Can't Go Home Again

I am writing this from a Starbucks on Harbor Blvd. in Anaheim, California, just down the street from Disneyland. No, I'm not here to see Mickey and Minnie, just tagging along with my brother on a business trip. The last few weeks have been a blur of emotion and necessity. I flew to Maine for my Mom's graveside service in Orrington, where my family lived before we moved to Bangor, and then Arizona. She was laid to rest alongside my Dad. My brother and two sisters also accompanied me. We buried Mom's ashes and then went to our longtime next-door neighbors, the Haskells, for a get-together thoughtfully arranged by Mrs. Haskell. It was nice to see old friends that I grew up with; they're practically like family. Unfortunately, other friends in Bangor disappointed me. They have not abandoned their old ways vis a vis drug use and partying. I am not judging them; God forbid, I've had enough of my own problems in that regard. It's just that I care about them and it's sad to see them in a downward spiral that will only end badly. Pot has given way to pills. Vicodin is now the drug of choice, along with other powerful painkillers. I was never into these kinds of things. Opiates are just too hard to kick, and they just didn't appeal to me. This stuff is hardcore. I'm afraid for my old pals.