Memories

I am surprised when, although it has been over four years since our son died of a heroin overdose, memories surface and grief follows. The surprise comes because the memories seem to come ‘out of the blue’, from no particular trigger and for no particular reason.

My husband just had a memory that was triggered when he heard our seven year old granddaughter express trepidation over seeing a bird that had died and fallen into the back yard. It was as if our son was seven again, full of wonder and normal childhood fears. His voice, his emotions, him.

I have had memories of our son as I’ve been working in our daughter’s garden or driving to the grocery store. JL as a young adult, just his face in some everyday interaction, triggering the sadness that he is no longer on this earth, part of our life, living the life that most 29 year olds are living.

It seems that memories don’t need a reason to rise to the surface from out of our hearts. Our son has been in our hearts since the day he was born and he continues to live there. It is the strongest ‘evidence’ we have that life does not stop after we die and physically leave the land of the living. We are eternal beings and I am very thankful for that.

Grieving The Living

For many, 2017 was a year of loss: a job, a home, a relationship, an opportunity. For between 120,000 parents to well over a million friends and relatives of the 60,000 persons who died from opiate overdoses in 2017, the new year will be a continuation of the grief process. Once we are forced to enter this unexpected, unwanted, and uncharted new territory, we have no choice but to travel through it. With support from our communities of friends and God’s love, we will somehow come out on the other side. If we have grieved honestly and fully, we will be better people who see others through different eyes.

But what about those who are living with a loved one in active addiction, or in a recovery program for the umpteenth time, or whose whereabouts are unknown? What is their 2018 going to be like? I can tell you, because my husband and I were there a few years ago. We were in constant flux between hoping against hope as we prayed and waited for a miraculous change, and discouragement and depression as we watched our young adult son struggle against an unrelenting foe. We were grieving the loss of the son we loved and raised and had hoped to see move successfully into adulthood. We were grieving the living.

Dr. Susan D. Writer wrote an excellent article on “Grieving the Living” posted on the Coalition For Healthy Minds website: http://cahmsd.org/grieving-the-living. The short article is well worth the read, but here are a few highlights:

“For those of us who have a loved one who struggles with mental illness or addiction, we are all too aware of how we can ‘lose the living’.  When that individual is in the throes of…any unmanaged mental illness or addiction, their behaviors are altered. They are not themselves – or at least not the version of the people that we have grown to know and love. In some instances…we can only watch as they spiral down a dark or dangerous path.  No matter what the outcome, our relationship with this loved one changes as a result of what we are experiencing, separately and together, and we often feel a deep sense of loss.  But we must grieve the relationship of the past if we are to create a new one in its place for the future…though there may be remnants of the person we knew ‘before’ the illness or addiction, the change has occurred and all of us must learn to adapt… But we all must honor these changes in our loved ones and recognize that if we are to have any relationship with them we need to learn to adjust and adapt on our end… Grieving is a process and a necessary part of life…In order for us to realize the potential for a new relationship, with new opportunities for connection and intimacy, we must grieve the old relationship, and essentially ‘grieve the living’ to allow for life to move on… On the other side of grief is growth.  And on the other side of grief is also acceptance and peace.  But most importantly, on the other side of grief is love.”

I don’t know if while grieving our living son we ever got to consistent acceptance and peace, but the love between us all remained, even up to his last phone call to us the night before his death. And for that, I am eternally thankful.