The Loved One of Friday's post was released from the facility that detoxed him. He was picked up by a family member and taken home.
He was then told to pack up his belongings and leave the residence. LO was surprised but complied without incident. He gathered up his things, got into his car and was gone.
The fresh hell that awaits us is the outcome. There is a feeling we will never see him again, not because LO is so pissed he will be out of contact but that he will drink himself to death in a hotel room, on the street or take a faster route to suicide.
The love for this individual hasn't dissipated; it's the love for this individual that makes all this so terrible in the first place. The person that we love is in some deep hole and we don't know how to rescue him. We can't rescue him. Only he can do that and we fear he doesn't have the mental resolve to do that.
There's no program for pre-mourning the loss of a loved one. The loss has to happen and then there is the fear of that loss leading up to that moment. The damnedest thing is there is a glimmering sense of hope floating about in the darkness that we have. We are afraid to shine any light on it as trundling down that path is too miserable. To ignore the light, no matter how feint, is equally painful.
To give up is to surely fail. To continue hope in the face of blinding reality is nothing more than self-torture.