pain of loss – Opiate Nation

Death: Painful or Beautiful?

(Translation into most languages at tab to right)

My husband and I recently watched the streaming memorial service for his niece who died of cancer at 51 years old. Her mother, husband, children, sister and extended family all mourning the inescapable truth that there is now a gaping hole in their hearts and lives where once a beautiful woman had lived. She has been torn from their lives like when a thief grabs a bag from your hand and you struggle and try to hang on to it but, in the end, it’s gone. Weeping is the only thing that feels appropriate.

Although it’s been nine years since our son JL died from an accidental heroin overdose, the sense of him being torn away from us remains. Whether it was the death of our son, my siblings, our parents, or friends, the undeniable fact remains that death is painful. Almost always painful for the person dying, especially with a protracted illness or debilitating condition. But always painful for those left to live with the empty space where the person they knew and loved used to reside. We will never forget the Sherriff’s knock at our door that Saturday morning and hearing him say, “I’m sorry to have to tell you…”

We all naturally focus on our loved one’s beautiful life and the memories we have of them. This is only right and good. And there can be beauty in the way someone dies – this I have seen, and this has been recorded throughout history. Regardless of the kind of death – whether by illness, accident, torture, or plain old age – history tells us about those who have faced pain and death with grace. How? Because they saw beyond this world and had hope for life in the next.

What I bristle against is the thought that death is somehow beautiful. There is nothing beautiful about the tearing away and finality of death. Sentimental and romanticized thoughts about death have never helped me when I have had to stare into the cold face of a dead loved one. I have watched people facing the intense and unpredictable emotions after the death of a loved one as they try to make sense of something senseless. Those who have no hope of seeing their loved one again and who do not have the hope of existence in another realm, often try to transform death into something else – as if the only way to survive their pain is to imbue death itself with beauty. Or perhaps attempt to ignore it altogether.

For me, I believe that there is a good God who will one day put this world back to the way he created it. In my view, death and the tearing separation and sadness that accompany it are a temporary condition of living in a fallen world. We are told that death is an enemy and that one day it will be abolished. Yet, knowing I will see my son and siblings and parents and beloved friends again one day, where there will be no more sickness or pain or tears, doesn’t change the sorrow and grief that I feel now. I am a mortal living in a physical body in a physical world facing real physical triumphs and tragedies. And until this life is over and this world is made new, death will be painful. Our response to pain, suffering, and death is what concerns us now. And comforting those who mourn and offering compassion, regardless of the circumstances surrounding their death, is something tangible that does not minimize or romanticize the pain of death.

UPDATE:

This morning, August 2nd, I just happened to find and listen to an affirming podcast on Hope In The Face of Death by Dr. Timothy Keller. It is well worth the 40 minutes of your time. He says what I am trying to communicate more eloquently and thoroughly.

https://podcast.gospelinlife.com/e/hope-in-the-face-of-death/

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.

Separation Anxiety

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

After many years of not having a dog, we decided to adopt one from our local shelter. We found a beautiful German-shepherd/wolf mix who was 18 months old. Bella was docile, sweet and quiet. The next day, as I headed out to the grocery store, I gave her a hug and saw her watch me through the window as I got into the car.

When I returned an hour later, I was met with a shock. I found her, panting rapidly and pacing nervously in our bedroom where our wooden shutters were open and had bite marks. She had tried to escape while I was gone. I had no idea why. I immediately called the shelter. “She is having separation anxiety: she needed to escape being left alone.” We found out that she had been with two families previously when she was dumped at the shelter because she continued to try to escape when she was left alone for hours on end. They gave us the name of a dog behaviorist and we started down the long road of helping Bella manage her fear when we had to leave her at home.

Children and adults can experience separation anxiety when someone they are attached to leaves them. They can have recurrent and excessive distress just anticipating being separated from loved ones and the anxiety can be so intense that it is hard to function in everyday life. Panic attacks and physical symptoms such as nausea and headaches can occur. For me and my husband, on the morning of our son’s death from overdose, standing over our son in that body bag we experienced the ultimate separation anxiety. The overriding emotion we felt was fear: fear of the unknown future we were facing. We couldn’t visualize how we would survive without our son as part of our lives and the future we thought we all had together. He had not only been an integral part of our lives for 25 years but he was literally a part of us–the combination of our DNA that formed him as a particular and unique human being. To say that it was like having part of you taken away doesn’t describe it. This was having our hearts torn out.

We would never embrace or kiss or stroke the cheek of our son again. We were facing an existential crisis, shaken to the core, questioning our reason for living. Regardless of our strong faith that had seen us through many other deaths in our families, this separation seemed incomprehensible and cruel. It was only by falling down on our faces and waiting for Mercy to gradually pick us up that we were able to survive this traumatic separation from our son and move forward again in life.

Poetry – for all our needs

In March, I wrote a blog about fentanyl that featured a poem by Carol Bialock: Breathing Under Water. I knew almost nothing about the author other than that she was clearly a deep thinker and an excellent poet. After that post, I was contacted by Fernwood Press, to let me know that for Carol’s upcoming 90th birthday, they were publishing a collection of her poems.

I have since learned more about this remarkable woman who was a sister of the Society of the Sacred Heart in Chile and a lifelong activist for human rights. (To learn more about her, please go to www.CarolBialock.com.) I want to share some highlights from Coral Castles, her newly published book.

I am no poet and I confess, I struggle when reading most poetry – I do better hearing a Continue reading “Poetry – for all our needs”

PAIN – Part 2

Not only did we, and many of our generation of parents, try to shield our children from as much physical pain as possible, we tried to spare them emotional pain too. But there is one source of pain that we will all experience and that parents and loved ones of an active addict experience on a daily basis: pain of loss. Lost hopes, lost dreams, lost potential, lost futures. When we birth our children, we experience the joy of a new life and all the expectations of journeying through life together. We embark on a path with goals and plans and dreams fueled by hope and joy. But life rarely delivers what our dreams foresee.

“Awakening to joy awakens us to pain….Eventually, I am guaranteed to lose every earthly thing I have ever possessed. I will lose every single person I have ever loved. Either abruptly or eventually. All human relationships end in loss (death).” (Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts)

The losses that people who are addicted (to anything) experience on a daily basis brings pain for them too. Sadly, addicts will lose most of their relationships while they are still alive. We watched this happen to our son as his addiction progressed. Initially, friends who were not involved in drugs slowly distanced themselves. Eventually, JL was spending more time on his relationship with heroin and had no energy left for friends. When he was sober, this was a source of pain – and shame – for him.

The sense of shame that hangs like low black clouds gathering over our lives any time we as humans engage in something we know is not good for us – or others – is the ultimate loss of self-worth. It erodes the very core of our being and I believe it is the hardest obstacle (aside from the physical addiction) for opiate addicts to surmount in seeking recovery. Shame paralyzes us.

“Shame is an overwhelming negative sense that who we are isn’t okay. It is a no-win situation. Authentic, legitimate guilt is the feeling or thought that what we did is not okay…Compulsive and addictive behaviors are shame-based. If we participate in them, we will feel ashamed. It is inevitable…When guilt is legitimate, it acts as a warning light, signaling that we are off course, and need to make a change…Learn to change shame into guilt, correct the behavior, and move forward.” (Melody Beattie, The Language of Letting Go)

Yet, it seems that for the rare few who have escaped their addiction and are in recovery, that very shame and sense of worthlessness somehow became the impetus for seeking change. Herb Stepherson is a young man who is in active recovery and helping others. His website/blog is: https://junkboxdiaries.com/. It seems he had a similar story to our son, with one exception: he was not propped up by well-meaning parents and was allowed to experience the full degradation of his heroin addiction. While in prison and planning on suicide, he had an epiphany and God entered the story.

As we look back at the path of our son’s addiction, we feel that by our being overly involved probably prevented him from hitting whatever ‘bottom’ would have been the stimulus he needed to desperately seek help. Although we know he felt a lot of shame, our continual encouragement to him as a person of value and worth to us and God was constant. The conflict was how to communicate that to him without enabling his addiction? Did we short-circuit the role of shame fueling legitimate guilt and the desire to change? We were never sure. We always tried our best. May others learn from our story and do better.