What is methamphetamine? Methamphetamine is a highly addictive stimulant. The drug has limited medical uses for the treatment of narcolepsy, attention deficit disorders, and obesity. Long-term abuse can cause addiction, anxiety, insomnia, mood disturbances, violent behavior, and hallucinations. Results of a 2007 survey indicate that 1.8 percent of eighth graders, 2.8 percent of tenth graders, and 3.0 percent of twelfth graders reported they’d used methamphetamine at least once in their lifetime. Approximately 2.9 percent of college students and 7.3 percent of young adults (ages 19 to 28) surveyed in 2006 reported having used meth at least once in their lifetime. For more information, including resources on how to cope with methamphetamine abuse, visit whitehousedrugpolicy.gov, or call 800-666-3332. - White House Office of National Drug Control Policy

I couldn’t control the tears that began to spill from beneath my sunglasses and down my cheek. What a sight this is, I chided myself. Here is this kid trying to help some woman in his department, and she falls apart on him.But seeing compassion in the young man’s expression, I dared to speak.

“I have a son that’s about your age,” I began. “Now he’s a hardcore meth addict.

“Coming to Wal-Mart can be so hard,” I continued. “I see all the things I used to buy for him through the years as he was growing up,” I blurted, wiping tears and mascara. “It’s hard because I’ll never buy those things for him again — not because he grew up, but because he’s gone.”

To my surprise, instead of making an excuse for a quick exit, the young man put his arms around me in a sympathetic hug.

“I know what you mean,” he said quietly.

I looked at him quizzically.

“My mom was killed in a car wreck,” he explained. “I know what you mean about the stuff in the store. Holidays and celebrations are especially hard for me. Soon there will be all this Halloween stuff in the store, and it’ll remind me of how she would always dress up and have fun.”

The glimpse of sadness I saw in his face was strangely comforting. It felt good to know that other people understood what I was feeling. Maybe God had
made this meeting possible.

After that day, I began looking forward to my trips to Wal-Mart instead of dreading them. Carl’s eyes lit up whenever he saw me, and he would smile and give me a hug. My heart began to heal a little from all the times my own son had looked at me with hatred, all the times his arms had pushed my motherly affection away. Carl shares the ups and downs of his life with me and welcomes my advice. I have never told him how much he fills that son-shaped void in my heart, and I only hope that sometimes I fill the mom-shaped void in his.

“How did you know today was my birthday?” he exclaimed one day when I showed up at the store with a present.

“I asked you a couple of months ago and made a note of it,” I said, giving him a hug.

Easter was quickly approaching, and by Maundy Thursday my heart was sinking. My son would not be here for me to give him an Easter basket. He would not join me for church services. Carl’s shift ended at 4 that afternoon, so I headed to Wal-Mart around 3 to grab some last-minute items for the weekend. Carl clocked out early and shopped with me. We looked at everything from betta fish (I collect them) to camping gear to produce, and chatted. In sporting goods, we compared the fishing lures we’d used in the past. He pointed out one that was especially large, while I held up a much smaller one I had used, complaining how I hadn’t caught much with it.

“Well,” he said, holding up the large one, “It’s like this: big lure — big fish; small lure — small fish.” He flashed his hallmark grin, causing me to burst into laughter. How bittersweet that moment was: My son always gave fishing advice.

It was inevitable that our trek around the store would lead us to the vast array of pre-made Easter baskets — the ones with toys and candy. Carl spoke.