With addiction, love has no place to go.
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Carolyn Everett McRae
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With addiction, love has no place to go.
No Place to Go
Love is supposed to flit about, here and there. Happily. And lightly. It's also supposed to have a place to land. Love is supposed to reach out and check in: How's the job? How's your life? Wanna do lunch? Go for a walk? Wanna talk? Do you need help with this or that? Happy Birthday! Here's a birthday cake, some presents, birthday wishes, a party hat. Yes, love is supposed to flit about, here and there, doing all these things, and more.
With addiction, love has no place to go. No place to land. My love, as a mother, has become untethered. So, in trying to make things right in my maternal world, I fuss, fix, and fume instead--forcing and faking a two-way relationship. I butt in and argue and wheel and deal and wheedle and enable and un-able and whine and beg. Love is supposed to flit about, here and there. Happily. And lightly. But there's nowhere for my love to go. Or land. And so, I ache.
Grief is just love with no place to go.-Jamie Anderson
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