13 is how old my son was when he called me from a friend’s house to tell me he had tried pot. I thought I handled it well and remember telling a friend of mine, that I would never have to worry about my son doing drugs because he was so honest with me. This was also the year of my divorce from my children’s father. It was a shock to the kids but we went to therapy immediately and I tried to make it all “nice”. The children wouldn’t talk in therapy, I did most of the talking. We tried different therapists and counseling centers until I realized this wasn’t helping them, they wouldn’t utilize the sessions. My son, my oldest child and only son, definitely took the divorce hard. Looking back he reacted pretty much like his father which was to check out. Emotionally, they were ruined. I began the role of mother and father and enabler and spoiler and the shit show began. He told me years later that when he took his first sniff, he knew he was hooked. Sniffing didn’t last long as he was an impulsive and impatient boy who always craved instant gratification. Needles began showing up everywhere, in the toilet tank, in his mattress, under the bed. He added prescription opioids and benzos to the mix as he could get them from a local Doctor who gave them out to everyone and their mother. He never smoked pot after trying it the first time. Jumping ahead four years, my son tried heroin the first time with someone at school. It was the first day of his senior year. That decision would ultimately lead to his death at 29.