Everything seems so possible and so impossible when redwoods surround you: their huge trunks and dizzying heights dwarf and shield you and your son from the rest of the world. I have pictures of him hugging the trees, standing on tiptoes and reaching for the tops.

I wish we could go back there–not necessarily to the woods themselves, but to that time when we would get lost on a long hike before eventually finding our way back.

Before the painkillers took over his life. Before he lost his scholarship and his interest in school and life. Before he was caught buying more pills from an undercover cop. Before his problems couldn’t be solved with a hike.

It’s like I’m down on the ground, sinking into the forest floor and reaching for him, swaying at the top of the tree.

I don’t know how to help him find his way back.