death of a child – Opiate Nation

Why We Need to Learn to Grieve

Why Grieve? First, those who grieve well, live well. Second, and most important, grief is the healing process of the heart, soul, and mind. It is the path that returns us to wholeness. Until we do, we suffer from the effect of unfinished business.

~Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, On Grief and Grieving, pg. 229

(Translation into most languages at tab to the right)

Like most people in Western societies, I was never taught how to grieve the loss of someone I loved. My family had not suffered the untimely loss of anyone close to us. Elderly grandparents passed and we would miss them, but quiet tears and sad faces was all I ever saw at those rare funerals. And grief is not something one normally thinks about when we are young. Unless it is a very close relative or friend, the empty space left by a person doesn’t drag us down to the depths of our soul when we are young and resilient.

When my younger brother died of AIDS at 40, it was the first death of someone I loved dearly and it was the first time I felt my heart break. I couldn’t seem to function because life had suddenly become dark and unknowable. If this could happen, anything could happen. I was afraid. How could I survive this? I had very few tools to help navigate the grief and didn’t know anyone who could empathize with this tragedy other than my husband John. My parents were devastated but mostly unable to talk about it. There were other deaths that followed: When my sister died of breast cancer that metastasized to her brain at 56. And when my youngest brother died a death of despair from suicide at 52. The feelings were much the same but by then I had one thing that helped. I knew from experience that I would survive.

Then in 2014, John and I experienced the most painful event of our lives. Our 25-year-old son died of an accidental heroin overdose. Today, he would have been 37. For this, we needed survival skills that went beyond the love and care of family and friends. Thankfully, we were introduced to On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief Through the Five Stages of Loss by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler.(1,2) Knowing that everything we were feeling was normal was a comfort in and of itself. It is a guide for the process of grieving that has helped millions of people understand that grieving well takes time and cannot be rushed. These five stages follow a predictable pattern but are not necessarily linear or progressive because each response to loss is as unique as each loss. I wrote in detail about how we navigated the grief from our son’s death in Opiate Nation: A Memoir of Love, Loss and Acceptance. (3)

The Five Stages of Loss are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Disbelief was perhaps a better way to describe our denial – feeling paralyzed by this sudden shock, and an inability and unwillingness to face what happened. Our bodies and our souls were in so much pain. We didn’t want to believe that our son was really gone from our lives, from this earth. But this stage is where many people get stuck. Moving out of denial and facing the facts will not happen until we feel safe and know that we are ready to handle what really is.

Once we are ready to face reality, anger surfaces. It is part of the process of loss because anger brings a sense of temporary control we once thought we had and that is now gone. Kübler-Ross stresses that to not allow anger may slow down the grieving process. Many people, especially people of faith, avoid anger because isn’t “acceptable” and it is unthinkable to be angry at God. And there is an added sense of unfairness that complicates grief when the young die.

Bargaining is negotiating with reality while we vacillate between thinking there is something we can do and realizing there isn’t. The overwhelming pain involved with accepting reality causes us to alternate between hope and despair. John and my journal entries are full of “if only’s” and regrets, evidence that we tried to negotiate and somehow change the past.

Truly feeling the overwhelming feelings of the reality of the loss leads to depression. This was the most difficult aspect of grief and the longest for us. We had to face the fact that the place our son occupied was now empty. Learning to sit with our feelings of deep sadness was not easy. It was a slow slog through each day and night.

The final stage of grieving is acceptance. It makes change possible and makes our present circumstances bearable and even good. For people of faith, we surrender to God’s ultimate plan and it can bring peace, forgiveness, healing, and a newfound freedom. That allowed us to move forward to a better, although different, future. This is where we begin to see some of the gifts that have accompanied the loss.

Death is part of living as humans on this earth and death brings grief. It is one of life’s equalizers. Our learning to grieve well becomes a gift to others suffering through the death of a loved one as we also model how we mourn, which is the external part of loss. Learning to accept our humanness and our limitations helps us learn about grace and forgiveness, towards ourselves and others. When we experience grief, we have experienced the full cycle of being human. Greif transforms our broken and wounded souls and has the power to heal. Leo Tolstoy said, Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them. And when we heal and continue to live after the loss of our loved one, this is the gift that grief gives us and that we can share with others.

The Elizabeth Kübler-Ross Foundation. https://www.ekrfoundation.org/elisabeth-kubler-ross/
David Kessler https://grief.com/the-five-stages-of-grief/
www.OpiateNation.com

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross Biography

The In’s and Out’s of Grieving & Mourning

(Eighth in a series of topical blogs based on chapter by chapter excerpts from Opiate Nation. Translation into most languages is available to the right.)

When I was young, I only went to one funeral. I can’t remember who it was for or where it was, but it must have been for a close relative or I wouldn’t have been there. I do remember seeing everyone dressed in black. It was a very somber setting, people talking in hushed voices, and I didn’t comprehend what was happening. I just knew everyone was sad. After that day, I never thought about that person again – and even if my parents thought about him or her, their acts of mourning seemed to stop with the funeral. And I had no knowledge of any grieving on their part because at that time and in their cultural setting, people kept feelings regarding their grief to themselves.

It wasn’t until 20 years ago when my younger brother died from AIDS that I was faced with a death that was so close I felt a personal loss that tore at my heart. There was no way to just quickly plan a funeral and burial and then move on. My life as I had known it, now had a gaping chasm where my brother had once been and it was not going to close up anytime in the near future. I needed someone who had travelled this path before me to guide me through the overwhelmingly disturbing and depressing feelings. None of my friends had experienced a close loss like this. So, I looked to the books that were most recommended: On Grief and Grieving by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and A Grief Observed by C. S. Lewis.

A Lament and A Love Song – for Our Son

Lament for a Son is an intensely personal tribute by Nicholas Wolterstorff to his 25-yr-old son who died in a climbing accident. It is eloquent and unforgettable as he gives voice to a grief that is both unique and universal: the tortured pain of losing an individual, a child, your child.

We lost our 25-yr-old son to a heroin overdose six years ago on August 2, 2014. Lament for a Son has been one of our go-to books since that time. Wolterstorff expresses the incomprehension and sense of unfairness that, I believe, parents worldwide feel when they lose a child – someone who is supposed to bury you, not the other way around. It doesn’t fit with the cycle of life we expect – it is jarring, unsettling, bewildering, frustrating, disquieting.

In the Preface he relates:

A friend told me he gave a copy of Lament to all of his children. “Why?” I asked. “Because it’s a love song,” he said. That took me aback. But, Yes, it is a love-song. Every lament is a love song. Will love-songs one day no longer be laments?

Yet, while the book expresses the common feelings brought on by sudden unexpected death, what he doesn’t share with those of us who have lost a child to drug/alcohol addiction are the previous long years, sometimes decades, of turmoil, anxiety, fear, and depression that we experience on top of all the normal grief.

And shame.

There is no glory in being the parent of someone who is an addict or alcoholic.

What people are saying about Opiate Nation

As the months have passed since Opiate Nation was released last October, we have received many very encouraging reviews and comments. I have gathered some of them together and created a new page entitled “Recommendations & Reviews.” (see Menu) If you have wondered whether our story is worth the read, especially if you have no personal experience with addiction or heartbreaking loss, then perhaps these reviews will have some insight that will inspire you to order a copy for yourself or a loved one. If you have already read it, we would love to hear from you and know how you have been supported and reassured through our book. It is the reason we have written and published it.

A Different Death

Yesterday, my husband John, and I, along with family and friends, celebrated my father’s life of 92 years with a beautiful memorial service. He was buried with military honors for his service during WWII. In the week since his death, friends have asked me how I was feeling about his death – knowing that this death is the now the fifth death in my immediate family since 2001. First my younger brother at 40 from AIDS, then my sister at 56 from breast/brain cancer, then my son at 25 from a heroin overdose, then my other brother at 51 by suicide – and now my father.

This death, of a great-grandfather, is different than the previous four in so many ways. Not only do we expect grand-parents to pass away before their children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, but we know by the 10th decade of life, the day to meet our maker is fast approaching. For my father, he was doing quite well mentally, but his health was declining rapidly this year. By August, we knew his days were numbered – and so did he. The dying know they are dying, and for my father, it made him sad. He loved life and he loved his family. And even though he had a strong Christian faith and confidence in waking up in a new and unimaginable existence with his loved ones who went before him, he still had a very natural trepidation of the process of dying.

His last two weeks were marked by no appetite and finally no ability to even drink – his body was done with this life. With John holding his hand, he took his last breath and his spirit left the room – and left this earth. How did I feel? Sad because we will no longer enjoy his presence, and his death marks the end of an era of the large Italian family dinners and parties. But I was also relieved that he was no longer suffering in a body that was giving out.

The unexpected death of our son from a heroin overdose was different in every way imaginable. I look back now and wonder how John and I made it – how we didn’t end up institutionalized under heavy medication. I remember in the first few months feeling that my mind was on the verge of splitting in two – my heart was already broken – but it is our minds that hold us together. The love and support from our close friends and family surely were part of that glue. But the real potion that caused us to not tip over the edge was the mercy and grace of God. Without Him, we wouldn’t have had the courage to go on or the strength to look ahead with hope of an eternity with our son and with our other family members.

For those of you with friends who have lost a child to a drug overdose, please remember that a sudden, unexpected, preventable death is different from all other losses. These deaths are not natural, the lives were not completed, the parents and family can not just move on. They need your love and support – and prayers.