Dunkirk Mothers

I am fascinated by a line in Beth Macy’s Dopesick describing America’s response to the opioid crisis as a Battle of Dunkirk approach. In short, expecting well meaning citizens to row out in their private vessels to save the day by doing the work that our politicians and regulatory bodies are not.

Aimee Dunkle is one of them.

Her boy, Ben died in 2012. Like Luke, if the people with him had been carrying Naloxone, they would not have died that night.

Aimee set up the Solace Foundation, to distribute and train in the use of the life saving overdose reversal drug Naloxone, in 2015.

After Orange County denied the permit renewal of the county’s only needle exchange, Aimee extended her work to provide what she refers to as a ‘backpack outreach’. Her foundation purchased thousands of dollars-worth of basic harm reduction supplies. As those on the streets no longer had access to clean syringes and all that a needle exchange would supply, focus was placed on providing them with bleach kits, alcohol wipes, antibiotic ointment, small sharps containers, vials of sterile water, bandages, and sterile dressings in an effort to stem the flow of entirely preventable blood-borne infections.

Like all things lukelove, our finding each other was serendipitous.

We had spoken at length on the phone and today, finally, we meet.

She is beautiful, educated and extraordinary.

She speaks of her boy, Ben and recounts their story. I speak of my boy, Luke and share ours. Our tears fall gently in unison.

She has been filmed for an upcoming documentary working in harm reduction with the homeless community. She is calm, compassionate and clear as she moves amongst them in the footage she shows.

But the story that strikes me deep in my sensibilities is her account of educating a homeless gentleman, who has been injecting for 40 years on how to avoid the myriad abscesses on his body.

When he prepares his dose he uses puddle water - she gives him sterile water.
He cooks his dose in a bottle top or a tin can - she gives him sterile receptacles.
He preps his skin with the same finger he pokes at his abscesses with - she gives him alcohol wipes.
She softly suggests that maybe, the abscesses are not his dealer’s fault after all.

This woman has never used IV drugs in her life and yet she educates this gentleman so that he may remain safe. The loss of her boy, Ben has brought her to compassion and knowledge that is far beyond the life that she once knew, to help a seasoned IV drug user. There’s the story right there.

She passes me several boxes of Narcan - “You’re not going on a road trip across America without Narcan” she says with no judgement. She is right.

“Sheila, this work doesn’t come without a cost to your soul” She explains that in this extraordinary work, she has bypassed her grieving, but sees in my work, that it is where I began. I feel a virtual baton being passed.

We both feel that Ben and Luke have had a hand in our meeting. We smile fondly at our clever boys.

We part, eager to meet again.

We have spent 3 hours sharing knowledge from our darkness and yet, to me, it has brought only light.

As I drive away, I look to the skies, smiling and weeping, and thank Ben and Luke for this extraordinary new ally and friend.