Tag Archives: grieving an addict

Love You

Events, , , , , , , ,

Your irreplaceable loved one is gone. You have a gaping hole in your life where love once lived. Now you are faced with the holiday season.

It can feel so terribly lonely.

Yet that love still lives, inside of you. You are that love. Please do not abandon yourself.

Just think. You are the magnificent result of two tiny cells you can’t even see. Those cells joined together in an incomprehensible union that multiplied and multiplied and multiplied. Imagine the tremendous amount of life-force energy expended to create … you.

Amazing you.

Incredible you.

A you who is utterly unique.

Look at your hands. What beautiful things they have done for you all your life. They serve you nearly every moment of the day, without question, without asking anything in return.

Look at your legs. They have carried you all through your life, without question, without asking anything in return.

And your heart. It pumps life-giving blood into every cell of your body, dozens of times every single minute. Without question. Without asking anything in return.

Look outside at the plants. They grow, they create leaves, they bless the world with blossoms. Without question. Without asking anything in return. They are worthy of appreciation just by being what they are.

How much more worthy of love, gratitude, and care are you? By yourself? Without anyone else in the picture?

So offer it to yourself.

Maybe spritz on a nice fragrance and focus on the aroma.

Maybe make yourself a special meal or order out for your favorite foods.

Maybe take a warm, comforting bath and add fresh blossoms so they float around you.

You are the center of your own universe. Love you. Appreciate you. Care for you. Your dear one is cheering you on, and so am I.

 

 

 

The Sun Makes Me Sing

Events, , , , , , , , , ,

Brood X male cicadas are vigorously singing their little tymbals out, calling in mates so the cycle of life can continue.

To me, their drone is the beautiful music of summer, having formed one of my first firm memories of warm Kansas days.

Now they represent far more to me.

Cicadas spend more than a decade underground—in the case of Brood X, a seemingly endless seventeen years in darkness and silence. Then they crawl to the surface, break through their shells, warm up in the sunshine, and fly with golden-tinged gossamer wings.

They live only a few weeks in the sun. During this time they crawl and fly, sing and flick, dance and mate. When they are done with their shining moments, their legacy continues in their gifts of fertilized eggs, food for songbirds, and nitrogen for forest floors.

Just like we humans who choose to transform our lives. When we grieve, we spend a long time—sometimes more than a decade—in the Underworld. For me it started 12 years ago with an end-stage cancer diagnosis. This darkness involved two years of medical treatment, and then continued through the collapse of my marriage, multiple moves, dealing with my son Brennan’s years of drug addiction, the death of my father, and then Brennan’s heroin overdose death at age 19.

Years of suffocating in the terrors of human Hell.

And now—a dozen years and dozens of processes later—I am finally emerging into the light. Into dancing. Into joy.

Just like the cicadas, I am spreading my own golden gossamer wings and learning how to fly. Nourishing others who also want to sing again in the light of the sun. And leaving my own legacy for future generations.

Would you like to join me? I offer grief survival coaching for those who want to thrive and fully embrace life again. Contact me at heidi@grievinganaddict.com to find out more.

Source for title:

Frédéric Mistral from Provençe, France, coined the phrase, “Lou soulei mi fa canta,” Provençal for “the sun makes me sing.” https://www.thenotsoinnocentsabroad.com/blog/la-cigale-why-the-cicada-became-the-symbol-of-provence

Sign in a Fawn

Signs and Wonders, Uncategorized, ,

 Do you long for a sign from your dear one who has passed on? Do you receive possible signs, yet wonder if they really mean something? Or do you find that synchronicities show up in your life that are so amazing you find it hard not to believe they are gifts from your departed loved one?

I feel fortunate to have been given another wonderful sign this year, on the fifth angelversary of my son’s final overdose. The first astonishing synchronicity arrived just before that first horrible Christmas without Brennan. An unordered gift box appeared on my deck, and the sender said I could keep it.

Last year a gifted tea rose had exactly four blossoms on exactly my son’s fourth birthday in heaven. It has not produced a single blossom since.

The third most amazing gift arrived on Friday, the day before Brennan’s fifth angelversary. I was startled to find a beautiful little fawn curled up in my garden only six feet away from where I was working on my deck. She stayed in that spot all that Friday and all through Saturday, the day my son left our world five years ago.

I spent as much time as I could on my deck, despite temps in the mid-90s, to be near that fawn. Not for her safety—nature was doing its best to take care of her—but for my own sake. I was surprised to feel a sweet sense of solace from being near her, because her doe-eyed gentleness and innocence reached out and enveloped me.

On Sunday morning when I walked outside, she was frantically pacing along the south side of my yard, distressed because her mommy stood on the other side of the short fence. At one point the fawn turned around and ran directly toward me. I did not want to frighten her, so I talked softly while slowly moving a hand. The motion caught her attention and she abruptly stopped. She stared at me for a breathless moment; then she wheeled and ran back toward her mommy. She soon found her way through the fence.

This lovely creature spent two days with me, the two exact days I would have wanted her here. The two days when I most needed a little extra comfort in my life.

Did my son, or something else, arrange the perfect timing of this beautiful gift? I’d like to believe so. I choose to receive these moments of grace as Divine gifts to help ease my way, to help me know my son is still with me and that our love goes on into eternity.

What is the best synchronicity you have received since losing your loved one?

Message in a Fawn

Guilt, , , ,

Do you feel like you did everything you could but still lost your loved one to substance use disorder? Do you think you abandoned him or her in the one most critical moment of need? Does it overwhelm you with guilt and shame?

While my head might repeatedly tell me these tales, my heart is finding this is not the case. I have a little fawn teaching me this lesson on the angelversary of my son’s passing.

On this morning, exactly five years ago, my son Brennan’s overdosed body lay lifeless and alone in a retreat center bathroom. My body had woken up at 4 a.m. with a terrible feeling of sorrow for my son, but I did not know where he was or what had happened.


Today I am sitting on my deck and the sun is rising over the housetop. Not six feet away is a sweet little fawn. She is curled up, hidden among the lilies and hostas, all alone. No mother anywhere to be seen. Why did that mother abandon her darling Bambi? What was wrong with her?


Fortunately my friend Kay had told me, a few years after she lost her own son to suicide, that a fawn was left alone on her lawn for a couple of days. Kay made some calls and learned that does often leave their babies hidden somewhere so they can go feed. This is normal, natural, instinctual behavior. They can only do what they know how to do. Could she lose her fawn? Sure. My house is surrounded by homeowners with large dogs. Will she? Not likely. Does have been doing this for millennia. Yes, some come back to find their babies are forever gone, but clearly not all do, or there would not be so many deer. Their behavior works for the majority.


Our behavior with our loved ones would ordinarily have worked. The problem is, the drugs now available are not normal or natural. Our bodies are not designed to consume them, yet somehow many of our loved ones got trapped in the lies that these substances would be cool, would help them feel better, would help take away their pain. Instead, their pain was multiplied, and so has our own.


If you hadn’t lost him or her on that horrible day, it probably would have happened on another horrible day. The addiction overpowers every other consideration.


If you loved your dear one—and clearly you did, or you would not be grieving—then you did enough.

How Safe are Your Medications from Thieves?

Events, Regrets, , , , ,

A man and his two accomplices allegedly murdered his cousin, a woman with stage 4 lung cancer, for her opioid medication. She was found dead in a wooded area in Kentucky.

The suspect knew where she kept her opioids, and she had just received another shipment of 120 pain pills on June 8. She disappeared from her home June 9, and her body was found six days later.

Storing opioids

If you have pain killers, where do you store them? I tried locking things in a footlocker with a padlock. My teenager could crack into it within minutes.

I have talked with others who have had medical treatment. Do they lock up their prescriptions? Usually not. Like me, some don’t realize many painkillers are basically heroin pills and can be addictive.

Here is a list of opioid medications:

 

 

 

 

 

Do you have any of these? If so, are they effectively locked up?

“My child wouldn’t take these.”

That’s what I thought. My child did take them. And became an addict. And overdosed on heroin. If he hadn’t taken them, a friend of his might have.

I found a digital lock box is the best solution for controlled substances in my home. It costs more, but I know only I can access the contents.

Other addictive prescription drugs to lock up:
— Tranquilizers and depressants, including barbiturates and benzodiazepines, like Xanax, Klonopin, and Valium.
— Stimulants, including Ritalin and amphetamines such as Adderall.

Easing your Grief:

According to 2015 government estimates, more than two million people are addicted to opioids. Encourage people to protect themselves and their loved ones. Please put your medications in a digital lock box.

Sources:

https://www.kentucky.com/news/local/crime/article213429614.html

http://local12.com/news/local/new-allegations-about-cancers-patients-robbery-murder-revealed

https://patch.com/kentucky/across-ky/terminal-cancer-patient-murdered-her-painkillers-report

https://www.drugfreeworld.org/drugfacts/prescription/opioids-and-morphine-derivatives.html

https://store.samhsa.gov/shin/content/SMA17-5053-12/SMA17-5053-12.pdf

http://www.foxnews.com/health/2014/03/22/most-addictive-prescription-drugs-on-market.html

http://www.chicagotribune.com/lifestyles/health/ct-opioid-prescriptions-dropped-20170707-story.html

Irises: Rainbow Bridges between Heaven and Earth

Memorials, , , , , , , ,

As soon as the goddess entered and brushed away the dreams that hovered around her, her brightness lit up all the cave.

“The Halcyon Birds,” Bulfinch’s Mythology

In the Greek myth “The Halcyon Birds,” the goddess Iris dons her robe of many colors, then paints the sky with a rainbow on her way down to Earth. As Iris’ radiance fills the sleeping god’s cave, she delivers her message to him that a king had died. Then she returns by her multi-hued arc to the heavens.

Bridge between heaven and earth

The iridescent rainbow goddess Iris represents a connection between earth and heaven through the bows she creates with her robe—the female version of an Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat—when she traverses the air.

Iris blossoms bear her name

The iris flower bears her name. Symbolically, this bloom bridges earth with heaven because of its great beauty. It represents the ability to communicate messages with those who reside with (the) God(s).

If you have lost a loved one to addiction, the iris might take on some extra significance for you.

Opioid overdose

Irises have been growing for decades at Grailville in Loveland, Ohio, which has served as a spiritual bridge between the human and the Divine.

It is sacred ground upon which my 19-year-old son Brennan inspired one final time before overdosing on heroin.

Buckets of irises

Buckets of extra irises from the property found their way into my little car in 2017, thanks to Mary Lu.

They now are planted in Brennan’s garden behind my home. From sacred ground to hallowed ground, the irises connect the spiritual with the profane, the light with the dark, the living with the deceased.

They help bring the Spirit to my son who sought the Spirit in the false highs of heroin. The flowers now provide a symbolic way to communicate with him.

Iris symbolism

The iris has another symbolic connection for me. Early usage of the French royal symbol, the fleur-de-lis/fleur-de-lys, probably referred to the iris, which grew abundantly along the river Lys, rather than to the lily. The fleur-de-lis is a symbol for the Boy Scouts, in which Brennan earned the Arrow of Light honor.

The first Siberian iris has begun beaming its iridescent radiance this spring. There is no more meaningful addition to his garden.

Easing Grieving:

To invoke the energy of the rainbow, or of communication with your loved ones on the Other Side, perhaps meditate with a drop of iris essence or essential oil on your forehead between your eyebrows, or with an iris blossom next to you.

Sources:

Richard Martin, ed., “The Halcyon Birds,” Bulfinch’s Mythology (New York: HarperCollinsPublishers, 1991), p. 65

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fleur-de-lis, November 1, 2017

Message in a cardinal for grieving mothers

Night of Mourning, , , , , ,

If a bird’s nest chance to be before thee in the way, in any tree or on the ground, with young ones or eggs, and the dam sitting upon the young, or upon the eggs, thou shalt not take the dam with the young;

Deuteronomy 22:6, JPS Tanakh 1917

The compassionate act for a hungry person of ancient times was to take only the eggs from a bird’s nest and leave the mother. This created benefits: humans had food and birds could again reproduce, making more human food.

Fortunately I can walk to a store open 24 hours every day and get a variety of foods to eat. I don’t need the eggs in the nest by my porch to satisfy my survival needs.

Cardinal nest by my door

The cardinal nesting by my side door probably is the one that tried to create a nest on my porch light. Hanging from this light fixture is the beautiful wind chime given to me by Kay so my son, whom I lost to a heroin overdose, could make it sing for me.

Perhaps the mother bird gave up when the door kept swinging open and shut, open and shut.

So she moved to the tree next to the porch. As close as she could get without the constant disturbance.

Nest eggs

Her nest cradles two eggs. I enjoy seeing her as I walk by.

How did those eggs get out of her little body?

How does she know to sit on her eggs? The sea turtle lays her eggs and abandons them, returning to the sea.

How does she know to leave the eggs alone? If she were human, I imagine she’d be neurotically inspecting the eggs, rolling them around, listening for any sounds.

Simply being

Nope. She sits calmly, quietly, still as stone. Watching. Waiting. Being.

She makes me wonder about my way of being as a mother. I was anxious, wanting everything to work out perfectly for my two offspring. Instead, one turned to drugs, and three years ago lost his life.

Blame and shame

Would I blame the bird if one of her eggs broke, or if a hatchling fell out of the nest, or if a creature ate one?

Today I found a broken robin’s egg on my driveway, not five feet from the tree where the cardinal nestles. This is life. These things happen. We do not control outcomes, especially with terrible illnesses like cancer and addiction.

Parental fallacy

James Hillman (American psychologist, 1926 –2011), in his book The Soul’s Code, calls the inordinate self-blame of grieving parents “the parental fallacy.” It is false to think we have enough control to manage every outcome. We can try and influence, yet ultimately, it is not up to us.

Maybe it’s a message

Perhaps this is why the cardinal tried to build a nest right above my son’s wind chime and the robin lost her baby.

Maybe it’s a message, like, “It’s not your fault, Mom. You did everything you could. Sometimes terrible things happen. And I am near you now, singing through the wind chime, watching you through the eyes of a bird nesting by your door.”

They are reminders to have compassion for myself, as I have compassion for these mother birds.

3 Birthday Feathers for Making Wishes

Events, Night of Mourning, Signs and Wonders, , , ,

…he said: ‘Now you have seen me, you shall see me no more, unless you are willing to serve seven years and a day for me, so that I may become a man once more.’ Then he told her to take three feathers from under his side, and whatever she wished through them would come to pass. Then he left her at a great house to be laundry-maid for seven years and a day.

“Three Feathers,” More English Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs, 1894

In this tale, a woman is not allowed to see what her own husband looks like.

With untamed curiosity, one night she lights a candle so she can see him. Jacobs writes, “He was handsome enough to make all the women of the world fall in love with him. But scarcely had she seen him when he began to change into a bird.”

The bird-man exiles his wife to seven years and a day as a laundress so he can regain his human form; yet he also gives her three feathers for making wishes.

Through the feathers she really doesn’t do seven years of labor. The feathers do the work for her.

Like the wife and her husband, I finally looked upon the truth about my son Brennan; soon thereafter he flew away into the unseen realm, a victim of a heroin overdose.

Signs of his presence

My friend Kay taught me to watch for signs of his continuing presence in my life.

A week ago would have been his 22nd birthday. Like the bird-man, he sent me three feathers to let me know he’s nearby, working his magic. And like the wife, I have labor to perform, writing a book about grieving. It is a labor of love.

The first feather presented itself a few days before his third birthday after passing. It appeared at Lake Isabella in Loveland, Ohio, while I walked and talked about him with my friend Laura. The large turkey vulture feather stuck straight up in the grass next to the road. Turkey vultures are symbols of devoted motherhood. Their plumage would probably make good quills for writing. Perhaps Brennan has sent me a Quick-quotes Quill from Harry Potter.

Right in front of me

The second feather floated down out of the clear blue sky, landing right in front of me on the day before his birthday.

I knew then that feathers would be the sign of his presence for this birthday.

A third feather

On his birthday, I discovered the third feather–caught somehow on a gossamer thread hanging from the shelf above my laundry sink.

I believe my son, invisible to me now, left me three birthday feathers for making wishes as I labor on his book.

And there will be three parts to his book–-perhaps a feather for making wishes and receiving inspiration from my son as I write on each section.

It was a beautiful gift to me on his birthday.

Relieving Grieving:

Signs from our deceased loved ones can be subtle. Keep an open mind and heart and watch for them. My friend Kathy, whose sister Karen passed a year ago, writes, “It’s also interesting to me how often animals appear in some significant way when people move on… when Mother died, we heard a Mourning Dove…at 1:30am, a rather unusual time for bird song.

“As we walked to the door to enter the house to say Goodbye to Karen (after all the police/medical investigations were done – standard procedure for an “unattended death”), someone happened to glance to the left and there in the field was a doe, looking right at us. She stood for the longest time, unafraid, then bounded away into the cedars looking so graceful and free. ”

What signs have you received from your deceased loved one?

Source:

http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/meft/meft08.htm

When Sorrow Walked With Me

Night of Mourning, , , ,

I walked a mile with Sorrow, And ne’er a word said she; But, oh, the things I learned from her When Sorrow walked with me!

“When Sorrow Walked With Me”  by Robert Browning

 

The name “Brennan” means “sorrowful.” I knew that was the name I wanted for my firstborn son; it simply felt perfect. My ego led me to believe that with good parenting, I could prevent the sorrow.

I lived in a big fancy house. I sent my children to private school. I was a soccer mom for a decade. I drove a Honda Odyssey van. I was in therapy and doing 12-step work. And the ultimate irony: For several years I did publicity for a coalition that worked to prevent substance abuse among teenagers.

Yet my son died a heroin addict. I could not save his life.

How could my son get into drugs? He had so much going for him. He was a very loving, sensitive, and bright child.

When he was three years old, he went with his child care group on a field trip to a farm. He knew that, at that time, I liked candy corn. When he returned, he ran up to me and eagerly gave me two pieces of candy corn he had clutched in the palm of his hand during the entire 30-minute bus ride home.

When Brennan was about four years old, he would try to rescue the earthworms on driveways after the rain.

During a trip to Colorado, he found a dead mouse and wanted us to have a funeral for it and bury it, which we did.

As soon as Brennan was tall enough, he was riding in the front car on the Son of the Beast roller coaster at King’s Island. He was called “Missile foot” by his soccer buddies because of his powerful kick.

When Brennan attended The Schilling School for Gifted Children, he loved saving up points in Mrs. Peak’s class so he could buy things from her store to give to the rest of us. One time he bought a beautiful oval china box with a lid. He could hardly stand waiting to give it to me, yet dropped it before he could. He sobbed, heartbroken. I so cherish that repaired china box.

Later he enjoyed the challenge of writing sonnets. He also was very proud of his youtube video, created during high school, that has already reached more than a million views.

Even with this beautiful soul, I was extremely challenged by Brennan from the beginning. When he was 10 years old, he said to me, “Mom, you don’t know what it’s like to live inside my body.” I tried many times to find the right therapist for him, which didn’t happen until he was 17—which, for him, was too late. I watched over his education so he had the best environment for his temperament and abilities, and I worked hard at being the best possible parent for him. It wasn’t enough.

Everything collapsed after my diagnosis of end-stage cancer. I got too sick for too long to be a decent mother. Brennan was 14 and began experimenting with alcohol, then drugs. I don’t know how much of this was from living for years under the continual threat of losing me, or from curiosity and a desire to explore his mind, or from growing depression, anxiety, and difficulty with focus, or from dealing with divorce. It most likely was a combination of factors.

Two years ago he started using heroin. I didn’t realize this for a full year. Not my son! Then he spent the next year deciding to get better and going in and out of treatment programs.

After his third extended rehab program, he managed to stay clean for three months. But then the sober living house where he lived was closed. I encouraged him to move into another sober living house, but he chose not to go that route. Soon Brennan fell back into using.

Again I tried to get him into treatment, but it just didn’t work out.

On May 26, Brennan sent me a beautiful letter, which is the most precious gift of my life. Like the 17th century mathematician and theologian Blaise Pascal after his Night of Fire, I wanted to sew this message into my clothing so it would always be right next to my heart.

Dear Mom,

I really appreciate all the things you have done for me in the past year. Sending me to Fairbanks, Recovery Works, and Singer Island was a tremendous help… However, I am still a weak person and still have succumbed to this disease… I used again after more than 3 months of being clean, during which time you supported me at Trent’s Lighthouse. I did my best while I was staying there, but my best was not enough. I ended up using again, and creating yet another cycle of use. I am thoroughly ashamed that my efforts were almost useless. I continued to use until this past Thursday. For this I am truly sorry.

I wish I could take it all back, but I cannot. I truly wish that with the next round of treatment, I will become what I should have in the years past. I am truly sorry for all the pain I have caused you and dad in times past. I will do my absolute best to make it up to both of you in the coming years, as hopefully I regain control of my life and my actions in the coming months.

I love you, and shall never forget all the things that you have done for me in the previous months. I truly respect and admire you for all the ways in which you have tried to help me in the past months, despite the fact that I have essentially thrown it all in your face….  And for that I am truly sorry. I love you mom, and I love everything that you have done for me in the past few months … thank you for believing in me. I am trying my hardest to beat this disease, no matter what it throws at me.

Love, Brennan

According to my Codependents Anonymous sponsor, the number one hallmark of addicts is denial of their roles in their problems. By blaming others, addicts don’t have to accept responsibility for themselves and the pain that this acknowledgement brings. There are people who have been in recovery for decades who still can’t take the kind of ownership that Brennan shows.

Yet in this letter, Brennan openly sees and admits to himself and another human being what’s going on inside himself and the effect he has had on others. He blames no one and nothing else. The veil of insanity has been ripped away from his eyes. He is fully aware of what he’s doing, fully feels the weight of his responsibility for it, and he hates it.

He admits he is being defeated by this terrible disease. He wants so desperately to stop. He also is fully aware of his absolute powerlessness over his addiction, which is the first of the 12 steps of Narcotics Anonymous, which reads:

“We admitted we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable.”

This awareness makes the addict’s pain far worse. It’s a necessary step for recovery, but it is so difficult. The old habit has been to hide from the pain. Now he really sees, and there is no place to hide.

I know how difficult this inner work is, and not many people are truly willing to do it—especially at such a young age. But Brennan had the courage to take a hard look at his life. Even though he hated what he saw in himself, he was able to stay with the pain, acknowledge his mistakes honestly, share his feelings, express his sorrow, offer his heartfelt amends for his addictive behaviors and how they affected us, and express gratitude. This honesty took incredible strength, and is so uncommon in the addiction culture. He was truly working the NA steps and hoping for recovery. Unfortunately, looking directly into the agony that had become his life probably proved too much for him and he fell back into the black hole of his insidious heroin addiction.

Two years ago, Brennan wrote a sonnet about the agony of lost love. This is a portion of his sonnet:

It feels like air

Can’t get inside my lungs. The lack of breath

Makes my head spin.

A few years ago, I watched a video about death. In it, someone said life is like swimming in an ocean, and dying is like breaking through the surface of the water and coming up for air. I believe Brennan is now filling his ethereal lungs with the fragrant breath of heaven.

I always felt a deep soul connection with Brennan. I believe we have been together in many previous lives, and that I will be with him again. I also believe he has only dropped the pain–wracked emotional and physical bodies he carried in this lifetime, and that his powerful, courageous, loving spirit is still nearby.

Someone could look at Brennan’s life from the outside and see it as a total waste and that he lost his battle with addiction. But I was privileged to see him from the inside. He lived and loved fully and deeply. Near the end he also woke up. Not many people have the courage to reach that level of inner depth and awareness, especially when so young. For me, Brennan’s eternal, beloved soul gained something far more precious from his ordeal than he ever could have from a long, productive life, and it will always stay with him. He experienced, at least for a period of time, consciousness. Nothing else could have made me more grateful for his life.

What message did you want at your addict’s funeral?