Mother's Heartbreak

A Story of Addiction & Loss

Author: MaryBeth Cichocki (Page 1 of 42)

Eleven Years and A Thousand Tears.

January 2, 2026 /

Eleven years and a thousand tears….. Matt eleven years ago on a Friday night we spoke at 6:23. You were driving home from work and we talked about our weekend plans. You were going to meet your friends on the beach in Boca and I was going to spend a 12 hour shift taking care of sick babies in the NICU.

We continued our conversation just talking about how we spent our day and when I found out you left your ear piece at home I cautioned you about paying attention when you were driving.

We ended our conversation with saying I love you and that we would speak tomorrow. Sadly tomorrow never came for us.

On Saturday morning I expected to hear from you. I was busy in the NICU with a sick baby so my mind was occupied with my patients needs. By 10 am I started to get worried and took a break to call you. When you didn’t answer I thought you were at the beach enjoying your favorite place. Little did I know you took your last breath at 4:50 am in a hotel room in Boca Raton.

Tonight I sit staring at the clock. Wondering what was going through your mind. Thinking that 11 years ago you were still here on the earth making plans for your future. You were alive. You were laughing. We were talking about when I would see you again.

My body remembers. My chest is tight. My throat feels like I’m being strangled. My breath feels heavy. My brain remembers hearing the words that changed the trajectory of my life, “it’s Matt, he’s dead.” I remember hearing the screams not knowing they were coming from my soul. I remember wanting to die to catch you before you got too far away from me.
I remember being numb for months as my brain protected me from the reality it knew I could not handle.

Tonight those memories are flooding my soul as I struggle to catch my breath. My brain knows it’s been 11 years, but my soul screams how…..

All I Want For Christmas Is To Turn Back The Clock.

December 24, 2025 /

Matt,   It’s Christmas Eve and I sit here numb wondering how we got to this place.  How are you not here.  How can it be ten Christmases without you.  How have I survived this life altering nightmare that has become my life.

My mind keeps reliving those beautiful memories of past Holidays when our family was whole and happy.  The days when my boys would pretend to be asleep as I snuck presents from their hiding places and placed them under the tree.  I remember the squeals of delight as you and Mike unwrapped your gifts, the laughter and smiles that warmed my heart.  Oh how I wish I could turn back time and feel that profound joy.  

I look back now realizing how I took that precious time so for granted, thinking life would always be us together.  So many memories of you and Mike as teens still laughing as you sat near the tree opening gifts knowing Santa was really just mom.  I miss your grandparents.  I miss the crazy noises as our house filled with family and friends.  How blessed we were to be surrounded by those we loved.  

As you became a man I looked so forward to seeing your children under the tree, laughing as you did, so full of joy and believing that Santa is real as you and I share a knowing smile.  Fantasies have become my survival as the grief becomes too hard to bear.  

This Christmas I will sit with my memories allowing them to be the balm covering my wounds.  I cherish each one as I grow older I come to understand just how precious those days were never thinking our family chain would be broken.  Know you are loved and never forgotten.  Merry Christmas my beautiful boy.  I thank you for the wonderful gift of memories.  

 

The Empty Chair Is Filled By the Elephant In The Room

November 26, 2025 /

Matt,  tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  I’ve stopped counting how many years it’s been since you’ve been absent.  That number is now in the double digits and too heavy to carry right now.  

Holidays just compound the weight of my grief and that empty chair speaks volumes regarding your non attendance.  

The funny thing is , the elephant in the room resides in your chair.  Everyone knows you’re not here, but they dance around the chair and ignore the elephant.  The conversation spins with subject after subject but no one is brave enough to tackle the elephant and recognize the grief that’s wrapped itself around the table.

No one will bring up your name.  We sit behind smiling masks like actors auditioning for a play.  All the while I want to throw my mask to the ground and scream your name.   I want people to take the time to think of you.  To share stories of past Thanksgivings with you outback along side your brother frying our turkey as I watched your breath makes rings against the frigid air.  I want to talk about how you loved Pumpkin Pie and ate an entire pie by yourself as Ray yelled for you to share.  I want to remember every little thing you did.  I want you to be present even if it’s just in my memories.  

This year my mask will be absent.  This year I really don’t care about tiptoeing around that elephant.  I don’t care who is uncomfortable when I address the elephant letting him know you will never be forgotten and that chair will always belong to you. This Thanksgiving I will be missing a big piece of my heart but the elephant will no longer fill your chair.  My memories will. Until we meet again.  Happy Thanksgiving in Heaven my beautiful boy. 

Life Just Keeps Changing

November 17, 2025 /

Matt,  I can’t even comprehend life as it is now.   Just when I thought my health was starting to improve, I get hit with the double whammy.   Not only is the tumor back in my spine but I just found out I also have myasthenia gravis.  Yup, not only am I going to resume radiation but now I have to see a neurologist to fight a disease that has my body turning on itself.

I feel like my life has shrunk.  All my advocacy work is now on pause.  Even putting together your backpacks for the homeless leaves me exhausted.  

How I wish you were here.  We could commiserate about our back pain and how it’s affecting our lives.  I now get how easy it was for you to pop those pills allowing yourself a respite from the daily pain.  I fight the urge to follow in your footsteps as I now completely understand the path you walked.  

Chronic pain changes us.  It rules our daily lives. I feel like the only relief I get is from sleep and even that is a battle some nights.  I remember finding you sleeping upright on the couch.  Never understanding why you didn’t sleep in bed.  I bought you so many different pillows but you still preferred the couch.  Now I understand completely.  How I wish I had a better understanding of your pain and how easily it was for you to become addicted to the pills that were your only source of peace.  

I long for the days you were here and we were both healthy.  The days when laughter rather than pain and anxiety were the best part of life.  The days we took long walks on the beach sharing our hopes and dreams.  God, how I wish for a do over.  I took those days for granted never thinking there was a time limit to the life we shared.  

So now as I struggle with anxiety, pain and the uncertainty of my future I finally comprehend what you were living everyday.  God, I pray you are healed and free from this hell that I never could understand but now I live.  

I miss you now more than ever as I know you of all people get exactly what I’m feeling and I now understand more than ever why you needed to escape from life as you lived it.  
Forever in my heart.  Love Mom.

Life Is Tough

September 18, 2025 /

Matt,   It’s been a while since I’ve written.  This year has been a rough one.  I was diagnosed with parathyroid disease and had surgery in July.  I guess I set myself up for failure as I thought this would be the quick fix to feeling horrible every blessed day.  Sadly I’m two months out and still feeling off. 

It seems my body just doesn’t want to regulate my crazy hormones.  So everyday feels like Groundhog Day.  I think about you a lot.  What you went through with your chronic pain.  Like you I just want to be pain free and feel normal.  Like you I wish that could just happen and life could just go back to normal. 

I finally understand how easy it was for you to become dependent on opioids for your life to feel normal.  I too have searched for that magic pill to get my life to feel normal again.  But unlike you I fear the consequences of pills and their promises. 

I so wish you were here. I know you of all people would understand how hard chronic pain is to live with.  I have so many regrets for not being more understanding of what you were going through.  I hope you can hear my conversations when I talk to you.  I still can’t believe you’re gone.  It still seems surreal that life has turned out the way it has.  

I miss the life we had.  I miss the calls, the hugs, the laughs and gatherings when life was what I always thought it was going to be.  How foolish we were to take anything for granted.    One thing I’ve learned is nothing is guaranteed and tomorrow is not promised.  I pray you are at peace.  Your pain is gone and you are living in paradise.  Know I will love you forever.  Tomorrow is my birthday and my wish is to turn back the clock, walk into your house and wrap you in my arms.  I will love you forever my beautiful boy. 

 

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