 TEN YEARS Sitting in my car I look up at the apartment in front of me. Top floor. Center window. Looking for answers, memories, for him. It’s been ten years. Ten years since my son lived there. Ten years since he tickled me with his beard and gave me one of his giant bear hugs. Ten years since I have heard his guitar and his voice. Ten years since I walked past the yellow caution tape and through the door in search of a “feeling” of him. Ten years since I packed his things into boxes. Ten years since grief and pain invaded my body. It’s been ten years since I wrote my son’s obituary. My son was pure magic. He was funny, talented, caring and kind. He turned heads with his infatuating energy and turned hearts with his never ending love. He died in that apartment. He was an addict. I felt desperately alone. Addiction is a circle of shame – for the addict and the family. His very inner circle of family and friends knew. Only MY very inner circle of family and friends knew. His addiction was kept private. No one knew he smoked pot for the first time when he was 12. No one knew the first rehab was when he was 16. No one knew he became addicted to an anti-anxiety drug a doctor prescribed for him. No one knew he went to rehab the second time. No one knew he began using prescription drugs again after having his wisdom teeth pulled and prescribed pain medication. No one knew he went to rehab the third time. No one knew how hard he tried to get better. No one knew the cycle, the rollercoaster, the nightmare. No one knew his pain or mine. No one knew what caused his death. The rumors, the gossip, the questions only made waiting for the autopsy more difficult. It didn’t make sense to me, but I wanted to believe it when I read: CAUSE OF DEATH- Bronchopneumonia. I locked the rest of the report in my home safe and in the safety of my heart. I didn’t want to say out loud that there was Methadone in his system within the normal toxic range, but it was also in the therapeutic range for treatment. I didn’t want to see the small amount of Diazepam (Valium) in his system. Both prescribed to him. I have learned that toxicology reports are only accurate if done swiftly. If there is a delay the results are skewed. In these cases the cause is almost always reported as- Bronchopneumonia. My son’s autopsy was not conducted until four days after he passed. For most of these years I have only spoken about the details with very select people, in private settings of safety. After ten years, it is time for me to stand in the truth. My son was an addict. Addiction and drugs killed him. The image of an addict as someone found lying in an alley with a needle in their arm needs to be redefined. Addicts are our brothers, our sisters, our parents, our best friends and our children. They are on every level of economic status and emotional strength. They collide with addiction in an infinite number of ways. I’ve spoken to rehab groups. I’ve met with parents of addicts. I’ve held the hands of others who have lost children. I have quietly watched the reports of more and more dying. More and more families struggling. More and more people criticized, shamed and shunned for suffering from addiction. The struggle is real. My son was not alone. His story is the story of so many others. We need to talk about it. We need to build a better network of ‘immediate’ treatment and support. We need to celebrate success and recovery in the same way we celebrate winning a battle with cancer… knowing that recurrence is possible, but support and hope never fades. This epidemic needs to stop! No one should have to hide behind shame and stigma when they desperately need help. No sister should have to tattoo her brother’s memory on her wrist. No brother should have to lose his best friend. No Mom should have to write her child’s obituary. No parent should have to close another casket. I look up at the apartment in front of me. Top floor. Center window. Looking for answers, memories, for him. I think of a conversation I had with my oldest son after the funeral. “Mom, what will we do when it’s been ten years and we forget him?” My answer was the same that day as it is today, “Oh, honey, ten years is a long, long time, but we will never forget him!” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ Pennie’s Life Lesson: “No matter how long it takes to stand in your truth, step past the fear and stand in the light.” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ LINKS TO SPREAD AWARENESS AND HELPPlease visit and share this link to Celebrating Lost Loved Ones. A map to build awareness and celebrate the magical lives lost to this epidemic: http://arcg.is/2dduJah  In memory of my J.T. 1985-2007 |
AuthorThere is a certain magic about where I live both physically and spiritually – on the crossroads of Spirit and Brave. Archives
February 2025
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