A Story of Addiction & Loss

Category: aftershocks and grief (Page 1 of 5)

Life Is Tough

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. 

 

Walking On Thin Ice

Matt,  January was a tough month for me.  First it was losing Scarlett right after Christmas, then your tenth anniversary, then my CT scans were all piled up on my literally breaking shoulders. 

I felt so overwhelmed.  My heart kept racing or skipping beats.  That familiar tightness in my throat found me again.  I became a walking mess as I tried to navigate through these emotional moments in time.  

Honestly, I’m still feeling off.  Like I just can’t hit my reset button like I always could in the past.  I’m finding my coping mechanisms are just not kicking into gear and my anxiety continues to greet me everyday with some new challenges.  

I’m thinking this ten year mark has just hit me harder than I could have ever imagined.  Thinking of all you have missed here on earth.  Thinking I haven’t seen you or heard your voice for what seems to be an eternity is becoming too much to bear.  

I had a meltdown yesterday as those feelings began to overwhelm me and my anxiety beat me into the depths of despair.   I cried for all you have missed.  For all I should have said and done.  I just cried for the unfairness of it all.  I cried and cried for both of us and for all those dreams that were crushed by your death.

I feel like I’ve lost both my boys.   Your brother barely speaks to me.  I know he is grieving your loss but I really just need to hear his voice and share memories of you with him.   We are all that’s left of our original family.  He’s the only one who shared our story who is still here on earth.   He’s the only person who loves you like I do.   

Somedays I feel so defeated.   I can’t believe this is my life.  I miss who I used to be.   I miss the future I envisioned for our family.   Both my boys married with children.  Weekend get togethers.  Bonfires on the beach with kids and dogs running on the sand.   So many dreams now gone up in smoke.  

I pray for you everyday.   That you have found your peace.  That you are surrounded by love, light and beauty.   That you have been reunited with our family and your pets and that you have met Jesus.  I pray for my peace and healing as this grief journey becomes harder to navigate.   

I really don’t know what else to do.   I can tell you time doesn’t make a difference all is does is make me wonder how I have survived this long without you here.

I wish you peace.  Until we meet again.  Love you forever Mom  

 

6:23 Ten Years Ago

Matt,   6:23 on January 2nd 2015 was the last time I heard your voice.  I called you in Florida as you were on your way home from work.   You were headed back to your sober house and planned to just relax.

We talked about your day.  How in just a few weeks we would be together again.  Ray and I were heading to the Keys and we planned to visit you on our way down.  

I was so excited to see you again.   You’d been living in Florida for six months and I missed seeing your physical presence.   I missed seeing your smile, being able to hug you and I really missed walking on the beach and discussing life.  

All I could think about was seeing you again.   You were going to show me where you lived and worked.  Introduce me to your friends.  We planned to go to your favorite beach and have dinner every evening.  

I can still hear your voice.  Our conversation burned into my brain.   You sounded so good, so happy as if life was finally going your way.  It never once crossed my mind that this conversation would be our last.  I never felt any red flags that you could possibly be using again.  You sounded absolutely perfect.   

Looking back, I wish I kept you on the phone longer.  I wish I could have recorded your voice.  I wish I could have visited you sooner or brought you home for the holidays.   If I had seen you I would have known you were still struggling with your demons.

We ended our conversation as we usually did.  I told you I loved you and was so excited to see you in 3 weeks.  You told me you would look around for hotels and let me know what you found.  Before hanging up you told me you loved me and would check in tomorrow.  

Ten years ago had I known I would have been on the next plane to get to you before you left me behind.  I would have held you and never let you go.

Now I’m left with replaying our conversation in my mind.   I’m so grateful we ended it with I Love You,  it’s what I hold close to my heart as I continue to navigate life without my beautiful boy.  

Ten years feels like yesterday and forever all rolled into one…….

 

 

Beautifully Bittersweet

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.   

 

 

99 Months

 

Matt,  99 months.  My brain counts the months as my heart screams how can this be.  How can it be true that life has continued to march on and I have been drug along in my grief.  How can this grief continue to bring me to my knees?  To make me want to scream from the rooftops that I am in so much pain?  How can all this time have passed yet still feel like yesterday?

Perhaps it’s because Easter has come and gone.  Another holiday without you.  Perhaps it’s the memories that continue to haunt me of past celebrations.  Two boys with chocolate faces and hands running through the yard Easter baskets swinging from their arms as laughter filled the air.

Perhaps it’s the memories of two men laughing as they walked in my door seeing Easter baskets filled with the same chocolate they loved as boys.  

Perhaps it’s the silence that has replaced the laughter, that silence is deafening as the grief is powerful.    The silence from your brother.  The silence of those who have passed on.  The silence haunts my heart and leaves my soul empty.

Yet, I have good days.  Days where I cope well.  Days I find joy in little things.  Flowers blooming in my garden.  The dogs chasing a squirrel through the yard.  An unexpected phone call from a friend.  A clear Cat Scan.

I guess you could say I’ve learned to cope, to handle the pain.  Sadly when I think of how long you have been gone, how long I’ve had to bear this grief that’s when my reality begins to haunt my heart leaving me breathless and wanting to scream.

Some say Silence is golden.  I think of what I wouldn’t give to hear the shouting, the laughter, the voices of two little boys whose smiles were covered with chocolate……..

 

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