The number 3

It's barely 3 months into Brent's recovery and he's slipping away from us again. My heart aches for what he must be going through.  He has told me that the he's sick and tired of being sick and tired, but yet he turns to his addiction for comfort.  Why can't I be enough comfort???? why do I have to compete with his addiction??? Why can't it be enough to have a roof over his head, food, family who will help when he's doing the right things and all we ask is that he puts in the same effort we do?  It seems so simple to me and yet here I am again. Fearful of the next call from the 661 area code, thinking about how I am going to even be able to stay sane through all of this.  Three months seems to be a pivotal moment that he can't seem to master.  About the time life starts to get routine and mundane that he can't see the forest through the trees and worry consumes him.  I know I am powerless and I've gotten pretty good at compartmentalizing my day and letting the noise of work keep me distracted enough to see me through my day. Then Brent calls, I count to ten and take a deep breath before I answer.  I love you Brent....