Scared

I saw an old friend walking to rehab the other day.
At least I hope that is where she was going.
I'd seen her at an event for our kids just a few days before.
She told me she'd been in a bad place but now she's found Jesus.
She got down on her knees, she said. She prayed.
I watched her as she walked away. The tears flowed behind my sun glasses.
I don't doubt her faith. But I've known two too many addicts.
I think of the billboard I pass on the highway every monrning - a little girl blows bubbles with the caption: When you were young did you dream of becoming an addict?
I don't know what makes a person choose one path and another take the opposite.
 My fear of the future reaches crescendo as my boys run toward me oblivious to my mental swirl.
 They throw out their wants and needs in chant-like staccato:
  I'm hungry.
Hold me, hold me.
I don't want to go home now.
 Is it possible to keep your kids safe?
When do you start talking about this what-if?
What do you say?
 I have a physical urge to grab my boys and tell them scared-straight stories they cannot possibly understand at 4 and 8.
I'm jarred  from my thoughts when my friend comes back to where I stand.
I only did it one time, she says.
You can't understand it because you haven't been through it.
Do you know anyone this happened to?
Yeah, I do.
What happened?
They're dead.