Often when I tell people about my family, I say that I’m a son of a preacher man, and that my mother is a saint.  I say that I am the youngest of six wide open, wild ass kids.  I grew up in church and spent a lot of time at the homeless shelter that my folks directed.  I take a lot of pride in being a West because we are a one in a million kind of family.  

We have always been close…but my actions in years gone by have caused some distance between some of us.  It breaks my heart and makes me wish every single day that I could take back the things I have done.   

This blog is going to give you some insight from my parents, ranging from when I was a child through my active addiction.  The thing to keep in mind as you read is that the disease of addiction does not discriminate.  It doesn’t matter who your parents are, where you came from, and it damn sure doesn’t care what your last name is.  Now listen through my parents’ eyes.

Paxton’s Mom: 

To say that you never know what life is going to throw at you is, at best, an understatement.

Had you told me years ago that I would be the mother of a heroin addict, who ends up doing time for criminal acts committed to feed his addiction, I would have vehemently denied that would ever happen to a child of mine.  Never in

my wildest dreams would I have ever thought our family would have to experience this gut wrenching pain Paxton’s addiction has caused.

Paxton was our baby.  The youngest of six, he was everything a little brother was supposed to be.  He was cute, mischievous, and annoying.  He was adored, tolerated and at times, tormented...being exposed to all three sentiments sometimes within a matter of minutes at the hand of his siblings.

He had a head full of blonde curls, those ever-present cowboy boots he insisted on wearing even when having on only a diaper, a strong, athletic body…and those sweet arms that would go around my neck as he gave me sloppy kisses.  He was my baby.  He was busy and inquisitive…and passionate about everything he undertook. 

He had the biggest heart of anyone I have ever known…and still does.  One of my most vivid memories of him is when he was around 3 years old.  We were at the shelter (where he always loved to be because there were so many people he could get know) and I looked out the window just in time to observe something that forever will encapsulate the essence of Paxton in my mind. 

There was a man named Tim.  Tim was mentally ill and an addict.  He wore a heavy army jacket, even in the middle of summer.  His hair was long and tangled and he was not clean.  His hands had stained over time from excessive cigarette smoking, as well as from the lack of soap and water.  A most memorable characteristic of Tim was his disfigured face.  While in the depths of depression at one point…and likely while under the influence of heavy alcohol, Tim tried to shoot himself.  He wanted desperately to die, for his life held very little hope to offer.  He stuck a gun in his mouth, and because of the way it was angled, Tim managed only to mutilate his face permanently.  

On that day at the shelter, looking out the window, I saw Tim walking slowly down the sidewalk towards the building.  His head was down as usual, his shoulders slumped…and no one on the busy yard was paying him any attention.  I made my way to the front door and as I stepped outside, I stopped in my tracks.  That little blonde boy, cowboy boots and all, had run to Tim, grabbed him by the hand, and was chattering away to him.  “Hey, Tim.  What’s up, man?  Whatcha been doing?  Where are you going?”  I visibly watched Tim’s demeanor change.  His head came up.  His face attempted a smile.  He looked down at Paxton, still holding his hand, and I was made aware, at that very instant, the power of human touch and kind words.  It was profound.   

Every time I encountered Tim from that point until his death, he asked me about Paxton.  It was the only topic of real conversation we ever had.

And that was the Paxton that grew into an adolescent, a teenager, and the person that always was the first to speak up about an injustice being done.  He would fight for what he believed to be right and he would fight when someone else was being hurt, discriminated against, or treated unkindly.

But somewhere…somewhere along the line…drugs came into his life.

We were like most parents.  The last to know.  The last to figure it out.  The last to admit what was happening to that blonde boy with a personality and a love for people that wouldn’t stop.  If any advice could be given, it would be that if you suspect a kid has a problem with drugs or alcohol, speak out.  Go to the parents, go to the kid him/herself.  Don’t stand idly by and watch destruction unfold.  Parents always believe in the best of their children and even with the signs in their face, it is so hard to see…and even more so to admit.  I don’t know if early intervention could have saved him from all this heartache, saved our family from its brokenness, but I have to believe that it could have helped.

I hate drugs.  I have said those three words for years and years in my work at Fifth Street, but never have I meant them any more than when I have said them in relation to my own child.

I hate drugs. 

They steal lives and give nothing in return but pain and anguish.  They hurt children, they hurt parents and siblings and break relationships.  Friends are lost, futures are dimmed, hope seems too far to even long for…and hearts are broken.

Even when Paxton was in the deepest throes of addiction, we still felt as though we could help him move through it.  If we only did this…or put that restriction in place…or send him to this rehab or drove him to a 12-step meeting…but it didn’t work.   It wasn’t until he hit a hard, hard wall…one of several to come…that we realized what we were doing was not working.  It was a slow process to change how we reacted and responded to all that addiction entailed.

Paxton has lost everything. He has lost some of those he loves most.  He has lost himself in this ugly disease called addiction, but even from a prison cell, he is trying to rebuild.  It can be done, but it can’t be done alone.

Because of his actions, we, too, have lost some to whom we were very close and relationships with others we care for very deeply have been scarred.  Quite possibly those losses or injuries were worsened because we did not react in a way that was expected. 

In all honesty, we had no idea how to react.  We were traumatized, we were hurt, we were in a dense fog…but we never stopped loving our son.  While some have not understood, it was never a choice we had to make – to stand behind him or to turn our back on him.  We know that loving, strong, smart young man who now will have to fight addiction every single day of his life.  And we will love him through every single day.  We have (and still are) learning skills in order to not be his enabler…like we did for so long.  Our interaction with him has and will continue to change as we develop skills necessary, and some of those actions will be hard on all of us.  The bottom line, however, is that our love will remain and we will always believe in that incredible person the real Paxton is.  

These days, he works hard at trying to rebuild and regain who he was.  He uses his experience where he is to help others from going down that same path.  Behind those gray walls, there is much depression, much destruction of lives…and regularly we hear stories of how he talks and builds relationships and tries to help people move out of their rut and to move towards healing.  He is there for the guys when they receive painful news from home.  He talks with them and spends time with them, and shares what little he has in his possession.  

And every day, he makes people smile.  Paxton has always felt that making people smile and doing things to brighten their day has been part of his calling…and that continues even in a place where there are not many reasons for smiles and the sunniest day can seem dark.  He wants to educate people on grace and love and extend it to some who might seem unworthy to others…and he desperately wants to feel it himself from people he loves. 

I do not make excuses for what he has done.  I do believe that he should be punished for his crimes. And, I do believe that addiction is in the brain, and that science has barely scratched the surface of the mechanics of the disease. It is an ugly, ugly disease that he and thousands upon thousands of others in our country must fight every single day.  The time has come for us to move towards changing the stigma of addiction to one of understand, healing and compassion…and time for development of a village to walk through the darkness with those who suffer. 

  

Paxton’s Dad:

Paxton’s mom has expressed how so many of us saw him as a young child and adolescent…..one of the most compassionate, caring individuals to be found.  He seemed to know how to do almost naturally what it has taken me a long lifetime to develop (and I still fail some days)…..stand up and speak out, especially for injustice.  He coupled all that with a wild sense of humor and determination (earning of a black belt by age 11.)

Patti has given a beautiful event in his life of welcome and affirmation for someone in need.  The anecdote I most remember was when Paxton was in elementary school and came upon the scene of one of his friends being bullied.  He quickly called on another friend to “kick up some dirt so no one could see.”  She promptly began to kick.  He then called on someone else and the two of them moved against the perpetrators and sent them speeding away from the episode at top speed.  I still smile and stick my chest out just a bit every time I remember that.

But then it all began to change.  His behavior took a 180 degree turn.  There had been some harshness in late high school but we chalked that up to his really seeking some independence.  But then after graduation it started coming unhinged.  He became argumentative, defiant, disrespectful…..a person we had not known before.  We became aware of his pot smoking and his adamant belief that cannabis should be legalized.  He would quickly throw out to us how much worse excessive alcohol consumption could be.  (And yes, evidence reveals that on-going drinking can be an addiction that is also destructive and defeating).

We found evidence that he was shooting up.  He denied it.  We figured out that he was beginning to lie to us about numerous things.  Again, he denied it.  More intense, defiant behavior.

Then came the day when he called us into a more private room in our home and admitted his habit to us.  He seemed remorseful and said he knew he needed help.  To shorten this story, I will only say that he entered treatment seeking assistance for his now “admitted addiction.”  We had to start admitting the same thing, namely, that we were parents of an addict.  Upon release, he relapsed again.  Another treatment facility.  Then another relapse and evidence piling up that he was beginning to steal in order to support his addiction.  It has now come to the point about which we warned him over and over again.  He was caught, convicted, and is now in prison. 

 

He is clean now.  But he will have to work on this every day for the rest of his life.  That is the reality of addiction.  We are beginning to see the one we knew was really there years ago.  Here is a young man who accepts responsibility for the agony he has caused, a longing to be forgiven, a hope that he can rebuild and make a contribution to this world that is healing, not only for himself, but for others as well.

We know who our son is.  We have seen him, walked with him, and loved him for years.  More recently it has turned into a Jekyll-Hyde reality.  We want our son back.  He’s fighting to find his way.

Paxton’s conclusion:

There you have it.  I went from a blonde headed little boy, full of life, willing to do and stand up for what I believed was right - to an addict that knew everything I did to be wrong.  I could not control myself once addiction set in.  Truth be told, I lost my way.  But now I’m in a fight every day to regain the person I was.  

 I pray every day for God to make me a better man today than I was yesterday.  I strive every day to be the very best servant I can to my fellow human being.  I live to the best of my ability every day like it is my last chance to repay my debt to society.  I want to leave this world better than I found it.

Addicts, family of addicts, people who feel less than…or just not good enough, know that my back will never turn on you.  

Parents, if you have a feeling something is going on with your kid, talk to them.  If it has to be done, find them help sooner rather than later.  Use me as an example as what drugs can do to a person.  I’m ok with that.  I don’t want them to go through what I have or for you to have to go through what my family and parents have gone through.  My parents have been there for me, and for this, I am eternally grateful.  

Thanks, mom and dad, friends and family who have not given up on me.

Help someone, don’t look down upon.  Forgive and let grace set your pace.