Every other day Matt’s been calling me, “Hey dad, it’s me Matthew. Listen, can you or mom put money on my books? The food here is terrible and not enough. Please…” I’m an easy touch as they say. I dropped money on his books and so has his mom…
This morning Matt calls and says, “Dad, now they say I’m going to be here for 30 more days and I think they messed up. Can you please call my public defender and tell her? Please…” Once again I took the bait and dropped in another 20 and called his court appointed lawyer and left a message. I begged her saying, “My son has mental health and addiction issues. Please can you call me?” As of yet no call.
I then texted his mom and told her of his story of a messed up penal system and of his release date. She texted back, he’s there for another 30 day minimum for being under the influence and in possession of a controlled substance while in custody. “Oh Dad, I’m so hungry. Please I need food.” He makes me physically sick. People tell me, “Juan, he’s sick. It’s part of his illness.”
I’ve helped those who knew they needed help as well as those who didn’t even know they needed help. Quite frankly, not one of them remembers and Matt won’t either. Maybe at some point he’ll clean up and write me down as a step eight or is it nine in The Twelve Steps ritual; a person to say sorry to later. I know one thing, if I need help, he’ll be busy or just not be able to make it.
I’m trying to maintain in this Sky Lounge while I wait for my flight. I was scheduled to leave at 5pm but I got at 3:45 flight back home. As I type this, I’m holding back tears because it literally kills me to see someone I love and care about crash and burn. Of my three sons, he cared about me and when his brothers tell me to let him rot in jail, it gives me pain in my heart. What kind of man abandons his son, no man only a filthy rata… This too will pass