A Story of Addiction & Loss

Category: life after losses (Page 1 of 3)

Heavenly Birthday’s Are Just So Hard.

Matt, today July 30th is your birthday I’m sitting here looking out at the sea our happy place letting all the beautiful memories run through my mind like an old fashion movie projector. My tears are falling as I search the sky for a sign.

You see Matt even after all these years the grief continues to wrap itself around my heart squeezing until I am breathless knowing the reality of my life is we will never share another birthday together.

There will be no celebration. No crabs and beer at your house by the sea. No you and Mike taking the boat out in hopes of catching dinner.
Reality is that these day will always break my heart into little pieces when I think of what could be. Those what ifs dance in my head and take me to places where the questions will never be answered.

I pray for a sign. A birthday present from you to me. I hunger to know you are safe, at peace, surrounded by love, light and beautiful things.

Today I pray that for a moment I will feel you in the sea breeze, hear you in the cry of the seagulls, see your handsome face in the clouds.

By the sea is where I feel closest to you my beautiful boy. I remember the days we would walk by the sea as the dogs ran through the waves talking about Heaven. We would both say Heaven is a beach and laugh together as the waves crashed at our feet.

Today, I will pray that is true. You are walking on a beach in Heaven as I’m walking on a beach here on earth.
May we feel the connection between a mother and son that nothing even death cannot break.

Today I wish you the most beautiful heavenly birthday. I pray that you know how much you are loved and missed. I will never stop missing what could have been. Until we are walking on Heavens beach together know as long as I live I carry you in my heart.

Love Mom

A Can of Beef A Roni and So Much More

Matt,

Never in a million years did I ever think I would find myself falling apart in the pasta aisle of my local grocery store after seeing a can of Beef A Roni. The gut wrenching, hit my heart hard, kind of pain left me holding onto my cart telling myself to breathe. Tears running down my face like a hose stuck in the on position with no hope of being turned off. Oh God, I think, how am I ever going to survive the rest of my life if can’t even make it through the grocery store without a major meltdown. Seeing that can and feeling those feelings has become a part of my new life. The life I never saw coming or signed up for.

Beef A Roni was my youngest son, Matt’s favorite food. I would stock up at the ten for $10 sale and hurry home to stuff his weekly care package with all his favorite foods. Sending them off with a piece of my heart to the half way house he lived in a thousand miles away from home. A can of Beef A Roni, a connection to my son who is no more.

Then there is the scent of Phoenix. This was his smell. I can still hear his voice, “Hey Mom, can you pick me up my deodorant, I’m running low”. I’ve found myself in this same store walking to the deodorant aisle and finding that familiar blue can. I remove the lid and spray a tiny bit. Closing my eyes taking a deep breath I let my mind drift back to happier times. This is what my life has become. Finding pieces of my son in everyday places trying to keep our connection alive.

I once felt that being the mother of a son suffering from addiction was the worst thing that ever happened to my life. That constant feeling of helplessness and anxiety ruled my mind. I compared his addiction to being trapped on a very fast, very high roller coaster with many twists and turns. Never knowing what each day would bring, what was coming or how some days would end.

Mothers of addicts learn to live with the crazy unpredictability that goes hand in hand with the disease of addiction. We learn to expect the unexpected and we relish the thought of a possible period of recovery. Matts addiction became mine as I held onto the roller coaster for dear life. Praying for things to somehow calm down and allow us both a little piece of normal. I’ve since learned that being the mother of an addict who suffered an accidental overdose is waking up and finding the nightmare you feared the most has now become your reality.

Be careful what you pray for they say. I prayed for peace, I prayed for quiet, I prayed for his addiction to go away. My prayers have been answered but never in the way I imagined. I now struggle to survive in this all too quiet, empty new world. I long for the days of chaos. Riding the uncertainty on the roller coaster known as addiction now feels like a walk in the park compared to being the one left behind.

Learning to navigate through my grief is a daily process. I’m now the lone rider on a different coaster. This one mimics the other but now the ups and downs belong solely to me. There are days I wake up, shed my tears, pray for strength and somehow get through. There are days the darkness overrides my heart and I crawl through my brokenness as if it is surrounded by shards of glass. Each piercing my heart with knifelike accuracy.

For now I take it one day at a time. I pray that someday that can of Beefaroni or the scent of Phoenix will warm my heart not break it. Reminding me of the connection between a mother and her son that neither time nor space can break. For now I pray for understanding and strength as I continue to put one foot in front of the other attempting to navigate my new unchartered life without my son.

I know I will never return to the person I once was. Going back to that person is not an option. She vanished when my son died. Gone with his last breath. My grief path is my own. It’s rocky and full of broken pieces of a life that used to be. I tread lightly on days I can. I crawl through the glass on days when the pain kills and I question my survival. My grief has no finish line. It’s one day, one breath, one scream at a time. My grief is the best I can do. Navigating this path is the most painful thing I’ve ever had to do. One thing I know for sure is I’m not ok. I will never be ok. And for me that just has to be ok…….

Forever 37 Forever In My Heart 💜

“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. But I always thought I’d see you again”.

Matt, tomorrow July 30th is your birthday. I never thought you would be celebrating in heaven 🙏🏻.

Even though it’s been 8 birthdays without you here, my heart still breaks thinking about what could have been. You always loved birthdays. You were the first one to run your finger thru the icing laughing as I tried to slap your hands away. I can still see your smile and hear your laughter as you ducked while sticking your icing covered fingers into your mouth.

Even as an adult You would celebrate like a kid. Blowing out candles and making a wish thinking I didn’t see you sharing cake with the dogs.
You were a boy in a man’s body and I loved that about you.

You should be turning 45 but you are forever 37. I wonder what you would look like today. Would you have any gray starting to show. Would you have a wife and children. What would life be like for both of us had your disease not won. So many unanswered questions dance through my heart and head…

Tomorrow I will honor you. Tomorrow I will spend the day by the sea that you loved. Tomorrow I will help feed the homeless showing them that their life’s matter and they are loved.

Tomorrow we will serve Italian subs, your favorite food and give out 100 backpacks from A Hug From Matt.

Tomorrow tears will be shed but I will continue to follow your lead in helping those the world forgot. I will tell your story and celebrate your life that was cut too short.

Tomorrow and everyday of my life I will celebrate you my beautiful boy.
Happy birthday in heaven. Forever 37. Until we meet again.
Love you forever. Mom ❤️❤️

Father’s Day Fantasy

Matt,  today is Father’s Day and I’m allowing my mind to go into the fantasy world I’ve created when reality becomes too harsh for me to bear.  I’m allowing myself to imagine that you are alive enjoying the blessings of being a dad.

I can see you at the beach, your happy place walking along the surf holding the hands of two beautiful children.  They have your sun bleached hair, your beautiful eyes and that amazing smile that makes them your mini me’s.

I can see you chasing them through the surf laughing as they grab handfuls of sand tossing them in the air trying to make you their target. 

I see a black lab frolicking at your feet, tail wagging as she runs along side your beautiful children.  I see two precious boys looking into your eyes knowing those same eyes are staring back at the precious babes who stole your heart and soul. 

I see you wrapping them in beach towels holding them close, pulling them closer in one of your famous hugs.  I see my youngest son, now a father finally knowing the love that surpasses understanding as only one who has  fathered a child could ever understand. 

I see you carrying them home.  Making their favorite snack and tucking them in for a nap.  I see you staring at those faces so much like yours feeling your heart explode with pride. 

I see them running towards me when I visit. Taking my breath away as memories of you at their age flood my mind. I close my eyes and picture so many beautiful scenes of us together sharing stories and remembering our times with you and your brother at our happy place..

How I wish my fantasies were my reality.  How I wish you left a piece of yourself behind for me to love.  How I wish I could look into your beautiful eyes and hold your precious children close to my heart. 

Reality is harsh.  Days that mark milestones continue to break me to my core.  Fantasies have become my way of coping. Knowing you never had the chance to experience the joys of fatherhood has left a crack in my soul.  Knowing we have missed out on so much of life is a heavy burden to bear.  

The trickle down losses never go away.  Birthdays, holidays and now Father’s Day leave me wondering how I will survive.  Losing you was losing a future I had envisioned since your childhood. The normal progression of life was shattered with your death. You took so much more than I could have ever imagined.  ❤️

A Temporary Separation

Matt,   A mother who lost her daughter spoke to me saying the hardest part of her grief is having to bear the “temporary separation” from her daughter.   Her statement gave me food for thought.

You have been gone 5 years and 8 months from this earth.   I wonder does Heaven keep track of time?   Do those who have left us behind know how long they have been gone?   Do you realize that we haven’t heard each others voices or seen each others faces in years?

I’ve read passages in the Bible that talk of God’s time.   Psalm 90 vs. 12 states “But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.”

Your death feels exactly like that verse.   One day I feel like it’s been a thousand years since I’ve heard your voice or been able to share my day with you.   Then the grief hits and bam, It feels like yesterday.   I can vividly recall every second of the day that altered my life forever.  All those emotions resurface.   The sounds of my howling like a wounded animal on hearing the news that you were gone.   I can close my eyes and see your body so still, so quiet.   I remember the ride to our church to say my final goodbye.   One day equals a thousand years as grief knows no time frame.

I wonder what Heaven is like.   If time isn’t measured by God then do you know how long you’ve been gone?   Do you think about how long it’s been since we were together on earth?   Do you realize that you are gone at all?   So many questions dance through my brain.   Questions that I will never find the answers to satisfy my heart.

How I wish time would reverse back to the days before you died.   I wish we had the power to go back to the time before your demons took over.   Time is defined as the ongoing sequence of events taking place.   The past, the present and the future.   What I’ve learned is we always think we will have enough time.   Time to say the things we should have said.   Time to do the things we wanted to do.   We think we have a future to fix all those things we messed up so badly.

Since your death, time has marched on.   Time payed no attention to my longing for it to stop.   It payed no mind to the intensity of how it’s passing would impact my grief.   Time here on earth is cruel and painful.   Perhaps that’s why time is not measured in heaven.

I wonder how parents survive this temporary separation.   How do we survive the years without our children.   How do we survive all those painful events that should be welcomed and celebrated.   I wonder how long temporary will be.

How I wish Heaven had visiting hours.   Perhaps like a dream where we could talk like we used to on earth.   We could sit by the sea and you could answer all my questions.   Knowing you are safe and healthy would ease the grief and make this separation easier to bear.

I pray this temporary separation is not a thousand years.   As time I’ve found does nothing to decrease the power of grief.   I hold onto my faith that one day our separation will be over and we will be reunited forever in a timeless place called Heaven.

 

 

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