Mother's Heartbreak

A Story of Addiction & Loss

Category: addiction destroying families (Page 1 of 7)

Empy Shoes, Shattered Lives

November 10, 2024 /

Matt,   These last couple of weeks have just been so hard.   Halloween was 10 days ago and all those memories of you and Mike as little boys running around in costumes waiting for it to get dark enough for you to grab your bags and run down the path into the neighborhood.  I remember having to tell you both to slow down and wait for me..  Even as an adult your love for Halloween continued and you would put your rubber mask on before you answered the door to hand out the candy.  I remember the squeal of the little kids when you jumped out onto the step and yelled Boo.

It never fails, every year there are two little boys just like you and Mike both towhead blonds who come together holding their little candy bags yelling trick or treat.  When I open the door to their smiling faces, I feel that gut punch and  those tears forming.   This year I was able to hold them at bay until they turned to walk away.  I shut the door, sat on the couch and allowed that grief to flow…

Today, I attended the 2nd Annual Empty Shoe Project.   I had helped my friends set up the night before trying to stay involved in the busyness of setting up the posters along side the empty shoes.  As hard as I fought that lump began to form in my throat, that heaviness of grief started to wrap itself around my soul as it knew I was powerless at stopping it.

As I walked in those doors this morning, I felt that familiar weight of grief, loss and despair.  Scanning the room for familiar faces I recognized the look in their eyes.  Parents whose masks were crumbling as they tried so hard to put on the brave faces we wear every day.  We know each others stories as we share a bond and belong to a club not one of us would ever join or even want to know existed.  Yet here we were together walking among our angels holding each other up as one by one the masks crashed to the ground.

527 pairs of empty shoes sat among the beautiful smiles, the shining eyes, the handsome faces, the perfect little pouts.  Short stories of their lives allowing us to see a bit of what remarkable human beings they were.  Their dreams, their hopes, their love for life all swept away by the power of their disease. 

Seeing you among them continues to take my breath away.   I stare at your beautiful face and hear my mind screaming WHY?  People ask if I’m ok and for once I feel free to speak my truth.   NO, I am not and will never be ok.  I know everyone in that room is not and will never be ok.  

We are the broken ones.  The shattered ones.  The ones left behind to pick up the pieces.  We are the memory keepers, the voices, the ones trying to piece together a tapestry that will always be unrepairable.   A mosaic that will always be missing a beautiful piece of glass.  

As the event was ending we each picked up our signs, shared hugs, and shed tears knowing that we are not alone in this unending grief.  We are a community of angel parents who as long as we live will never let our beautiful children be forgotten.  

Until I hold you in my arms, I hold you in my heart…………

 

 

Beautifully Bittersweet

May 25, 2024 /

Matt,   When I learned the circumstances of your death, I knew I could never stay silent.   What I really wanted to do was fly to Florida and punch the owner of your shoddy sober home in the face.  I wanted him to hear your name and see the face of your grieving mother and then I wanted to tell him what he told me, “People die here everyday.”   I wanted to look him in his eyes and say well, well, today is your day.  

I can’t put into words what that information did to my soul, but it fueled me into months of research of how sober homes operated.   Months and months of research speaking to advocates from many states sadly revealed that dumping people who have relapsed into the street in the middle of the night with no available help or support was common practice.   Learning this I knew I would never find my peace until laws were passed to protect people at a vulnerable time in their lives.   This became my mission.   These people became my Matt’s.

I became obsessed with this project.  The more I researched, the angrier I became.  To think many sober home operators used people suffering from Substance use as a means of disposable income fueled my desire to put a stop to this evil practice.   How dare anyone treat a human life as it was disposable.   It happened to you and I have to live with that every day.   The only way to find peace was to punish the people responsible.

After I had a folder thick as a phone book containing all the research on sober homes, I called my House Representative.  I asked her to meet for coffee.  When I showed her the folder and shared your story I could see the disgust in her eyes.   Her words were music to my ears.   “We Will Fix This,” became our battle cry.

After almost 5 years of advocating and fighting to get this Bill right, riding the roller coaster from happiness to disappointment, through many challenges and changes HB 114, The Matthew D. Klosowski Act was passed unanimously in both the House and Senate on the very last day of the 2023 Legislative session.   You my beautiful boy were the catalyst that will change the trajectory of how sober homes will be allowed to operate in our state of Delaware forever.

Last week, we were honored as the First State Alliance of Recovery Residences had their certification kick off as they certified a home for women in recovery.   Oh how I wish I could have shared that moment with you.   Senators and House Members were saying your name and sharing your story.   Congratulating me for fighting for so long to get this dream of mine to become a reality.   There will be no more treating people as if their lives didn’t matter.   No more kicking people out in the street to die.   

We were given an award.   Honoring us both.   I fought hard to hold back the tears as I spoke to the crowd.  Oh how I wished it was your face I was seeing among so many people who came to attend the ceremony.   I hope you were there.  I hope you felt my love for you souring through the sky from my heart to yours.   I hope you know how much you are loved and missed.   How time has not made a difference in the void in my heart.  

I can assure you this my beautiful boy,  you have a legacy that will stand the test of time.  Your name is forever in the Law books in our state of Delaware.   One hundred years from now people will look up HB 114 and see your name.   Your story and how your death was not in vain.   How your death fueled my grief to find a little slice of beauty from the brokenness you left behind.   Godspeed until I hold you in my arms, you are forever in my heart.   

 

 

A Not So Happy New Year

January 27, 2024 /

Matt,  we’ve passed the 9 year mark of me surviving your death.  For some reason, this 9th year has hit me harder than I could have ever imagined. 

I continue to struggle with the fact that time has flown by.  My mind knows but my heart continues with disbelief.  It almost feels like that horrible second year, when the reality replaced the fog and the weight of grief settled into my heart. 

I was a guest on a podcast about grief yesterday.  So many of the topics we discussed hit home for me.  We talked about society and how it places a time limit on grief. Sadly, most people who feel that grief has its limitations have never suffered the devastating loss of a child. 

We also discussed many faucets of grief such as the fear of not remembering the sound of our loved one voice.  Matt, that is one of my biggest fears.  You never left me voice mails.  Texting was your form of communication.  Believe me, I have screenshotted all of your text messages and treasure each one.  But what I crave is to hear your voice once again. 

There are days when I sit quietly by myself, closing my eyes.  I try to conjure up your face, your smile, and your voice.  Some days it all comes rushing back.  Other times I feel like you are drifting farther and farther away.  Those days I feel a panic set in as I never want to ever forget anything about you.  Sadly, the brain can only hold so much memory.  Grief brain is capable of so much less.  

This year will be a bigger challenge than I could have ever imagined.  There is no truth in the statement that the passage of time heals.   For me the passage of time is a tragedy as I struggle to remember the essence of you.  ❤️

And Just Like That It’s Been 7 Years

January 3, 2022 /

Matt,  today is your seventh angelversary.  I asked for a sign that you are at peace and I woke to a snow storm.  You loved the snow.  The last time it snowed like this was when I was trying to fly your body home from Florida.  Flight after flight was canceled due to the inclement weather.  I would go outside as the snow was falling staring into the sky asking if this was you.  

Today feels like it did the very day 7 years ago when I found out you were gone from this earth.  It’s called muscle memory.  My body hurts.  Every muscle, every bone remembers the shock that hit as I heard the words “ It’s Matt, he’s dead”.  

I close my eyes and feel my soul break as I hear the guttural screams that came from my being as the reality of those words found their way into my brain.  I remember and return to that place of disbelief and breathlessness.  The moment I too wanted to die before you got too far away.  In my shock and grief I thought I could catch up with you as we left the pain of the world behind together.  

My brain, like a projector continues to plays the events that happened the week of your death.  Every detail burned into memory.  Every feeling burned into my soul.  


I look at your pictures.  I touch your urn hoping to break the spell that your death has cast on this day.  I must survive as I know this grief has no plans to go. 

Seven years feels like yesterday.  It also feels like forever.   💜🙏🏻




Thankfully Broken

November 24, 2021 /

 

As Thanksgiving approaches I’m finding it hard to be thankful.  My grief has returned and has decided to batter my already damaged heart.  My family is broken and can never be returned to what it once was. A son is gone and will never take a seat at my holiday table again. 

I will never hear his voice.  Never see his smile.  Never welcome his wife or children into my home.  I will never see my two sons, now men hug or laugh about childhood memories. 

I tell myself it will be ok.  That I am ok.  My mind tries to by into my thoughts but my heart knows the truth.  I am not ok and never will be again. 

Precious memories flood my brain.  Past Thanksgivings when my house was full of family and friends.  Not an empty seat in the house.  Conversation and laughter filling every room.  Everyone healthy and happy sharing stories of the past year.  Three generations under one roof seated at one table. My precious boys letting everyone know what they wanted from Santa. 

As the years marched on everything remained the same. Year after year the ritual of Thanksgiving remained unchanged.  Boys became teens who became men always coming together to celebrate our blessings. 

Oh how I wish I could turn back time to the simpler days before old age, illness and addiction began to steal pieces of my life.  Days before your death broke my heart. 

You would think after 7 years, the holidays would have lost that relentless grip on my heart.  You would think I would have mastered how to survive the day that society emphasizes with such an ungodly expectation of perfection.  You would think I would have had enough of the I wonder, I should have or could haves to last a lifetime. 

You would think that after 7 years I could control the tears as I shop for the fixings that you will no longer eat. That seeing a pumpkin pie would not be like a knife in my heart. You would think that after all the therapy I’ve had I would have the tools to get through the day with a smile on my heart. 

Grief is funny.  You never know when or how it will hit.  You never know what will trigger the pain that seems to hide for months until the holiday music starts.  How seeing another mother walking with her two sons can bring back joy mixed with pain.  How memories can warm my heart as it continues to break. 

Tomorrow I will remember my blessings.  I will remember those days of innocence.  The holidays when my family was healthy and whole. When we shared the joy that comes with gathering together.  When my two sons stood together in the cold, their breath becoming visible in the frigid air as they fried our Thanksgiving turkey. Smiling at me when I snuck out to snap a picture. 

I will be grateful that I had you in my life for 37 years. I will be grateful for all those memories of all the years we shared.  

I am and always will be broken but I am also thankful that I was blessed to have those memories that will carry me through the rest of my life ♥️🙏🏻

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