Opening The Door to Your Grief

When you are grieving, you learn to plan your days carefully and schedule down days. At least I do, and I am so thankful that my schedule allows it. I know, after these long 15 months, that I will need a couple recovery days after a fun event, a trip, or even a visit to our daughter's house. Don't misunderstand, we love going, it's the coming home that requires the adjustment. It starts as we prepare to leave, worsens on the drive, and hits home the minute we open the front door.  

We needed a couple down days after our vacation as well. As restful as it was, we still had to come home. We purposefully drove to Indiana this year, instead of flying, to catch the plane for our seed trip.  It gave us time to process.  We saw new things, drove down new roads, visited new places, met new faces . . . and it was good. You might remember last years blog, "A Grieving Introvert on a Plane Full of Strangers". Well, this year was filled with more glorious sunshine and crystal blue water, our dear friends from last year, and more crazy roundabouts. It was also easier. Fewer questions, more relaxed.  And, the Father even provided another new set of friends, ones who have suffered their own great loss.  Sadly, a beautiful daughter to cancer.  There is an instant connection between parents who have lost a child. 

There is an anonymousness of being away from home that grants you a little tiny reprieve on the grief journey. You never forget, but you aren't walking past his bedroom and being bombarded with photos and memories. You're not driving by the church where his funeral was held, or visiting the local coffee shop for the beautiful liquid that sustained you through some of those first dark days. (Starbucks you will always be remembered as a lifesaver). You don't see his high school, his favorite fast food restaurant, the stop light he ran in front of McDonald's, the parking lot you met him in before that job interview, the place he got his wisdom teeth removed, the recruiter's office.

You see, anything can trigger an emotional setback, no matter where you are, but the places you are most familiar with, bring back the most memories.  Surely a song, a smell, a similar looking person can also set you off - anywhere you may try and run . . .but, home, for sure, is the hardest.  I may have cried when I found strawberry jam in the refrigerator today.  I threw it away, begrudgingly.  It might have been Brian's - but it reminded me of John.  One less trigger, one more thing he will never need again.  I kept the hot sauce.  It's just so John.  {Yes, certainly feel free to check the expiration dates before you eat at my house. 😏}

I told my grief friends I felt a little lighter after the dreaded holidays and the wrap up of the court proceedings, and after we got away and had some sunshine.  Frankly, I had a couple of pretty okay days in there this week.  I actually felt a little tiny bit like myself - I'm not sure if that's always good, but I recognized it, and I was thankful for it.  And then today - I let myself "go there".  

It started out innocently enough.  I looked at my Facebook memories, and then my Timehop memories, which can be a real heart stopper some days.  Photo's and conversations will pop up on there that you overlooked or forgot you had.  You quickly download those photos and add them to either the shared album or John's folder on the desktop.  You hoard them.  Well, that started it.  Then I searched his name on Facebook.  I reread some of the newspaper articles, and then I found a photo I hadn't seen before.  Big Trigger.  The brother of a friend of John's had posted a photo of the two of them together after John had passed, and it was a new photo for me.  I looked into John's eyes, and it was all over.  His eyes in that picture were not the eyes of someone that is perfectly okay.  Which I can easily and painfully recognize.  You'd think at that point I'd be smart enough to stop, but hey, why stop when you're just starting to get that huge lump in your throat and the tears are freely rolling down your face? Why not push it?  So I did.  Which led to blogging {drivel} therapy, and for all this I am sorry. But remember, you are here by choice . . . so don't blame me - I really am not looking for a pity party here, just sharing my truth, again, and maybe a bit sarcastically, but truly hoping it helps someone else out there in a simialar situation.

So, I looked at more photo's, I read more comments, I reflected and I remembered. And then I did something a bereaved parent of an accidental overdose should probably not do. I clicked play on "A Beautiful Boy." Oh. My. Goodness.  Sure. 😳 Watch a movie about drug addiction, why not?  And can I just interject here - why must treatment facilities always look like dungeons?  "Hey, I'm feeling miserable and depressed.  Why not check into a seedy flophouse?" {Too young for that reference?  Ask your Grandma}.  Well, that quickly brought me back to the day I drove John to an appointment, out of town, that I had made for him at a methadone clinic. {No, that's not a clinic where they hand out meth}. It's a treatment facility where they treat opioid addiction with another drug called Methadone.   

{Methadone changes the way your brain and nervous system respond to pain so that you feel relief. Its effects are slower than those of other strong painkillers like morphine. It blocks the high you get from drugs like codeine, heroin, hydrocodone, morphine, and oxycodon.

Your doctor may prescribe methadone if you’re in a lot of pain from an injury, surgery, or chronic illness.

It can also help if you’re in treatment for addiction to other opioids. It can give a similar feeling and prevent withdrawal symptoms. You may hear this called replacement therapy. Methadone replaces the opioids in your system with milder effects.} Web MD

Meth is short for methamphetamine.  A different class of drugs.  Equally horrible and all drugs should be avoided at all cost.  The cost being your life. Say no, always, don't go there, not once.  Be smart.  It's a good look. 🤓

Anyway, I apologize to any treatment centers that look bright and inviting - my experience has been limited and so far, depressing.  But, back to the story...

At this point, I have let myself go there, let myself have a sad day, and now I've let myself go to one of the trigger words for me:  FAILURE.  We, the parents of the overdoses, try to keep certain words locked behind closed doors, because the word closet, especially the "F" drawer, is filled with all sorts of things we blame ourselves for, and is one to avoid if we can.  It'll send me down a road that I choose not to travel for a reason.  It's where I start blaming myself for John's addiction. Yes, I know.  It wasn't my fault, blah blah blah.  Tell that to my brain.  So, we are sitting in the waiting room, this was my idea, and so far he has gone along with it.  John is quiet and the longer we sit there the more "off" the place feels to me.  

I don't get that feeling often, but I had it very strongly on that day and in that place.  Side note:  I've taken a relative to and visited said relative at a few different treatment facilities, so this wasn't a completely new experience for me.  Quite possibly the methadone clinic would have been a horrible fit for John.  Maybe something terrible would have taken place.  Maybe he would have had more trauma...I don't know.  All I do know is that it felt really really wrong to me.  But I hid that feeling and continued to sit next to him waiting for his name to be called.  He was struggling with the forms, struggling with being there - but quietly.  Then he stopped, put the pen down, and looked at me.  He said, "this doesn't feel right to me."  I thought and prayed some more, and then I agreed. And we left. My gut isn't always right, but when it feels like that, I tend to pay attention. 

But today, I am going to go ahead and beat myself up for that.  I am going to "go there", and I am going to blame myself - And, while I'm at it, I'm going to ask myself a few more of the "what if" questions?  Two very dangerous words if you're trying not to spiral downward. I can take "what if" all the way back to the day he was born. I have a million what if questions stored behind that door. 

Well, dear, sweet, struggling parents - I give you permission to say no to going there, to what if, to blaming and shaming.  You did the best you could.  You loved them with all your heart and they knew it.  You told them there wasn't anything you wouldn't do for them, and if you could have taken the pain/trauma/addiction you would have - in a heartbeat.   If transferring it was an option, I would have checked myself in, gone through the withdrawal, taken the heaping amounts of shame and disappointment he felt, upon myself  - for him.  I would have given my life for his life.  My well being for his well-being.  My future for his future.  What parent wouldn't?  

But that isn't an option now.  He is gone.  It's really too late now to play that game, isn't it?  Now my job is to stay strong, do the things, fight the fight, be the person everyone expects...but, a few things have changed.  Now I say no.  I don't put myself in certain situations anymore if I can help it. I won't take on more than I can handle. I  trust my judgment. I will protect my family and John's memory with everything I have left.   I will love more and try to worry less. I still tend not to initiate much, and I will continue to schedule my down days.  

I'm going to go ahead and watch the rest of this movie now, so you probably don't want to call me.  😏 And I'm going to continue to pray for the ones still wrestling with their addiction.  God help us all. 🙏🏻

Umm, {two hours later}, first don't watch that because I mentioned it.  Please.  Secondly, yes, it was very realistic - a little too realistic.  Thirdly, Steven was fantastic . . .until he turned into Michael for me when Holly showed up.  And in conclusion . . .tough love or just love and support?  Personally, I'm glad we didn't have to experience all of that - I cannot imagine.  And, at the end of the day, I guess I'm thankful he was with us when he passed and he never doubted our unconditional love.  We were too naieve about what he needed, thought he was kicking it, we were wrong.  If I can tell you anything, it's get educated.