Chapter 7 - Hitting Rock Bottom
Tyler remained in the King County Jail through the winter. Without his father's money to bail him out, and with my total refusal to engage, he was finally forced to sit with himself.
Facing charges for Grand Theft Auto, DUI, and property destruction, his public defender painted a grim picture. He was looking at a minimum of three to five years in a state penitentiary.
In January, a letter arrived in my mailbox. The return address was the county detention center.
I stared at the envelope for a long time. My initial instinct was to throw it directly into the fireplace. But a quiet, steady voice inside me told me I needed to read it. Not for him, but for closure.
I opened it with a letter opener.
Mom, it read. I know you probably won't read this. I wouldn't blame you if you burned it. I'm sober now. Mostly because I have to be. But the fog is lifting, and I'm realizing what I did to you. What I did to Dad. I'm terrified. I don't want to go to prison. Please. You're the only one who can talk to the judge, maybe tell them about my mental health. I need you.
May you like
It was the most coherent thing he had written in years. But embedded in the apologies was the exact same core mechanism: I need you to save me from the consequences of my actions.
He hadn't hit rock bottom yet. He was just looking for a ladder.
