The Residue of Addiction

There is not another cause of death that will bring up the judgement, chatter, and lack of empathy than addiction does. My eyes and ears have long been closed to those who don't understand but that isn't enough. I think we all have to stand together and become a little more open in honor of those who are suffering and who have died from their addiction. Behind the scenes of every addicted person is a family trying to keep up. While Sam was navigating his short life through drugs, alcohol, jail, prison, and street living, I was just trying to hang on.

Sam died in November but I have grieved him since his first heroin overdose 6 years ago. That day, I realized that he was no longer just experimenting and had been sucked into a dark world that he might never escape. It was my worst nightmare. During these past years of triumphs and setbacks, I always knew that I was one phone call away from hearing unbearable news.

I attempted to live normally while anxiety and fear were a constant in the back of my mind. I eventually made the decision that the quality of my life could not depend on Sam's sobriety but it wasn't easy. He seemed fine one day, his eyes rolling back in his head the next. Every time I traveled, I tried to connect with him before I left town in case it was the last time I would see him. It is impossible to comprehend the amount of trauma my family and I experienced those 6 years.

The most difficult times were Sam's relapses because they lead to chaos and uncertainty. He would often disappear for several days. How far would he take it this time? Would he die on the streets? Would he go back to prison? Would he be murdered for drugs? Would he just disappear forever one day like so many do? It became harder and harder to see how Sam could get well. Would he have an "AHA!" moment? I tried to act normal but my life was anything but. There had to be a way that Sam would turn his life around and live. But there wasn't.

I don't feel sorry for myself or ask "Why me, why my son?" In a country where more than 100,000 people will die from overdoses alone this year, why would my family be immune? We don't know yet if Sam would have died from an overdose if he hadn't froze to death but 10% of hypothermic deaths in the US each year are due to drugs and alcohol Addiction doesn't adjust for intelligence, income, profession, race, nationality, marital status, athletic ability, grades, looks, or personality.

Addiction is not a moral dilemma. Most of us have no fucking clue how hard it is to walk away so we judge. We think that we are dealing with a conscientious and clear mind so we attach our own emotions, maturity, and reasoning. We decide we are just a little bit more worthy because our own weaknesses are well hidden and won't kill us. We pretend that we have no vices or insecurities and we show disdain for those who we can't understand. It is really easy to know how to put out the fire at someone else's house while our own is burning down.

Sam, I knew that if you were to have a child one day, you would understand my love for you, but that will never happen. It is all encompassing, all forgiving, and never ending. I miss your smile, your laugh, your smart-ass comments, and the way you saw the world. I miss the hope I had for you. I would have given any part of me for you to be healthy and happy and free. But, I will not sugar coat our story now that you are gone. After nearly 6 years of hell, there are things I don't miss at all.

I don't miss the constant fear of losing you. I don't miss wondering where you are when you disappear. I don't miss watching your face break out and your body waste away. I don't miss worrying that one of us would find you dead someday. I don' t miss the hurt your addiction caused your brothers and sister. I don't miss trying to say and do the right thing to get through to you. I don't miss your meth driven paranoia. I don't miss trying to figure out your bizarre behavior. I don't miss watching you go from job to job. I don't miss knowing that you would die if you didn't stop using. I don't miss your intention to continue using, no matter what. I don't miss the slow agonizing struggle of losing you, little by little, until you were gone.

All you left behind is parts of yourself for us to deal with. Your clothes, writings, drawings, music, treasures, and our memories. Everyday, we ask ourselves, what could we have done or said differently? How could we have prevented it? Did we show you that we cared in a way that you could feel it or did we fuck that up? How could we have helped your light outshine your demons?

This is where the answers stop. Sam was very sick but others with the same disease have walked away from it and gone on to lead great lives. What was different about my son? It's hard to know I will never have these answers. Sam's death was not a physical demise or an accident, it was a slow painful fade into oblivion.

I will miss you forever my son, when I think you are free now, I smile.