Dear Son: My December birthday came and went last week. I thought I might’ve heard from you, but I did not. And then came Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and as family and friends gathered at home to celebrate, there was something missing; I didn’t hear from you.

I know you are out there somewhere; I try and believe you are OK, yet my mother’s intuition tells me otherwise. Yet, I’m your mom and because I am your mom and I love you, I will remain hopeful.

You didn’t choose to become addicted to stuff like cocaine, crack or heroin, but somehow it found you and then really spoke to you, lulled you into the lifestyle that has taken you away from me and your family.

The year 2023 held promise and with great expectation, my memoir, “Addicted: Our Strength Under the Influence,” would be published.

Yet, more than that, all the foundations for my writing were wrapped up in you and your sister, the reasons I was able to write down our story to share with other families who were living in addiction, surprisingly without even “picking up.”

Your three-year prison sentence was to end early, you worked hard in a recovery program earning your certificate that gave you “good time” off your sentence. We were looking forward to May when you would be released back into the world. And so you were, a sober house close by. And we had great conversations and good belly laughs together.

Your birthday breakfast in September held an ominous tone. I told you it would “kill me” if you started using again, to which you replied, “Yeah, it will kill me too.”

Little did I know “it” had already called your name and you had answered as before and here we were face to face and you had already spiraled into using.

When it became clear by your own admission to using just a few short weeks later, I was disappointed yet not surprised, because I’ve been walking this road right alongside you for how long now?

Sadly. Addiction takes our loved ones from us and turns them into entities, ghosts really, beings we barely recognize. Yet, somehow the faces are still so familiar.

I watched an interview in October when Matthew Perry of “Friends” fame, your all-time favorite show, sat across from Diane Sawyer and spoke of his struggle with addiction. I thought something was off, untruthful.

He died not less then three weeks later, at home by drowning in his own hot tub. The cause, the coroner concluded of “acute effects of ketamine.” My thoughts went immediately to his mom and dad, how sadly cruel as they had their hopes and dreams for his well-being dashed once again.

But this time the grieving would be their final act. No more lingering in the constant wonder when, grieving their son who was still alive but not “alive,” wounded with each breath.

So today as I do every day, I think of you and pray for your safety.

“Any word from your son?” people ask. I shake my head no, or comment, “nothing,” which is why I knew I wanted to write this letter to you.

Because I choose to believe addiction has not taken you from us as has happened to Matthew Perry, so I say, I know you are somewhere, perhaps wondering how or why this happened to you and how these lonesome feelings of shame and isolation, of rejection and detestation could be your life.

The insidious nature of addiction — it takes our loved ones away from us and from themselves, too.

In the meantime, I’ll still wait for my phone to ring until I hear otherwise. Love, Mom.

Susan Avery lives in Brattleboro, Vermont and facilitates a Nar-Anon Family Group, a family support program. For more information, she can be reached at sueavery1@comcast.net.