Roamin’ Roma

June, 2015

From Roma’s lonely journey

The plan, according to the experts at Roma’s treatment center, was for Roma to move to a halfway house after his successful thirty days of rehab, where he would live for four to six months. He would get a job and pay his own rent. Roma had given his permission for his therapist to share all information with me. Drugs in his system when he entered detox a month ago were alcohol, marijuana, and this time he had added meth.

If there is a “bright-side” to meth use, it was that it scared him into urgently seeking help and checking himself into rehab. His counselor said he was a model patient, truly eager to get clean. She felt he had a great chance of succeeding.

He confessed to me that the meth had been a terrible mistake, “I don’t know why I tried meth, Mom. Never again!”

“Roma, did you NOT watch the films in health class? Meth? Really? And Meth rots your teeth!” I tried to appeal to his considerable vanity.

Even though I had resolved to let Roma have his way (as if I had a choice) and not interject my will into his prodigal experience, or steal the “gift of desperation,” as Fred had warmed me against, I offer confirmation when Fred recommended a Christian-run halfway house after Roma’s thirty-day treatment. Even though I have never met Fred, I trusted him completely, as I had trusted Nancy long before I met her. And Ella after Nancy. And countless others. There could be no doubt that God had brought these warrior into the battle for a reason. And I believe there was mutual benefits for all.

Fred was totally bonded with Roma after God connected him twice by astounding “chance meetings, on a sidewalk in Delray Beach and at a Celebrate Recovery meeting a year later. Fred and I agreed they were truly Divine Appointments, when God Himself intervened. Roma asked him to be his sponsor in CR. Fred told me that these God experiences with Roma had changed his life. I understood, because God had also transformed my own life by this precious, yet wildly frustrating boy. Fred wasn’t the first, or last, person to acknowledge that they had seen God work powerfully in Roma’s life. Fred took his God-given ministry of Roma’s spiritual protection very seriously, inviting him for dinner with his family, spending time with him, and in the process, falling under Roma’s charismatic spell.

Fred was fascinated by this young man who God had Called him to love. He called me occasionally to update me on progress, as Nancy, and Ella had done when they had been Called by God for their seasons to care for Roma.

“I just love this kid,” Fred would tell me, surprised by the immediate and deep bond. “He’s so interesting and smart. He can talk about anything, sports, history, politics. He seems so well-rounded and well educated. Did he go to college?” While I was trying to know how to respond, continued, “Is he well educated?”

“Well. . . he did spend five years in high school,” I couldn’t resist.

Roma’s extra year of high school had nothing to do with him being a slow learner. He emphatically was not. It was a strategy to give him more time to get ready for life, whether college was the next step, or training for a job. or the Military. The structure, the camaraderie of the boys and men, and the sports program Fork Union offered was a perfect fit for outgoing, alpha-male Roma. He thrived as a popular cadet, enjoyed wearing a uniform, and enjoyed his experience immensely. One of his teachers, a retired Army officer, as most teachers were, sent me an email saying, “Roma is a diamond in the rough.” I was thankful he was getting the polishing done where his value was appreciated.

The same way Roma had ingratiated himself into life at Fork Union, and life at our house and community, for that matter, he embraced all the halfway house had to offer. He befriended and endeared himself to all members of his new group home, from the directors and counselors to the other residents.

In fact, Roma’s ability to endear himself to people was in his hard-wiring. I couldn’t miss it at first sight when I picked him up in a church basement for our hosting experience in November of 2001, one only needs to watch the first minute to see how he hooked my whole heart, when he was only seven. That big personality and sweet heart combined with some fun mischief overflowed his little frame.

He always put himself out there, with everyone he met, whether he was inviting all of his new elementary teachers to his little league baseball games, to knocking on his new neighbors’ doors, just to say hi, to inviting a neighborhood bully to be his friend. He was always cultivating relationships, with all ages. He withheld nothing of himself. He possessed no inhibitions or fears. I had two nicknames for him when he was little. Roamin’ Roma, because he was always trolling his new domain for people, and, when he was playing sports, the Rushin’ Russian, because he was a natural athlete. (Wasn’t I clever?)

I am far more reserved than Mr. Personality. I am a people-observer. I don’t want to be the center of attention, and I don’t want to bother people. I often thought over the years that Roma shouldn’t bother people either, and that he didn’t read social cues, that he might not recognize when to pull back, and give others a needed respite from that intense personality.

“Roma, don’t always be in your friend’s house, or they will hate you,” I would only half tease, paraphrasing Proverb 25:17. I tried to give him gentle warnings.

“Oh, mom, they love me,” was always his perspective and answer. Roma was Roma, unapologetically. He often got a pass that other kids were denied. One of his early principals shared when he graduated from elementary school, “Roma is so special, we didn’t mind any of his mischief.” There was no denying, the boy has “gifts”!

That open, inviting personality continued to be an asset for him in his halfway house. He had made friends, and everyone was working with him to find a job, to maybe go to college when they recognized his intellectual abilities. His counselor called be about helping him apply for financial aid. He wanted to be an EMT, that week, and they had training in the area he was where he was living. I told him to start saving his money to make it happen. We would help him, if he first helped himself. I was still trying to not be a safety net for him, and to allow him to make his own good decisions so his success could breed more success. To let it be his decision. Or at least let him to think it was his decision.

The middle of August, 2015, just days after he announced on Facebook that he “never thought he would be sober on his twenty-first birthday,” he texted me to tell me he was leaving Florida and coming back to Maryland. He wasn’t planning to come home, he had plans, and told me not to worry.

Then the director of the halfway house called me to explain that Roma’s leaving wasn’t their wish, he was doing exceptionally well with their program, and they all enjoyed and loved him. He said Roma was discouraged because his job wasn’t working out. He was a telemarketer for reducing interest rates on student loans, and they had a quota to fill. The job was not a good match for Roma’s outgoing and connecting personality. He wasn’t used to annoyed people’s rejection.

I called Roma back and tried to talk to him, against my determination to let him fail. He said determinedly that he had a plan that was all worked out. When I tried to learn more, Roma shut me down when he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

I sent Fred a text to see if he knew about Roma’s impulsive decision and mystery plan. He called immediately, sickened by the unexpected news. I felt like another rug had been yanked out from under me.

As usual, I had no power to alter Roma’s stubborn impulsivity and recklessness.

Continue with Return of the Prodigal