Mother's Heartbreak

A Story of Addiction & Loss

Tag: life after loss

I GET IT

August 15, 2024 /

 

Matt,  I finally understand.   The need to escape the world in which we have nothing but pain and stress.   Until it happened to me I could never comprehend how chronic pain could suck the joy out of life.  I could never understand the power of the anxiety that walks hand in hand with this pain. 

This summer has been a shit show.   June 24th I go to Penn for my 6th month CT.  figuring its been 4 years of clean scans, I was really not thinking anything would have the nerve to pop up after this time.   You know Cancer is a lot like addiction.  It fools you into thinking you are in control then it slaps you in the face with that powerful GOT YA.  

They find a nodule in the base of my right lung.  Seems the little shit has been there for 3 years growing like a nasty weed that you just can’t seem to get rid of.  Now it’s reached the danger zone and something needs to be done.  

So now I have to go through what they call a simulation test.  Sounds so simple, but it’s pure hell.  It’s a combination CT and PET scan where you lay on a hard metal table for what seems like forever.  I remember how after your back surgery you were always so uncomfortable laying on your back.  As I lay there I replayed many conversations we had about your pain.  Still no matter how much you tried to explain to me I never got it.  Well, believe me as I lay there I got it.

The results show a minimal uptake in my spine at the surgical site and that damn little nodule in my lung.  So now it’s an MRI of my spine to rule out recurrence of cancer.  Another 45 minutes on a hard, cold table.  Believe me I got it.

Then a week of panic attacks.  Feeling like I wasn’t going to survive another minute of worry and wondering what fun was coming my way.   

Oh, I found out God does have a sense of humor.  As if I wasn’t stressed out enough, the cat does a ninja warrior move and breaks her leg.  The dog gets sick as well.  So now between running to the vet and having to confine a very active cat who’s now wearing a cast I have very little time to think about me.  Thanks God..

The outcome of all this is more radiation to my already glowing, beat up body.   I remember when you would go for walks with me and you walked like an old man.  Well Matt, I walk like an old lady.  I experience the panic attacks and the anxiety you did.  I remember you taking Xanax to help you cope.  I now take Xanax to help me cope.  

I never understood your struggles until they became mine.  Until I walked that same broken road with the same broken body.  How I wish I could talk to you.  The first thing I would tell you is how sorry I am for not showing you more compassion. For not doing all I could to understand where you were coming from.  I believed you were just taking those pills for the hell of it.  I never realized you were taking those pills to not just survive your life but to get a reprieve from the constant pain.

We are so alike.  I never realized this until you left and my life fell apart.  I can’t tell you how many times I want to call you and spill my guts.  To find ways that we could both survive the pain without having to die seeking relief.  

I know it’s too late, but I wanted you to know that finally I Get It.  

Love Forever,  Mom 

 

 

 

A Can of Beef A Roni and So Much More

July 25, 2023 /

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…….

Fighting My Way Through The Fog

November 3, 2016 /

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Matt.  Today is unbearable, empty.  There is nothing left to do.  Last week my mind shrouded in grief had to function.  There was no choice.  First, I had to get you home to Delaware.  Flight after flight was canceled because of the snow storms.  I wondered if that was you.  Your last joke on me.  I remembered how you loved the snow.   I close my eyes and see You, Me and Mike racing out the door into the newly fallen snow.   The dogs on our heals.  Boys in the bodies of men squealing with laughter as we slammed each other with snow balls.  Darting through trees or whatever cover we could find.   Not a care in the world.  Just a mom and her teenage sons.  The age of innocence before any thought of drugs would enter our perfect snow covered world.  Soaked and exhausted we would drop to the ground and spread our wings.  Snow Angels.  Three in a row.   Matt, your angel is forever gone.  Blown away by the wind of your demons, never to return again.

Writing your obituary and planning your memorial service were the most painful events in my life.   Trying to find words to describe your life.  What does a mother say about her son’s life.  How do you describe the tow headed little child who held your heart in his hands?  How do you describe the man, the struggle and the demons?  How do you put the last seven years into a word document when you can’t breathe and comprehend that this is reality?  You and Mike should be going through this.  Not me and Ray.  You were supposed to live.  You were supposed to be here when I left to stand by your brothers side and say goodbye to me.  Not the other way around.

So now what is left for me?  My life revolved around saving you.  You are gone and I am left shattered.  A wine glass thrown against a wall.  There is no putting me back together.   I sit alone curled up by the fire.  The pups feel my grief.  I am dark, unreachable, untouchable, numb.   Grief has swallowed me up.  I sit and relive every moment.  Memory after memory floods my foggy brain.  I dissect every decision made during your addiction.   I torture myself wondering what I missed.  What I should have done differently.   I have become my personal punching bag.

My life now lived in a thick fog.   My heart not allowing the truth to find my brain.  I don’t understand  how my heart can hurt so deeply and still beat.  Sleep is sporadic.   The couch has become my bed.  Ray must sleep.  I toss and turn and cry.   When sleep comes it’s short and sweet.  My reprieve from the reality of your death. Waking is punishment.  Every morning my grief lies in wait until I stir.  Opening my eyes allows a slice of reality in as I see your smiling face staring back at me.  Grief gut punches.  The cold slap of reality.  There are moments where I can briefly forget that you are gone.  Moments my brain protects my heart and I pretend you are busy.  You will call when you can.  I allow myself to think you are on the beach enjoying the warmth of the sun while I’m freezing in this cold.  Then the wave hits sucking my breath away and I crumble like the sandcastles we built by the sea.

My denial laughing at me.  Those books written by parents of addicts.  The one’s I though knew what they were talking about.  The one’s that became my bibles.  The one’s where their children lived have been transformed to an ashy mess burned on a dark, grief filled night.   Those books are full of lies.  Addiction does not always have a happy ending.

My heart remains shattered with no end in site.  The pain of losing you hurts so much more than the pain of bringing you into this world.   At least I knew when that pain ended I would hold my precious baby in my arms.  This pain has engulfed  my world and will never have an ending.

Memories of your childhood flood my brain.  My mind has become a movie projector.  Both good and bad flood my brain taking my breath away.   Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.  You and I would laugh dropping to the ground singing that song.  All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty back together again.   Call me Humpty.  Shattered beyond repair.

 

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