A Story of Addiction & Loss

Category: shared grief

My Reflections on Trail of Truth.

I remember being home watching the weather like a hawk scans the sky for prey.  I kept thinking how could the report of a strong nor-easter possibly be true as I sat feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin.  

The next morning I woke to a gray day.  I felt the weather was mimicking my soul as my husband said goodbye at the train station.  I could feel the wind beginning to strengthen as I stood on the platform with my friend who decided she wanted to brave the weather after hearing me try to explain the impact of the memorial ceremony to others when there really are no words that could describe the slap to your heart as you stood amongst the angels.

So here we were the three of us sitting together on the train heading to D.C. to be among those involved in bringing awareness to the pandemic that continues to destroy families and lives.  You see, Nicole lost her husband last year and is now a single mom to her beautiful daughter, Chloe.

As the train sped toward our destination, I could feel my anxiety growing.  Memories flooded my brain of my first trip to D.C. 9 months after losing my son, Matt in 2015.  How naive I was then thinking this epidemic would never continue.  I truly believed that losing 42,000 people in 2015 would be enough for those in power to shut down the Pharmaceutical Companies responsible for the carnage. That lawmakers and doctors would be punished for their part in this terrible tragedy that created a disease of massive proportions.

As we arrived at Union Station I felt a calm beginning to settle my heart.  I felt like I was where I was meant to be.  

Walking into the Yotel was like coming home after a long absence. Hearing my name and being surrounded by other mamas who’s faces were so familiar yet now they were in my space and we shared moments of joy mixed with grief as we wrapped each other up in warm, loving hugs.  

Our eyes all reflecting a similar emotion.  No one wanted to be here, but because our hearts were shattered by loss we knew we had to be here to let the country know our children continue to live through us.

The storm was kind to us on Friday allowing our activities to continue as planned.  First the DOJ rally.  The power of being among so many incredible advocates was palpable.  The energy flowed through the crowd.  Our chants stopped passerby’s who asked what we were doing.  I was proud to tell Matt’s story as they listened and offered condolences and compassion.  Sharing their lives had also been touched by this tragedy.

My friend Jen gave a powerful speech telling her story of Christopher as I listened I was moved to tears.  So many who’s stories shared similarities of hope and heartbreak.  

Friday night Susans vigil was held at Union Square.  Once again we came together as one body of broken people holding on to each other as stories were shared.  I was blessed to share Matt’s story with the crowd.  Candles were glowing in the dark representing the lives of our loved ones whose 

lights we will never allow to burn out.

I could hear the rain and wind before I got out of bed Saturday morning.  Ophelia obviously had no idea who she was dealing with as she pummeled D.C. with all her force.  A group had gathered outside our room accessing what we were up against.  We laughed out loud knowing that we had all walked through hell and survived. 

A group of us gathered for breakfast holding our rain gear and making plans to brave the storm. There was no way we were going to allow this storm to stop us from being among our angels.

I tried to prepare my friend for the impact but I knew from experience there truly are no words.  I watched her walk among the Delaware people searching for her husbands stone.  Tears falling as she held her daughter’s hand looking for Daddy.  Our eyes met and I knew she felt it.  I knew the impact found her soul ripping it apart once again.  The sky opened up as we both searched, her for Walt, me for Matt.  I knew there was no way we were giving up in spite of high winds and heavy rain.  

Finding Matt, seeing his handsome face stopped me in my tracks. I felt like the earth beneath my feet split open.  I prayed for it to swallow me, to take me to a place where grief could never find me.  To give me a reprieve from this excruciating pain that had become my life.  I heard a guttural cry escape from my soul.  I felt arms wrapping around me as another mom heard and came to hold me up.  Never could I have anticipated my response.  The rawness of the grief.  

I knew I was spent. I wanted to run.  Then I saw my friends face and knew she found her husband.  She knew. I knew.  We were both experiencing, living the impact our team had hoped for when forming the Trail of Truth.

Saying goodbye Sunday morning was tough.  I felt surrounded by those who get me.  I felt like we were all kindred spirits finding each other again. 

I still have found no words to describe the feeling when you walk among angels.  As we boarded the train to Delaware my friend leaned over and said you were right.  No words……..💔💔

The Collateral Beauty Of Shared Grief

Matt,

One definition of Collateral beauty is beauty that is impossible to be seen.   Perhaps a devastating tragedy has broken your life beyond repair.  This tragedy so unimaginable, so incomprehensible, has rendered you powerless to see beyond your brokenness.

This weekend I witnessed the reoccurring presence of Collateral beauty as I attended The Compassionate Friends National Conference In Philadelphia.

This conference was specifically for parents like me.   Parents who have survived the unsurvivable.   We have out lived our children.   We have received the phone call that no parent could ever imagine receiving.  We have heard those words.   Your child is dead.   We  know what it’s like to continue to breathe after our hearts have been ripped from our chests and lay shattered at our feet.  We know the pain of planning a celebration of life when we should have been planning a birthday, a family barbecue, a wedding.

I really had no idea what to expect.  I could feel my anxiety gripping my throat as I stood in line waiting to be given the conference materials.   I remember looking around and recognizing the pain etched on parents who knew my grief.  We were each given a red lanyard with our names displayed for everyone to see.  Many like me carried pictures of beautiful smiling faces.   Faces that should be here.  Faces that should be laughing and living.  Faces not memorialized but alive and well.

My heart began to race.  My twisted thoughts gripped my brain.  I wanted to scream.  Hey!  Do you really think we need to wear a lanyard?   Look at our faces.  Look at our eyes.  Grief has been etched permanently into our being.  All you need to do is look.  We are marked by unimaginable loss..

I remember walking into the Ballroom and scanning the room.   I could feel my tears beginning as I found the nearest table.  So many people gathered together.  It was as if we were one broken soul encompassing every inch of available space.  No longer strangers.  No shame, no uneasiness.  Our connection was palpable.  Pictures, names and stories were being shared without one thought of judgement or guilt.

Conversations that are taboo in society flowed like nectar from a exquisite flower.  Nothing was off limits.   The time frame of our losses were never an issue.   The cause of death was shared without the worry of judgement.  The reality that our child died overrode the how’s or the why’s.  Grieving parents understand that this life altering grief will last a lifetime.

Unlike societies perception of grief having a time table with stages that lead to the completion of mourning, parents recognize that the loss of a child is not linear or logical.   It’s layered with secondary losses.  We have not just lost a child.  We have lost the present and the future.  We have lost hopes and dreams.

During this amazing time I never felt the need to defend my grief.  I never felt the awkwardness I’ve felt among those who feel that enough time has passed and I should be over Matt’s death.  I felt connected to those who needed no explanation when my tears flowed and my sobs were heard across the crowded room.

Mothers I’ve come to know and love due to the power of social media showed me compassion and comfort.  Hugs and tears mingled as we were finally able to physically wrap our arms around each other knowing that nothing need be said.  We live it.  We get it.

I was given the gift of just being Matt’s Mom.   I was given permission to leave my mask behind.  To let my advocacy have a few days off.  To disappear into and acknowledge my son and the sorrow of the profound loss I live with everyday.   Permission to mourn is the greatest gift we can ever give to another bereaved parent.

I silently watched as Collateral Beauty surrounded me.  I witnessed it as parents who were once strangers came together and carried each other’s grief.  Just for an incredible moment our grief was lifted by another allowing our hearts to see the beauty of compassion and understanding that defies explanation.

Collateral beauty shining a light through the darkness of our brokenness.  A light I will carry with me as I continue to live my grief.  The experience of catching that  glimpse of beauty among the dark ashes of child loss will remain in my heart forever.

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