into the darkness trying to see a lost child. To be able to see outside I had to turn off the lights inside. I would have to be in the dark as well.

I say a lost child as if he were an object I have misplaced. The lost I have referred to here is so much deeper. It is a loss of self, a loss of purpose, a loss of worth; the drugs have turned the lights out in my son’s life. It is as if he was out in the darkness looking in, and it was my job to turn on the light so he could see.

How often have we just walked up to that switch on the wall and flipped it up and the light comes on and illuminates the room. More times than not this is what happens. So how hard would it be to put the light back into my young sons life? Let me tell you, . . . . like walking across the continent of Africa carrying two elephants, one with a red skirt on and the other with a purple bikini and playing the drums. First of all, I don’t play the drums, and secondly, have you ever tried to put a bikini on an elephant? So you see the job would be an enormous battle, a battle I have no idea of how to fight, much less win. Win we must, because anything less would mean our son would be destined to live in a world of darkness and tied to a life of crime by the shackles of addiction.

Now the trick here would be to fight and not have my light snuffed out by disappointment, the kind of disappointment that only worsens with each recovery program and each promise of a new life free of drugs; a new beginning that last for only a few days, weeks, or months, and then slowly you begin to notice old habits return.

We would try to ignore or explain them away. My checkbook would be missing, or I didn’t have as much money as I thought I had. Then, the realization of the all too familiar lifestyle of addiction had crept back into my son’s life. He has good intentions. He really wants to do well. He loves his family and is tired of the disappointment he inflicts on those of us who love him. No matter how strong he becomes the addiction is stronger. No matter how much he loves his family he loves the drug more.

One who does not suffer from addiction has no idea of how totally consuming this condition can become; how something so dark can control your life to the point of taking your grandmother’s money she had saved for her monthly medications. After you have snorted it up your nose the shame overwhelms you, and once again you will do anything not to be reminded of what you have done, or what you have become. Those good intentions he once had are now leading him on a path straight to his own personal hell.

The cycle repeats, and repeats, and repeats. What once had been a funny, cute little boy has now become a sad man, only a skeleton of the person he was meant to be. There are no smiles, no hugs, no laughter, no potential, nothing. That is what we have come to expect from the addict: nothing. To expect them