As I was writing that last post about my wonderful life with my husband and sweet daughter, Lily... about how we are going to change into better examples for her. How she inspires us to be the best we can be... While I was sitting in the small computer room of our modest but clean and pleasent home with my feet up and my laptop in my lap, while Lily sleeps in the other room... while my belly digests the dinner we cooked together... my husband was driving home from his little brother's apartment across town with a rock of cocaine in his pocket. He went for pot and came back with a rock.
I'm having a hard time putting into words the disappointment it makes me feel. I want to throw it in the toilet. I want to bury it in the backyard... perhaps underneath Lily's turtle shaped sandbox. I want to grind it up in the garbage disposal.
Am I being emotional? Childish? Is one rock of cocaine really going to change anything? Is it going to ruin him? Us? Lily? Or is it just going to keep him up all night? Probably the latter but I have a sinking feeling in my gut that I have a hard time ignoring.
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