Best Worst Day
- akennedyruns11
- Oct 3, 2017
- 3 min read
October 1, 2017, Sam is six months sober from heroin today. Time screeches to an agonizing crawl during times of crisis. You feel like you cannot possibly wake up and do it another day but you do. Eventually the yesterdays stack up and you can began to look back and process. In heroin addiction, complete “history” is never fully achieved. The issue will always be current. It will linger every single day for the rest of the addict’s life. Just like the spike strip in the parking lot, once you drive over it there is no backing up.
Six months and one day ago was the best/worst day of my life. They say that those memories which we feel are etched in our minds forever, the ones we feel like we remember like they were yesterday because we have relived them so many times, are actually the least accurate. Each time we reprocess the memory, it changes a little.
The night Sam almost died from a heroin overdose is fuzzy at best. Just a couple of things jump out. I remember sitting in the hospital room with Sam, his dad, our oldest son and his wife for hours, just hanging out and making small talk. We kept trying to preempt the oxygen alarm and reminded Sam to breathe each time he forgot. I think we saved the nurses many trips into our room that night. I also remember something being really funny. We all laughed and laughed and it became a running joke for the next several days. It was something Sam said but I have no idea what it was.
Much has changed since that night. It is weird to see that this life has become the new norm for me. It was the worst day of my life because Sam nearly died. It was the best day of my life because he didn’t. With time, humans can seemingly adapt to almost any situation. It seems like I have developed the ability to discuss my son’s addiction to heroin like I was talking about Sunday brunch.
As a yoga teacher, I sometimes refer to my son when I theme my classes because I try to speak from the heart and from my own life experiences. Last week, another yoga teacher attended one of my classes. I mentioned Sam in class. After class she reminded me that while I mentioned he had overdosed I neglected to say he had survived. Not everyone in that class knew the story and it could be very overwhelming to hear without understanding he hadn’t died. I am so used to my world in heroin addiction and I forget that others aren’t and that it is shocking for many. I guess I have become somewhat immune.
It is easy for me to talk about Sam because heroin/opioid addiction is a growing epidemic that needs attention and focus. Fear and tears are now largely the private side of watching my son battle his demons. You can’t cry continuously for six months but you don’t stop, that is for sure. J ust when I feel like I am a weirdo for being too callous or too calm I lose my shit in a yoga class or walking the dog or on a run and the panic starts and the tears flow. Thank God I don’t have to live like that on a continuous basis.
Sam was intent on dying the night he overdosed and he nearly succeeded. Today, I know that he is happy to be alive. I see each day of the last six months as bonus time with him. I sent him a simple text today. I told him I love him and to stay humble in his sobriety. I didn’t tell him I was proud of him, just like I have never told him I was disappointed in him . Pride has no place in recovery from heroin, neither does shame. It’s all about grace and willingness.
One day at a time. That is all anyone can ever do. Thank you for your continued love and support. It means the world to me. Of the many many lessons I have learned in the past 6 months, one of the most profound is how much I need my friends and family.
Today, my beautiful boy continues to grow in his sobriety. My hope is that he fights to keep his recovery front and center. Sobriety isn’t just the most important thing, it is the only thing. Where there is life, there is hope. #nomoreshame
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