International Overdose Awareness Day

Day 1796.

I was asked to speak at an event on this day.
And so, I did.

I was asked to tell it like it is.
And so, I did.

I started with my eulogy.
1787 days ago I recorded these words as they appeared on my falling tears.
They still ring true.

Luke is MY son
He was my Empire State of Mind.

As a family we were drawn together, we were all
soul mates....And now our four is a three.

The outpouring of love from around the world has
and does mean so much to me.

But your collective love of Luke
does not hold a candle to mine.

On the Tribute page, I see how you all bathed in
Luke’s sunshine, his kindness, his laughter, his loyalty,
his love of life - his smile.

But Luke was also a fragile boy
... and some of you knew that.

For 23 years I have fiercely protected his fragile soul.

Every boy who has taken risks with his life
Should be scared. And every mother is afraid.

The true tribute you can all make IS....
IF you are ever lucky enough
to meet another boy like Luke - STOP, THINK!
Maybe they are not as strong as they may seem
OR as strong as you
Maybe YOU are not as strong as you think you are

and maybe, just maybe ....

It takes a very long time to really KNOW what death really means.

There’s a lot of legend and romance around it…. Romeo and Juliet, Kurt Cobain, Marilyn Monroe, James Dean.
I thought for the longest time ..
If I get the flowers right, the badges…. If I save enough souls, help enough people….
the gift of Luke’s return would be bestowed and he’d walk right in, flashing his shit eating grin.
But no.
Because death is not just for Christmas..
It is forever.

Child loss is like stubbing your toe.
In that moment you can think of nothing else.
You leap around the room gripping your toe “FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!”
Doesn’t mean you no longer like cats.
Doesn’t mean you no longer want to go to Paris.
But all that you can think about is your toe.

And for the longest time, all I could think about, was Luke.
And for the longest time, all I wanted was to die,
to escape the pain,
to be reunited with Luke.

So what does that look like?
What does me being dead, really look like?…
Would I then miss everyone here, miss my George, here on this plane?….
A Sophie’s Choice,
a choice between my living child and my dead child.

When my living son needs me, gets married, has a baby …
Will I just be a waft of scent?
A flickering of light?
A sensation of presence?
A butterfly?

Sorry, Luke!
but
FUCK THAT!

And so,
Here I am.
Really am.
With all my pain
and all my love for BOTH my boys,
one breath at a time.

Child loss to overdose is a Triple Trauma Threat.
And in no particular order……

TRAUMATIC GRIEF

As misunderstood as the substance use disorder that brought me here.

There’s no ‘good bye’.
Connection is severed.
The love that once flowed to and fro,
Is now, just flowing to.

You search for your child in your dreams
in the spaces in between,
in the shadows,
in the light.

Therapists tell you
”you mustn’t think like this”
”you mustn’t think like that”
But you do.
So you keep it deep inside…

And don’t ever mention that
you can’t go on
or
you want to die
or
you just want to go be with your dead child…
coz they’ll cart you off to a psych ward and lock you up on a 51/50 for 3 days.
So, no exploring that in therapy.
Tuck that shit deep inside where it can grow and fester, like black mould.

And if you are not ‘functioning’:
Sleeping ‘too much’ OR ‘not enough’
Eating ‘too much’ OR ‘not enough’
Crying ‘too much’ OR ‘not enough’
within an arbitrary time, set by the DSM (currently 2 fucking weeks), they will pathologize your grief and declare you sick,
and big pharma will be right there waiting for you, just like a spider with a shit ton of highly addictive meds of little demonstrable efficacy.

Then there’s the
TRAUMA OF WHAT WENT BEFORE

Watching your child in active SUD is like watching your child drown.
One minute they are right there beside you and the next …
they’ve been sucked out to sea,
a void of impenetrable white water betwixt you.
Wave upon wave crashes upon them.
You see it all.
They fight to the surface, over and over.
You may get eye contact, maybe a clasp of hands - a moment of relief..
,,,,and then another wave…
and they are sucked back out farther, away from your touch, your gaze.

This plays on loop in my head, embellished with
every angry word,
every fight,
every moment that I could have been better.
The fear that gripped me;
fear of his death,
fear of the criminal element… of jail, of deportation.
Fear, the obstacle in the way of another way to be, a better way to be.

Every day I run my emotion fingers across the shoulda woulda couldas, the what ifs.
I didn’t get it.
Too late to apologize.

And last but certainly not least
THE TRAUMA OF STIGMA

There were no Cali cops at my door to break the news,
to tell me where the fuck in Boston his body lay, to tell us what happens next.
BUT
When your son dies in a skiing accident in Colorado, it would appear that those Colorado cops will send the NYPD to your door with sympathy, heart and guidance.

Even if YOU don’t feel any shame or stigma,
worry not.. the world will let you know otherwise:

The kindly meant
“Heroin? No! But Luke was such a lovely boy!”
”An overdose! No! But Luke was so good at his job!”

My grief groups weren’t safe.
The mystery deaths that could not possibly be drugs because “she was a good girl”.

The people who feel that they don‘t belong with us ‘heroin people’, or maybe they mean that us ‘heroin people’ don’t belong there, with them?

Even amongst the drug bereaved Mums there may be no respite.
There can be a hierarchy:
Prescription over street drugs,
Functional use over chaotic use,
”My child was not an addict … it’s just that..”
Fentanyl ranks above heroin, because “they were tricked with laced drugs”,

It takes a while to find your tribe.

And just as I did… there was Facebook!
”Where were their Mothers?”
”Why is Narcan free and not chemo?!”
”People who OD are selfishly blocking up the ERs for the rest of us”.
You get the picture.

And once you have navigated all of the 3 traumas (navigated, not fixed!)
Odds are, you’ll have hit the statute of limitations with friends and family.
”It’s been _ years…..”
’Isn’t it time to …..”

Novels, movies, myths and legends often use child loss as the event that changes the character FOREVER.
It’s offered as an explanation for a change of location or lifestyle or attitude or career or why someone might just blow up their whole life.
People seem to accept it there.
So why is it SO hard to accept it in us living, breathing, heart-beating people?
THAT Sheila ain’t comin’ back anymore than Luke is!

So, what can I do in all this?
what can ‘new’ Sheila do?

I can’t bring Luke back..
and oh! how I’ve tried!

BUT
I can lead by example to create a world that would have softened my landing by
standing tall and proud and speaking of my boy and I, warts ‘n’ wonder ’n’ all, to shift perceptions and change hearts, because it’s hard to stigmatize up close.
And by sharing openly and honestly about the loneliness and insanity of child loss, so that others will not have to walk alone.

AND

IF I can save
just one other Mum from my fate,
just one other child from Luke’s fate,
… I’m gonna die trying.

Yes, there is healing in the service of others,
but my work is revenge,
revenge on death,
that took my boy and my joy

but could not, it seems,
nor ever will,
take my love.

I guess it really does conquer all.


And when I was done speaking, I did what I have given my life, for now, to do:

I trained everyone to use Narcan so that they may save another, and gave them all a kit.
I hugged and hugged so many spectacular souls,
some in recovery,
some in this movement
and some who are both.

I left altered.