Keep My Treasure Safe

Meeting my best friend was like two souls recognizing each other from a past life. The moment we met, you never would have known that we didn't grow up together. It was an instant connection of loud laughter and conversations that lasted well into the night. Looking at us, we were polar opposites; her dressed in black at all times, myself dressed head to toe in pink, the angriest highlighter you'd ever met. We met on a cold winter night in December, and by January, I was living in her apartment, partying and using together, working illicit jobs to pay the bills and keep ourselves high.

Eventually, she got sober. She went back to her home province, had a couple kids, and kept to her sobriety. She would help me, both before and after my pregnancy with me son, even when she knew she was funding my habit; as far as she was concerned, it was better than me stealing another car or holding up a store. Prison was the only way that I could get sober. My addiction to stimulants had pushed me to the depths of being in and out of the jails and doing just about anything to get high. When my son was born, I really thought the addiction had met its match; boy, was I wrong.

The final time I landed in jail was both the best and the worst outcome I could have imagined. I got sober and remained that way, finally having dealt with some of the deepest roots of my addiction. On the flip side, mere months before my release, my husband and father of my child was found dead. January will never feel the same for me. This meant that our son needed somewhere to go, and with the Mother and Child program running, my three-year-old came into the prison with me.

Before I knew it, it was a month until my release. My son had adapted, and with the help of my best friend, we had a safe place to stay, and a way to phase back into society. We spent a week in a blitz of emotions; four weeks passes quickly when you're in dread, but far too quickly when you're seeing freedom within your reach. But of course, nothing could ever happen too easily around me.

With three weeks left until my release, we discovered an outbreak in the prison. The most devastating news was delivered: my son couldn't stay in the prison if there were a COVID-19 outbreak. We needed someone to get him and do it quickly. A call to my deceased husband's mother bore no fruit. She wouldn't get my son. My own mother didn't have the space and resources. Other family didn't care to help. There was only one call that I could make.

I called my best friend. The woman who had been the first to call my mother and ask for help when she realized the path I was on with my deceased husband. The one who had gotten sober and put her own life back together years before I found my way out of the cycle of addiction. The one who would find a solution no matter what. Sure enough, she did just that. She prepped her house within just a few hours to have a third child, my boy, stay with her for the next three weeks. She found a ride from her city to the jail, and came to get my boy. She traveled with complete strangers, the team who were filming a documentary about the Mother and Child program within the jails, just so that she could bring my son to a safe place.

The moment she arrived was the best and the worst; it was my birthday, and I got to see my best friend. I hadn't seen her in a few years because of my addiction and because of her move to and from the other side of the country. I was lucky she had returned when she did. However, it was my birthday in prison. I couldn't so much as hug her due to the COVID-19 regulations, and my son had to go with her, leaving me in quarantine with nothing but my beads and my own thoughts. Those three weeks were hell. I was lucky enough to be able to call her when I missed her, and when I missed my son. She worked hard to be able to make sure that her home was ready for my release, since I would be staying with her until I got back on my feet. She was already helping me to create a website to sell my crafts and artwork, and now she was also looking for jobs for me, apartments and daycares for my son and I, on top of everything else she needed to do for herself.

I know that those three weeks weren't easy on her. She was a single mother to begin with, but the fact that my son, despite testing negative as he was leaving the prison, had contracted the virus and brought it to her and her kids meant she struggled. Alone with her own two and four-year-old, plus my three-year-old, she had to care for three sick kids before getting sick herself. In the first week, her oven let go; with the restrictions and active virus in the house, she couldn't have it repaired for two weeks, nor could she bring the kids out anywhere. But she did it; she protected my precious treasure, fed him, clothed him, bathed him, and cared for him. She made sure we had a home for as long as we needed it, and cared for my son like he was her own.

Despite the struggle, she never shamed me, blamed me, or lashed out at me. She gave me updates on each day that I could call and kept my mother in the loop about every single thing she could. That way, if I could only call my Mom, I could still get an update. I don't know how she handled everything for those three weeks, but she did it.

Since my release date, she's supported me in every aspect. When I got into friendships with people who took advantage of me, she was the one who helped me forward. She stood in front of the meeting room when I received my three year chip, and cried with pride as she honored the fight it had been for me to get and stay sober. She has put countless hours into helping me with my online work, and supported me through grief and fear. She encouraged me when I felt uncertain, and celebrated every new milestone with me. Even when I asked to make amends to her as part of my twelve step program, she shook her head; she didn't want my amends, she wanted me to thrive.

She has been my rock. My best friend, the one who kept my treasure safe, has met me where I am and made space for my growth through my entire journey.