Poetic License

Tomorrow I will travel to the coast to support my friend and her family as they say goodbye to their eldest child, another life lost to overdose death, the second in their family. This is the same way I lost my daughter, and I know intimately how bloody hard it is to deal with not only the loss but the judgment from others about an overdose death.

When someone dies from overdose, whether it is intentional or accidental, others feel free to judge. They might say things to you, such as, “He did this to himself.” Or they might say things behind your back, such as, “I knew those kids were allowed to run wild.” None of this is helpful. In fact it heaps blame upon someone who is already blaming themselves. Please, if you know someone who has lost a loved one to overdose (or suicide), use the old adage: If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. Better yet, ask them how you can support them. Be there to listen to them. Offer to prepare a meal, drive the carpool, clean their house (or hire a maid for them), or even just call to check in regularly. Those things are so helpful.

When my daughter died, I didn’t know anyone who had lost a child to overdose. I spent years beating myself up about it, thinking I could have done something differently, but those first weeks and months were agonizing. I had no one to talk to about it. No one understood, and I could feel the stares and the judgment coming at me from all sides. I felt like I was losing my mind.

Drugs and alcohol are insidious. For some, they hold no sway. For others, they immediately take hold and push everything else out of a person’s life. The next drink, the next fix, becomes the most important thing in the world–more important than your spouse, your child, your parents, your livelihood, or your reputation. You will do anything to continue to either feel that numbing effect or avoid getting “dopesick,” which I understand can be brutal.

I feel a little hypocritical talking about this, because I have to rely on prescription medication (of all kinds) to keep me going, including pain medication at a low dose because of a bad spine. I wish I didn’t have to take anything. I wish my digestive system could tolerate anti-inflammatory drugs without trying to kill me. The war on drugs and big pharma sometimes affects my ability to get my prescription filled. But the thing is, when I don’t take my medication, the worst thing that happens is that my pain becomes severe. I don’t start craving the drug. I can imagine what it is like for addicts, but only to an extent. It was the same when I drank alcohol. I could take it or leave it, but it never held me hostage.

That’s really how I think of addiction. It is a substance holding a victim hostage. Once the body tastes that substance for the first time, it begins to crave the substance. Eventually, the body (and mind) are so addicted that the victim will do anything to ease that craving – anything. My father, who came back from the war with an injury and PTSD, developed a relationship with alcohol that almost killed him. He also had a similar relationship with cigarettes, which did kill him. Drugs have destroyed my younger sister’s life, and similarly, they have destroyed her son’s life in that co-dependent relationship they have. Drugs and alcohol killed my daughter and killed one of my nephews. They were hostages of addiction.

The best advice I could give to any of you raising a child is to keep the communications open. Do something together other than getting buried in electronics and social media. Talk about the dangers of addiction. But love them, too, above all. Ultimately, it is their choice whether to indulge in experimentation, and ultimately, if they become addicted, it is their choice to get help to stop using. Even if they begin to turn their life around, as my daughter was doing, one wrong move can kill them.

I’m fortunate that my son made different choice than his sister. They were raised in the same way by the same parents in the same environment. My son took the road less traveled. While he isn’t a tee-totaler, he is also not a hostage of substances. He, like me, can take it or leave it. He chooses not to take any pain medication, even after surgery. He is even careful about taking an ibuprofen, but he does take them when he has a headache. He told me recently that his life could have gone very differently, because some of his friend circle was very much into drinking to excess and to using drugs. He didn’t want his life to be like that. Some of that is a testament to his resolve and his strength, but it is also sheer luck of the genetic draw that he can take a drink without becoming an alcoholic.

Hug your loved ones. Make sure they know that you love them – even if they make bad choices. Make sure they know you will help them if they want help.

So many goodbyes. So many lives lost. So many bright futures gone.

May your children live long.

Namaste, Jude