Navigating the Loss of a Child

I wrote this post a few months ago thinking I would submit it.  I didn't.  Today I found it, read it, started tweaking it, and now I'm not so sure I should post it at all.  Hopefully, it will speak to someone who has lost a child or was disappointed by life.

John died overnight.  One moment we were a mostly happy family, and the next morning he was dead.  He was 24 years old, tall, dark and handsome.  He was funny and outgoing, and he genuinely cared about people, He was also an addict.  I hate that term, but I’ll use it here, so you understand.  I would normally refer to it as substance use disorder, or that he died from fentanyl poisoning, but the fact remained that John was very addicted to opioids.  Which turned into a heroin addiction and then to fentanyl poisoning.  The drug of the season.  The mass murderer of our children.

 

He was in the Army, 3,250 miles away from home, and was injured.  Instead of bringing him to a specialist for his pain, his medical papers were thrown in the garbage.  Would it have changed everything if they weren’t?  That’s a question I’ll have to live with.  By the time he was honorably discharged, he had been prescribed 250 pain pills.  There is a reason, nowadays, that you are only given a few and no refills.  Fifty percent of our population has the tendency for addiction and a handful of pills can start you on that dark path very quickly. 

Am I angry at the Army?  Clearly.  I'm also angry with myself.  The VA.  Life . .and I'm saddened by our local government.  Our fantastic local State Representative put forth a bill to honor our son with a highway sign.  I can't tell you how much that meant to me.  Silly right?  A road sign on a few miles of a rural highway that would bear his name. Not a big deal to the motorists driving by, but to me, it meant that people would see his name.  Some would even remember him.   But it was quickly shot down because John wasn't killed in war.  Which is true.  He was killed by his addiction, stemming from an injury while serving his country, which they ignored.  He should have gotten a medal for sticking out his remaining year in constant pain while being dosed with Big Pharma's money-making pills.  But, alas, he doesn't even warrant a road sign for his willingness to serve our country.  For his patriotism. His military cemetery plaque should read "War on Opioids" instead of "Persian Gulf". Yes, it says "Persian Gulf" because that is what the Army requires - even though he wasn't in the Persian Gulf.  He would have loved to have been deployed, after all, that's why he signed up.  Anyway, I regress . . .sorry.  

 

So, when I say we were mostly happy, it was because his addiction was causing a lot of heartbreak and stress, both for him and us.  

 

At 6:30 a.m. our world shifted, and it’s never righted itself, nor will it.  I think the biggest misconception about child loss is that people heal.  I can say that after seven years, I still long for his presence every single day.  I miss him.  On many days, I still find it hard to believe.  As I write this, it still feels like yesterday.  

Have you all seen the Killer Whale who carried her dead calf around for 17 days?  How about the gorilla who carried the body of her infant around for 7 months after it died?  African elephants exhibit the same types of behaviors, going as far as burying the bodies of their calves and returning to the site to visit.  How long then shall we give a grieving human parent?  I think the norm should be understood and respected: As long as they have breath.

 

I have found in my grief that the world doesn't hold much space for the dead.  It's too sad, it's taking too long, they talk about it too much, it makes people uncomfortable.  Why can't they just get over it? On the flip side, we are congratulated for being positive in the face of our adversity, for being strong, and for handling it well.  When, in truth, we are simply adapting to the culture around us.  The culture that can't handle our sadness or our loss. 

I want my faith to be a shining example of how to grieve with hope, I really do.  But when you tell me about how well I'm doing, I hear something different.  I hear "I don't know what to do with this heartache, so I'm going to spin it into something positive."  Well, it doesn't feel very positive to me.  I just want my boy.  Not a participation award.

 

I’m here to tell you that while we might stop crying in front of you or talking about our devastation to you, we are still fully in it.  With addiction, there is guilt.  There are feelings that we could have/should have done more, tried something different, tougher love, more love – something. Was it how we raised him?  Was it something we did?  Why didn’t we wake up and save him? Honestly, it’s endless.  It’s a complete nightmare and every morning when I wake up, it’s still there.  Front and center.

 

It isn’t like you can escape your flesh and blood.  Nor do you want to.  Nope, he’s right there at every celebration, with every soldier in fatigues, with anyone his age or his gender, in songs and movies, in a black truck driving by.  He’s right there every time you hug someone’s son or hear people speak of their kids.  He’s right there because he’s not.  But he should be.  

 

They say that mothers carry the cells of their children with them forever.  I believe it.  When he died, I felt like part of me died with him.  So how then do I heal?  Move on?  Get over it?  I don’t. I am learning to live with the devasting loss and juggle my feelings whenever I’m around other people.  It’s exhausting.  It’s stressful, and that stress can lead to health issues. Just in our family, we've experienced anxiety and depression, cancer and autoimmune disease, high blood pressure, panic attacks, brain fog, diminished concentration, and memory issues.  Trauma can really do a number on the body, mind, and soul.  Please, do what you can to take care of yourself.

 

For anyone stumbling on to this post after a loss – you aren’t crazy.  This truly is horrible.  It’s unnatural.  It’s surreal.  It is, unfortunately, your life now and you will have to learn to navigate it, or you’ll sink.  At this time of your life, you need to put your family first.  Learn to say no.  Stay home if you need to.  Find your safe people and talk to them.  Journal if that helps.  Go to a grief group or therapy.  Join an online chat group and find your tribe, no one will understand like fellow loss parents.  Cling to your faith with everything in you.  If it wasn’t for that, I don’t know how I’d get up each day. 

 

You aren’t alone.  While most of the world isn’t going to be able to step into your shoes, say the right thing, or be there when you need them – some will and those friends are gold.  Pure gold.  This club that you unwillingly joined has so many wonderful albeit broken-hearted people in it.  I’m so sorry if you are a part of it.