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Have Faith Mama, I Got You!

My Dearest Blaker:

I know it’s been a minute since I last wrote, but you and I know we talk every single day. I try not to take up too much of your time, because I know that I’m not the only one who needs you or the only one you want to hang out with.

So what’s been happening since Mother’s Day? Wow! Where to even start…. COVID is still a thing, but that’s kind of boring, and a lot of people seem to like to argue about it, so we’ll just skip that conversation. It’s summer. We love summer!!! We haven’t had many lake days this summer, but the days spent at lakes have been beautiful. We’ve been to Crescent Lake and South Twin near home, and we spent a day at Lost Creek Lake and another day at Willow Lake near Eagle Point, Oregon. Lucas and Kristen joined me and Dad at Crater Lake, and I think we’re going to do that annually in remembrance of you near your angelversary. I’ve spent a couple of afternoons by the river at Cline Falls State Park and many many afternoons in the backyard in or near my inflatable pool. Books have accompanied me to all of these places.

I’ve done a lot of introspection, and there have been some authors/teachers, through their books, that have found their way into my heart exactly when I needed them. This grief journey is no joke, but I feel like I’ve grown considerably in my own journey to self actualization. I will say that the time that COVID has allowed me has been a gift for my healing. I’m realizing and accepting that I’ve been holding myself back, that I have not been allowing myself to live to my full capacity, out of some perceived or self-imposed responsibility to invest in others or perhaps out of fear of losing or failing. This is not good or bad. It just is.

In addition to the books, I met with a shaman three weeks ago. Can you believe we worked together for five hours? I think I’m still processing, but she affirmed a lot of what I already knew. This gave me confidence to believe that my feelings are valid. I know they’re valid, but sometimes it’s hard to believe they’re valid. She offered clarity that it is time for me to claim my life. She said that in terms of wisdom, I know a lot, but that I’m not applying it to myself. She said “You have all of this information and all of this knowledge, and if someone sat down in front of you, you’d say blah, blah, blah, blah. Apply what you know and what you believe and your intuition to you, to your current situation.” I can feel that you agree.

So much of what she said aligns with the literature I’ve been reading. I could and probably should do a complete annotation of Seane Corn’s book Revolution of the Soul. Reading it with a highlighter in hand was good, but I need to digest each morsel of wisdom. I related to her description of being “scared for the wounded little girl in me. Because of my fears, . . . I couldn’t truly serve them.” She was speaking of youth she was serving in a detention facility. When I look through that wounded little girl lens, I see things as I am, not as they truly are. She quotes Carl Jung, who said, “The best political, social, and spiritual work we can do is withdraw the projections of our shadow onto others.” I know that I have developed resilience, but I acknowledge the wounded little girl, and I think her existence is okay, because without her, I would not be who I am today. And today, I am not her. This is what the shaman said:

You literally have to become someone else with no diagnosis, no illness, abuse, trauma or neglect. You have to release the programs of trauma and sickness, and the back story and the personality that goes with it otherwise the future will just look like and become  a record of the past that progresses in severity.

We don’t say this to be dismissive of Blake or your past in any way. It’s not about erasing or forgetting but rather allowing yourself to build a new identity without them because they are no longer present and you cannot pretend to be your old self when so much of your personality, habits, beliefs and actions were linked with them. Now that Blake is gone you have no idea who and what you are without his presence and all that you said or did to keep him alive and yourself sane while he engaged in his self destructive behaviors. [Self destructive behaviors are an outcome of Substance Use Disorder.] It’s not just Blake that is gone but also the personality you adopted to cope with his life.

I’m sure you know these things. I know you did not want to burden (your word) me with your problems because you loved me, and you knew that it would hurt me. Perhaps you also didn’t want me to see you as broken – maybe the way I saw myself.

It’s time for me to break up with the identities of the wounded little girl and the mother that sacrificed herself to keep you alive. Those identities served a purpose but trying to hang on to them traps me and blocks me from my current purpose. I will continue to use my pain as my purpose and the empathy that I’ve gained as a result of my journey because I do know “the ways in which the other person wants to run, hide, sabotage, and resist.” It’s wondrous to me that purpose can come from pain, that living life on purpose is dharma, or the soul’s work. Seane quotes Deepak Chopra as he describes dharma as “the ecstasy and exultation of our own spirit, which is the ultimate goal of all goals.”

I intentionally trudge through the muck giving myself grace and patience. I show up for myself and reach for nourishment. I’m opening myself to possibility. The work that I’ve done with youth has allowed me to heal the wounded little girl. She remains as a scar, a beautiful badge of courage, a reminder that I can do hard things. And let me share what else the shaman told me:

Life is just not the same without Blake and you don’t know how to be the self you recognize. The version of you that was so driven to help youth included Blake from the beginning. That teacher, healer, counselor and motivational speaker persona was all wrapped up in Blake. His presence motivated you to change your life so that his life would be better than yours. You both had rough childhoods through no fault of your own. You both made choices that would have led to self destruction. Blake’s conception and your commitment to keep him was a catalyst for change for you. His life changed your momentum and inspired you to change your thoughts, habits and beliefs so that he would not have to suffer the same fate. He was your inspiration and motivation that led you to working with youth with trauma. You were drifting, but all that changed when he came into the world. He was intrinsically tied to your life purpose and now that he is gone you have to ask yourself if your purpose has changed. 

Remember when you told me that if something happened to you that it would not be anyone’s fault? I told you that if something happened to you that it would change me in a way that I could not know. But I knew in my gut, as I spoke those words to you. I knew that it just might change the way that I am able to show up for youth. And I was right. I went back to school last fall. I went through the motions, but my head wasn’t in it, even more, my heart wasn’t. I had a complete lack of initiative. I would get upset with myself for not being emotionally and mentally present, for not being committed, for running short on patience.

I ran the tape in my head, ‘this is what I’ve spent my life doing,’ ‘this is what I went to school to do,’ ‘I’ve invested my life in this,’ ‘I have 5 more years to have 25 years in the PERS system,’ ‘I need to stay in public service because of student loans,’ ‘It’s just grief, it will get better.’ All these things, and not one time was it, ‘I love what I’m doing, and I’m going to continue.’

I wondered if Seane Corn was advising me to stay, to lean in, when I read, “So serve where you are called. Serve in a way that is sustainable. Be open to what presents itself. Service may look completely different from how you thought it would look. Serve anyway. Just give of yourself in benefit to the happiness, good will, safety, abundance, and ease of others . . . and watch your own heart open in unimaginable ways.”

I kept this in mind as I was confronted with a recurring question in her book and in “Signs, The Secret Language of the Universe by Laura Lynne Jackson and “Finding Inner Courage” by Mark Nepo. I applied the question to making a decision about going back to school this fall. I asked myself, “Are you making this decision out of fear or for love?” All of the authors counseled that all decisions should be made for love.

Laura Lynne Jackson told a story about a woman named Amy who was unexpectedly pregnant. Her story reminded me of myself so much. Laura is a psychic medium and she met Amy for a reading. She told her, “You have to make the choice, but you have to make the choice independently of your boyfriend. The baby is linked to you. If your boyfriend steps up, great, but if he doesn’t you need to understand this is not about him, it’s about you and the baby. It’s about how your souls are connected.” Wow! Right? This gave me goosebumps. She said, “Amy needed to ask herself what was motivating her choice. If it was fear, it would always lead her down a lower path. But if she followed a path of love, she would find her highest path.”

Mark Nepo starts a chapter entitled “Loving What You Fear” with an except from one of his poems:

Go outside and let the sun spill into your heart.

There. Can you feel it? It’s the quiver of your soul.

It makes you vulnerable but it will never betray you.

Now you and I know that I have no fear of the sun. In fact my doctor just advised me on the proper use of zinc based sun protection. I interpret this as being open, not doing something out of fear of not doing it, but doing it because it exhilarates me – makes me feel alive. Sure, it might be scary, but stay in that space. I labored over the question of fear versus love, and in the meantime, I kept my eyes open for different career opportunities. I applied to a couple and didn’t hear anything. I emailed our local district attorney, as I felt like I could be of value to a law office, serving as a paralegal and possible resource for those struggling with substance use disorder. I was on the right path.

The following week, actually it was the day that I had the meeting with the shaman, I submitted my resume, cover letter, and references to a law office looking for both a receptionist and paralegal. I told them that I was seeking a career change back to the field of law. I explained that I’ve spent the last 20 years working in roles supporting education. Almost two weeks went by. I nearly forgot about this, and the clock was ticking, with just a little over a week until I was to report back to school for the 2020-2021 school year.

Last Thursday night, I was about at my wits’ end. I had so many ideas for how to go forward, and nothing seemed to be working out. I had just finished reading “Signs.” Laura said, “You can ask for help too.” So I said, “Blake, I really need some help right now. I don’t even know what I’m asking for, but I need your help. Please help me.” I went to bed and you came to me in a dream. I don’t have a vivid memory of the dream, but I know you were in it. When I woke up, I felt calm. Two hours later, I got a call from the office manager of the law firm, and we talked for fifteen minutes just setting up the interview, which was set for the following Monday.

This week, on Monday afternoon, I had an awesome interview with the Office Manager and and the Client Relations Manager. By the end of the day, my second interview was scheduled for Thursday, yesterday. It was the best interview I’ve ever had. Everything just clicked, the desire for empathy, resilience, respect, being a community asset, work-life balance, self care – everything. I was so happy when I sat down for the interview in front of my computer. I was only slightly nervous. I felt confident and excited. By the end, I could not stop smiling. Just over an hour after the interview, an Offer of Employment for the role of Family Law Paralegal landed in my email. The feeling? Complete exhilaration! I could not sit down. Tears filled my eyes.

I’ve thanked you out loud, and I heard you, “Have faith mama, I got you!” Thank you my dear angel. I’m learning how this works, how we get to have this healthy relationship, how the love will never die. I do not like being unable to hug you and being unable to hear your voice (outside of recordings), but I know you’re safe and healthy, and we still have each other, and for that, I’m eternally grateful. I’m also grateful that I’m gaining the courage to grow in the grief, and that I get to take you with me.

I love you to infinity and beyond!

Your Mama

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The Question of Getting What You Give, of Reaping What You Sow, aka Karma

Sitting on my father’s knee prior to my fourth birthday, I told him that if he kept living his life as he was, he would get curses. Of course I don’t have a memory of this conversation, but I have heard the story proudly recited over and over throughout my life, as if my young self was capable of connecting the dots between ‘bad’ behavior and negative outcomes, or that I was some messenger delivering a sacred warning. It is far more likely that I was repeating what I had heard spoken in hushed voices. It could have even come from the children’s bible stories that my grandpa read to me each night, or the discipline that came about as a result of my own infractions. It was probably a combination of all of these things. The point is, I learned early that if you do ‘bad’ stuff, then bad stuff happens to you.

I carried this forward in my own parenting – planting, watering, and fertilizing the creed that “You get what you give.” I do believe there is a certain amount of truth to this principle, but I do not believe it is absolute, or that it exists in a vacuum. Is there a measurement of ‘bad’ that produces negative outcomes, like a behavior chart in a classroom? You do x and your name goes on the board, y and you lose your recess, z and you get a phone call home? Life is not that simple.

This whole concept became an obstacle for me when Blake passed away. Combined with the triggered grief over my biological mother’s abandonment of my toddler self, I carried the burden that I somehow brought these events on myself. A few months ago, I cried out, “What in the hell could I have actually done to bring these painful events, this incredible suffering, on myself!?! Am I such a horrible person, either in this life or some previous life, that I deserve to endure this pain?” These thoughts played over and over in my head. When I finally said them out loud, my husband just looked at me, astounded. He reassured me that my actions had nothing to do with these events.

As we talked, or processed out loud together, I came to the conclusion that the idea that I could even have such power to cause events like this is a narcissistic-like thought process. While we are all connected, and actions have ripple effects, my actions did not directly cause my mother to turn her back on me or my son to become addicted and to suffer a fatal overdose. Living in a society that promotes individualism infers a sense of responsibility when something  good, or bad, happens, like we somehow bought the ticket for the outcome we are experiencing. Rather than it being solely my actions or carelessness, these specific outcomes are more likely the result of decisions, deeds and misdeeds, and disregard spread over a period of generations throughout society. Sayings like ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ are grossly inaccurate and harmful.

I see this whole concept of karma and receiving blessings or tribulations, not only as individual benevolence or immorality, I see it, more than ever, as outcomes of the whole. One person can toss a stone, maybe even a large rock into the water, but when all of society is contributing, the ripple goes further, the splash is bigger, and more people get wet. It doesn’t matter their role. They may have tossed a pebble, a stone, or a rock. They may have stood by watching or just been passing by. They may have had a loved one who was involved in some way.

We are all obligated to ourselves and to each other. We get what we give. We reap what we sow. Does that mean that you can slack, or I can give up because someone else does? Absolutely not. In fact, it means that you and I have to give more, that we have to try harder, that we need to find out why our neighbor is struggling. While we are responsible for ourselves, we are also responsible for each other and for future generations. We teach this by living it. And when something bad happens to us, we suffer the consequences – together – and hopefully we try, with deep conviction, to fix whatever it is that brought us to this place.

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Spending Time with Blake on Mother’s Day

My Dearest Blaker ~

It’s been so hard for me write to you, to write about you, to write about my journey as I learn to live with you in my heart only. There is never silence, even though there may be no words to be read. I’ve started a number of stories, a number of grief shares, and I walk away, unwilling or unable to complete the process. I wonder why. I wonder if I’m keeping you for myself, if I’m closeting the pain, and then I accept that I don’t need to understand or explain. I’m just feeling the way I’m feeling, and it’s okay.

Today is Mother’s Day, and I want to acknowledge you, because you were the one who made me a mom first. I think I’ve always been a dreamer, but you gave my dreams purpose. You lit the fire in me to bring some of my dreams to reality. You gave me courage to find my way and confidence to walk steadfast in my beliefs as I discovered them. As I looked at the world through your eyes, doors were opened to curiosity and new ways of thinking and seeing. All of the becoming that I did from the moment I knew I was pregnant to the moment I said good-bye, cannot be erased with your physical absence – because you always will exist in my heart. I wish that you could have seen yourself through my eyes the way that I came to see myself through yours. But that was not to be.

I want to share a little bit of some of my journey over the last few months. You know we made it through Christmas and New Year’s, what would have been your 29th Birthday, Easter, and Lucas’s Birthday. You know I took the month of February off to concentrate on healing. During that time, there was quiet chattering about an impending virus, but not something to which I paid much attention. Just over a week before spring break, all Oregon schools were closed until the end of April. Since that time, it has been decided that schools will be closed for the remainder of the school year. And the closures don’t end with schools. There are no haircuts to be had and no going out to eat, although there is take-out with curbside pickup. Many people have been sick, and as of today, nearly 80,000 people, in just the United States, have died from the virus called COVID-19. Also, many, many people have lost their jobs and many will lose their businesses. There are theories, conspiracy theories, blame, shame, chaos and confusion – and fear, probably the biggest reason for all of those other negative outcomes and behaviors.

While the world around me seems to be going mad, I’ve largely enjoyed sinking into a cocoon of sorts. Outside of going to the store and delivering food and school-work to students at my school twice a week, I’ve been staying home – since mid-March. I could have never imagined this in my wildest dreams. First that I would live through a global pandemic, and second that I would be home for this long without needing to feed my deeply engrained wanderlust. But here we are. Sometimes I wonder how this would be impacting you if you were alive today. You were such a sensitive person. I run different scenarios through my head: what if you were in recovery when this started and you and everyone around you lost their jobs, what if you relapsed, what if you got sick, what if, what if, what if. I know I would have wanted to get you home as soon as possible. I know that would have changed the dynamics in our home. If you arrived here in recovery, the stress might have triggered a relapse, and if you arrived in active addiction, I would have been frantically trying to help you find resources. And then I take a breath, and I am grateful that these what ifs are just that and not what is. At first I thought it was strange that I found relief, but so many other mothers of children lost to addiction have expressed the same relief. I got to hold your hand. I got to kiss your forehead, trace your eyebrows, and tell you all about my love for you and my appreciation for you. So many people who currently have sick loved ones, whether hospitalized or separated by distance, cannot physically be with them.

One of the amazing things I’ve been doing during this time is yoga. I’ve always known that it would be good for me, but I’ve always really struggled with the lack of movement, the lack of a fat-burning or cardio heart rate. I felt like, with so little time, I should focus my attention on the health benefits of more physically demanding workouts. So yoga – brought to me through Callie, a woman who I met because she asked to share my physical transformation picture on her social media page in September of 2018. When I looked at her page, I noticed that she taught yoga at a recovery center where you had been a patient. I even talked with you about her. I just don’t think this was a coincidental meeting. Callie and I met in person within just a couple of weeks after your passing, and I really felt a connection. When everyone was forced to stay home, Callie started offering yoga sessions through Facebook Live, and I thought, ‘What the heck!’ I have learned so much over the last couple of months. The biggest thing that I’m learning is that the poses practiced on the mat are just a small part of yoga. A big lightbulb moment for me was something Callie said during one of the early sessions, “What happens on the mat is a reflection of what happens in life.” My understanding of that was that I don’t give myself enough intentional time and patience, because when I’ve done yoga before this, I just wanted it to be done. I arrived with an attitude of ‘Okay, I’m here, let’s get this over-with.’ Now I arrive with intention, and my intention is expanding. It’s not always perfect, and it doesn’t have to be. That’s the big picture, I think.

I want to share this picture that I took the other day. I was on the mat Thursday morning. I was nearing the end of my session with Callie, and we were in this pose where we were sitting with legs crossed and knees stacked. This is a hard pose for me because of my knee issues. I wanted to see myself doing this, so I took my phone and set the timer, and I took some pictures. The next night, I was looking at the pictures and I was playing with the color on this one. I really like it because of its intensity and reverence. I sent it to Callie. Then I was scrolling through Facebook and I came across this meme that my ‘mother from the other sister’ posted. These words spoke to me – clear through to my soul, and I instantly knew that I wanted them on that picture. I think this is my why. Putting these words on this picture was an exercise of affirmation, just in itself. I wrote the first paragraph, changed the font style, added another paragraph, changed the size, only to have the first paragraph disappear. Over and over and over. You get the idea. And I realized and accepted that this was exactly the process I was supposed to have, because these were and are and will be very important words – a very important reminder and affirmation. And the only way I was going to believe these words about myself was to constantly read them, to constantly recite them, to constantly type them, over and over again, until I believe and become – and that means getting on the mat and walking through this life – doing and practicing yoga.

It is Life. It is love. I wrote the other day that being a mom is more about giving life than giving birth. As you know, my biological mother gave birth to me. I am grateful to her for my beating heart. I am blessed to have a couple of other beautiful mothers that filled my heart with life, love. I hope that I was able to do both for you. If the way that you poured love into so many around you is a reflection of my birthing and pouring life and love into you, I think I can say, I did a good job. I am proud of you, each and every day. I know you would tell me Happy Mother’s Day and bring me the most interesting and beautiful flowers if you were here. The orchid that I bought for your birthday is still alive and blooming. I’ve never had one last this long, and I think you have something to do with that. Thank you, thank you, thank you – for everything.

I love you to infinity and beyond!

Your Mama

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My Dearest Blaker

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” ~ Kahlil Gibran

We’ve now made it through our first Thanksgiving and Christmas without you. I’d be lying if I said it was easy. Even though we haven’t celebrated holidays together since 2016, you always called, usually during dinner, to wish us some holiday joy. The absence of you brings me deep sorrow, because you brought me much delight.

During the week of Thanksgiving, Dad and I slipped away to Coos Bay to do some crabbing and fishing. Remember that we did the same thing last year? You were supposed to join us, but you decided that you needed to return to treatment. We were disappointed, but we understood and encouraged you to take care of yourself.

Addiction stole so much from you and from us, and has now stolen you permanently, erasing every hope and dream, every possibility. I do not walk this journey alone. There are multitudes of mothers figuring out how to be mothers of angel children taken from them by addiction. In some Facebook support groups, I see new mothers joining daily. The epidemic and the accumulation of pain is immeasurable.

Back to the crabbing/fishing trip….as soon as we got in the boat and left the dock, I retrieved my phone from my coat pocket. I wanted to see if I could find what has come to be your signature green orb. I scanned the waters, and nothing. I figured you must be busy elsewhere. Dad and I enjoyed a few days on the water, and I took lots of pictures. Almost every evening, we returned to our AirBnB, and enjoyed fresh seafood for dinner. It was a very low key trip because I was sick with a cold. We did go out for German food one night, and that was really good. We returned home on Wednesday to share Thanksgiving with Lucas and Kristen. As soon as we got home, I scrolled back through my pictures. Imagine my surprise and gratefulness when I saw your green orb in five of the pictures.

I never saw green orbs before you passed. The first one I saw was shown to me by your friend Greg. It showed up on some pictures that he took at your Celebration of Life. Since then, I’ve seen them fairly often, and I’m always filled with a sense of joy. I’ve done a little research, and this is what I found on Spiritual Unite’s website:

“Many orbs are said to represent beings on the spiritual plane – or spirits, as we might call them. However, most of these spirits will not have lived a human life, instead originating elsewhere in the universe. But the green orb, if it represents a spirit, is very likely to represent a human soul. This could be a deceased loved one if the place in which the orb was seen is a place of significance for that passed spirit. However, it could just as easily be a stranger – the soul of a human whom we have never met.“

I believe it’s you. Dad captured you yesterday with my new camera.

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I really appreciate what you did last Sunday night after I delivered the first gift of the Purple Gift Project to a new friend for her husband. We talked for a couple of hours, sharing openly about how loving someone with a substance use disorder has impacted our lives. As soon as I got in my car to drive home, I called dad and shared about the interaction. I hung up as I entered our neighborhood, and the radio came on, playing “Calling All Angels” by Train. You were heavily on my mind as I sang the lyrics, “I need a sign to let me know you’re here….” As I entered our driveway, I noticed that the digital display, which usually gives the title and artist of the song the radio is playing, simply said, “Love You.” I was confused at first, thinking that’s not the name of this song, and then it hit me. You, my sweet boy, have game on the other side too. I was chuckling as dad came to the car to see if I needed help with anything. I had to show him, and of course, I had to take a picture. When I got in my car the next day, the display still said “Love You,” staying that way through three songs before reverting back to ‘normal.’

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About the Purple Gift Project – I wanted to do something for the addiction/recovery community in your honor. I decided that I would put together a bag of things that I would normally put in your stocking and take it to Bend Treatment Center, the clinic where you received your medication when you lived here. When I talked with someone about this, they also wanted to participate. This filled me with such a sense of being seen and honored, and it occurred to me that other people might like to participate. With just a little outreach, I received sponsorships from six people. At 5am on Christmas Eve morning, McKenzie and I delivered a total of seven gift bags to patients of Bend Treatment Center. Some of them shared their stories, and all of them expressed their sympathy for your passing. I am excited to see how this grows and where the Purple Gift Project takes us. The PDF that I created to include in each gift bag was sent to Texas, Maryland, and California. I think it’s time for me to work on starting a non-profit.

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This served so many purposes. It helped me get through Christmas, it kept your memory alive, and it helped people who are often intentionally ignored. McKenzie was a great partner, and you’d be proud that she’s doing well. I love being with people that were a part of your life because you can be the center of our conversations, and we can laugh or be sad together. You were and are so loved.

I was unsure if I would be able to find joy this Christmas. As the holidays neared, I didn’t really want to participate. The idea of getting our ornaments out seemed overwhelming. Those boxes full of all of our memories – I thought they would melt me. But, you know what? They didn’t. Of course I had some tears, but getting those ornaments out and placing them on the most beautiful tree that I think we’ve ever had, brought back many special memories. By the way, thank you for leading us right to that perfect tree in our immense forest. We worked as a family to decorate our tree, using nearly every ornament and adding some extra special ornaments in your memory. A counselor of yours also made an ornament in your honor and placed it on the Not One More Angel Tree in Simi Valley. She said that when you were in treatment, she told you she didn’t want to be hanging an ornament on that tree for you. I wish she didn’t have a reason to, but because you’re not here, it was another way to honor you and give your life and passing meaning.

Some of the ornaments we collected and you made through the years, the ornament we got for Lucas, in your memory, and the stocking that I hand made for your first Christmas.
The special ornament we ordered for you, our moon child.
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I found this green orb on Etsy and ordered one for Dad and I and one for Lucas. I love it!

Here we all are on Christmas morning after opening presents. I would have loved buying you an apron that matched your personality, and you would have loved receiving it. I know you’re proud of us.

Image may contain: Thom Karlowicz, Tonya Karlowicz, Lucas Karlowicz and Kristen Nichole Farmstead, people smiling, people standing and indoor

I almost forgot, and how could I? Lucas got me a most precious gift for Christmas – a sun and a moon necklace. It’s you and him, my world. He did good, didn’t he? I love you both so much.

Now we’re looking at 2020 – a whole new decade, without you. What would have been your 29th birthday is also coming up, and I’m honestly scared. I’m lucky to have so much support and I’m thankful that you’re watching out for me and encouraging me with your special gifts. Your dad is so comforting to me, quietly holding me when the tears come. There are no words that can be said that can dissolve the sadness. We’re all doing the best we can, but as Kahlil Gibran said, ‘it’s the absence of joy that brings sorrow.’ I am grateful to know such joy and delight, to know you. I will love you and miss you forever.

I love you to infinity and beyond!

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Giving in to the Grip of Grief

“If you’re true to yourself, your life will bring abundance.” ~ Suzy Amis Cameron (Oprah’s SuperSoul Conversations 10/15/19)

Abundance, faith, & family – these are the first three words that I saw this morning in a 2020 Energy Predictions word search puzzle. These words are supposed to describe my 2020. I know these social media games are for entertainment; however, when a theme is repeated in a short period of time, I tend to pay attention. The universe may be sending me a message.

One characteristic of my personality is control. I think I can rationalize Blake’s passing. I can reassure myself that he’s free from the chains of addiction and the self-loathing that it brought to him. I can remind myself of the desperation that I heard in his voice in the months before his final overdose. I can remember that Blake was proud of me and that he would want me to continue living, despite his physical absence. I can recognize that he might even be frustrated by my tears. But that doesn’t stop them, nor does it stop the days where grief’s tantrum holds me in a trance.

Control and grief are not friends. In fact, even though control does everything it can to distract grief, grief is oblivious to control’s existence. This is what is particularly infuriating to me. On a couple of occasions, I’ve felt grief begin to well up inside me and taken a day off from work to rest, believing that doing so will prevent the overwhelming feelings that grief brings. This might work sometimes, but just when I think I have the upper hand, grief reshuffles without permission.

Because of control, and perhaps self-discipline and determination, cousins of control, I’ve been able to accomplish a number of positive things throughout my adult years. I brought Blake into this world and attended college as a single mother. Together, with my partner, I’ve bought homes and moved to another state. I’ve made career moves that have fulfilled me and benefitted my family. I’ve endeavored to improve myself in every way, finishing my M.Ed. in 2016 and vowing to reclaim my physical health in 2017. There have been many sink holes along the way, but I’ve managed to emerge from the grime, brush off what I didn’t need, and claim victory over the obstacles – because of control. Feeling a lack of control over myself is foreign to me.

As Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the light enters you.” This quote resonates with my soul. Pain and becoming can work together for growth, although sometimes lately, this pain seems too big. The amount of light that could enter through the gaping crevice that is exposing my soul is unimaginable. And honestly, I don’t really care to imagine it. That I could become a better version of myself, as a result of my son’s death, is not something I want to consider.

But isn’t our purpose here to become our best selves? And don’t we, more often than not, do this through experience and overcoming adversity?

I didn’t ask for Blake to be afflicted with debilitating addiction. I didn’t ask for this disease to take his life. I do have to figure out how to keep living without him here. I have to learn how to face and give in to grief. I have to let grief teach me, and the only way I can do this is by giving up my perceived control, because really, control is only imaginary.

A question that has been sitting with me though is: ‘how can I just go on with life as it was before Blake passed?’ It feels like there should be some big shift, because there has been. Not that Blake’s passing should come to define my existence, but it is and will forever be a big part of who I am. It can make me, or it can break me. Maybe that’s where control comes in, in the deciding. I think this control is in allowing grief to exist instead of trying to shake it off. Perhaps it’s even more than allowing, but actually leaning into it, experiencing the uncomfortable-ness of it, listening to it, and letting it guide me.

Lately, I have an urge to run away. I know running won’t change anything that has happened, but it would bring a shift. I need to reconstruct, like a city or town does after a major weather catastrophe. I need my family of people to help me, with time, shoulders, and Kleenex, in place of the hammers and nails used to rebuild places that have suffered devastation. And faith…funny that word should emerge too. Thank you Blake for leaving me with that word in our last conversation. I need to have faith that the abundance of life will come through being true to myself, and at this time, through my grief.

That silly word search this morning was really not so silly. I saw the words I needed to see. Those words, coupled with the podcast that I chose to listen to on my way to work, provided me with encouragement and a desire to be introspective and contemplate where I am now and how I want to get to wherever I’m going and who I’m becoming.

What three words do you see?

I don’t know who to credit, but I did not create it.
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And Persiphone Smiled

I am a reader and someone that lives in my head, collecting data, questioning, analyzing, relating it all to myself and the larger community and universe, wondering where and how I fit, how I can make a difference, how it all fits together, etc. This week, I came across a picture and post on Facebook by Dee DiGioia, of Mindful Kindful YOUniversity, that spoke to my soul about my children.

For those who have not read all of my blog posts, the names of my children elicit visions of the sky. Blake, whose name means “dark” and Lucas, whose name means “bringer of light.” Blake was named after his biological father, because I liked the name, and, at the time, I believed I was in love. I became pregnant with Lucas during my husband’s mother’s last two months in her physical form on this earth. Thom and I chose names – Josephine Ruth, which is Thom’s mom’s first name and my grandma’s first name – we’d call her Josi – or Lucas Michael, because Lucas would be the light after the passing of Thom’s mom, and Michael – Thom’s middle name. Lucas’ grandma correctly predicted that Lucas would be our second son.

That is how our moon and sun sons came to be.

This is the passage that Dee posted. It comes from Kelseyleigh Reber’s book, If I Fail:

“In that moment, the moon and the sun shared the sky. For all of eternity, the moon and sun have chased each other around the world. Long into the future, they will continue this chase, merging the days into months into years into centuries, until the day the sun cannot take the separation any longer and she shatters, engulfing the moon and everything else in a burst of light. Most will call it the day of final judgment. The end. To the sun and moon, it will be the beginning.

 For the smallest of instants each day, they pause in this chase. They pause and look back at one another, smiling as if sharing a secret. Two lovers that can never exist as one, except in that single, brief instant. Lying there, Persephone smiled too. And as quickly as a smile parts two lips, the two sky wanderers parted ways. The chase was on again. Night gave way to day. That is true love, she had always thought. No force but love can impel one to step willingly into the shadows so that the other may shine.”

Used with permission from Dee DiGioia.

This is how I interpret this passage, applying it to my beautiful heavenly lights, the one present here on earth and the one orbiting the earth and showing his presence now, in the form of orbs, in the light of the moon:

For two decades and three years, the moon and the sun walked the earth together. With the exception of that time, the moon and sun have chased each other around the world. Even though they now live in separate dimensions, they will continue this chase, merging days into months into years into centuries, until the day the sun cannot take the separation any longer and he shatters, engulfing the moon and everything in a burst of light. To the sun and moon, this will be a new beginning.

A collection of instants each day, they pause in their chase. They pause and look back at one another, smiling, sharing secrets. Two brothers that exist separately, except in that single brief instant. Embraced by Earth, looking up, their mama smiled too. And as quickly as a smile parts two lips, the two sky wanderers parted ways, their brotherhood unshakeable. The chase was on again. Night gave way to day. That is true love, she thought. No force but love can impel one to step willingly into the shadows so that the other may shine.

I didn’t realize this sun and moon connection until sometime in the last decade. I’ve always thought of my boys as a certain yin and yang, but the symbolism of their relationship only became clear in my mind with time.

I cannot know how hard it has been for my sun child to be seemingly unseen, living behind the clouds, for the years that the glare of his moon brother’s addiction drowned out his rays, his burning wish to scorch addiction and drive it away so that the glow of the moon could return and provide the symbiosis they both craved. I cannot know the pain of losing such a heavenly partner, both before and after his final removal from Earth. I feel the heaviness of it.

We are still sitting in the darkness of grief. Our moon is metaphorically missing, although he reminds me of his presence when he dances on bright moonlit nights in the form of an orb.

It is my hope that my sun comes to see our moon and marvel at his beauty, as he was here, and as he is now. I know he does already. The moon’s brilliance is and was hard to miss. I just hope that peace comes to protect his heart from the physical absence of our moon. The day the moon fell from our sky is a day that will forever bend us. May we bend toward each other and toward love and compassion for all living beings.

In his final living chapter, night did give way to day, intentionally or accidentally, we cannot know, but I do know he went willingly in that moment. I also know our moon would have liked to continue to shine here on Earth, if being whole, or full, was a guarantee, watching our sun shine, and maybe stopping time so they both could shine together for the remainder of their living days, until one would depart, for a short time, called to rest by old age. It is not to be. Perhaps this was our moon’s only way. We will never forget him, and will be reminded of him when the moon is particularly bright. May his glow forever light our hearts and guide us. And may our sun break free from the clouds that addiction hung, and bring the light, as his name implies.

After I read this out loud to Thom, he got in the shower, singing “Here Comes the Sun.” Heartbreakingly sweet.

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“What Happens When You Die?”

I was driving back home after dropping our nephew off for a visit with his parents at a rundown motel in the middle of Reno. Blake, who was eleven years old at the time, was sitting in the backseat right behind me. He was really quiet, so I peered into the rear view mirror to see if he was sleeping. Tears were silently streaming down his face. “What’s wrong, Blake?” I asked. “Mom, what happens when you die?”

The question would have stopped me in my tracks if I was not driving on the highway. I didn’t know where the question came from. I only assumed that Blake was deeply impacted by the living conditions that his cousin would be staying in overnight with his parents. I tried my best to answer the question to the satisfaction of an eleven-year-old, trying to remember if I asked or even considered such profound questions at his age.

I think Blake was always aware of my half-brother Steve’s drug use, or at least he was aware of the outcomes. When Blake was an infant, Steve lived with us for awhile. I’m sure Blake didn’t have a conscious memory of that. Steve fell from the roof of a two-story apartment building, which resulted in his being helicoptered from Incline Village to Reno when Blake was two or three years old. I took Blake with me to visit my brother at the hospital. I’m pretty sure that image was stored in his conscious memory. We saw Steve from time to time after that, but never on a regular basis. Blake likely heard whispers of Steve’s stays in jail and other unsavory situations. In 2000, Steve’s girlfriend was pregnant. In mid-October, I took a gift for our new nephew and cousin to the hospital, but before that, there were reports made to Child Protective Services about the mother’s drug abuse.

Much of the chattering that happens in a home falls on unintended ears. I remember. When I was a kid, hushed voices meant ‘listen harder.’

Our nephew/cousin, Derek (name changed to protect his identity), came to live with us when he was 15-months-old. He hardly knew us and had never been to our home. At the time, we lived in an 1100-square foot home just north of Reno. Blake and Lucas were sharing a bedroom, so we converted the office into a bedroom for Derek. This began an almost 2 year period of transporting Derek to visitations with his grandma every weekend, coordinating visitation with his parents when they were not in active addiction, hearings at court, doctor appointments, finding affordable daycare, and periodically showing up at the welfare office to certify that we were still Derek’s legal guardians.

And then one day, I received a letter from the State of Nevada informing me that I needed to prove our family’s income at our next recertification meeting. I called the welfare office immediately to question why I needed to show our income, as we were Derek’s legal guardians, not his parents. It was explained that the State of Nevada decided to determine dependent benefits based on the income of the guardians, regardless of parenthood. With that decision, we could not continue with the guardianship. The monthly benefit only provided childcare for Derek, and we could not afford to pay for his childcare out of our pockets.

Almost immediately, I was making arrangements to transition Derek’s custody to his maternal grandmother. While this decision was not in his best interest, it was a decision I had to make. We continued to be involved in Derek’s life, exercising weekend visitation until we moved from Reno in August of 2005.

On Thanksgiving Day of 2006, I got a phone call from my brother. Derek had been living with his adult sister who was due to give birth to her second child at any moment. Their mother had recently been arrested and was in jail. My brother asked me to drive to Reno to get Derek and bring him to my home to live. If I did not do this, Derek would be placed in the custody of the State of Nevada.

I left my home Saturday morning, arriving in Reno the same afternoon. I picked Derek up, along with two garbage bags filled with his clothing, the same afternoon. After spending the night at a friend’s home, I drove Derek to the jail to see his mother, and to have her grant me written and notarized permission to take him to Oregon, enroll him in school, and obtain medical care for him as necessary. We headed to Bend, Oregon that afternoon.

With Derek’s mom in prison, and his maternal grandmother in Eugene, we were able to settle into a fairly uninterrupted routine. Of course, this routine was peppered with difficult behaviors that were outcomes of Derek’s traumatic history. In first grade, Derek was observed by the school psychologist who believed Derek was exhibiting symptoms of PTSD. We were starting to wrap resources around him when his mother was nearing the end of her prison sentence. Somehow, she was able to call him, and insisted on calling him almost nightly. She was not accepting of my concerns that her call frequency was upsetting our schedule, which was negatively impacting Derek and me and the rest of the house.

While his mother was in prison, we believed that obtaining legal guardianship would not be necessary. The State of Nevada then released her to Oregon for post-prison supervision in 2008 because she had family here. I felt we had come to an agreement about slowly transitioning Derek back into her physical custody. We welcomed her into our home for what was to be her first visitation. Right away, she told me that she was taking Derek back to Springfield with her that day. With no warning, Derek was uprooted, without saying goodbye to his friends, his school, his cousins,… I was absolutely livid, feeling manipulated and taken advantage of. She and her aunt and uncle, wo drove her to our home, took Derek and put him in their vehicle. When I suggested that she at least take Derek’s belongings with her, she came back in the house. She expressed that I seemed awfully stressed with taking care of Derek, and that my stress was not good for him. I think my exact response to her was, “Parenting is often stressful. The only difference between you and me is that I don’t stick a needle in my arm when I get stressed.”

Ouch! I’m not proud of that moment, but in that moment I meant what I said. It was judgmental, meant to shame, and it definitely was not necessary. Regardless of my feelings about the situation, our nephew/cousin’s well-being was at risk. We’ve seen him briefly only a couple of times since then. During winter break of 2011, I was able to go and get him from his sister’s home (she had also moved to Springfield) and bring him to our home for a visit.

In the meantime, my half-brother, Derek’s dad, lost his fight with the monster of addiction. The date was December 27, 2010. Derek was ten years old. Blake was 19.

I can’t say how much this course of events impacted Blake’s life, but I venture to guess that it impacted him deeply. Over the years, he stayed in contact with Derek through Facebook and talked with him on the phone. He tried to mentor Derek when he felt that Derek was making unhealthy choices, even trying to convince him to enter into treatment in Los Angeles.

I think that Blake sensed death was lurking on that day eight years before addiction claimed my brother. I wonder if it was curiosity – wondering what could be so great that you would live in such conditions and not take care of your child – that enticed Blake. Blake’s biological father also did not take care of him. Blake always sought to understand. That curiosity and that understanding possibly cost him his life.

Now he can answer the question he asked me when he was eleven. One thing I remember telling him is that the person lives on in the memories of those who love them. I know that there will not be a day that passes that I don’t feel the loss of him. Some days it will be just the loss, but most days, it will be accompanied by gratefulness for his living. I feel he is at peace. I feel his presence. I’ve met with an intuitive healer/angel guide, and I believe he is in a better place. I know life was hard for him for so long. I know he’s watching out for me. I see orbs often, when I never saw them before he passed. I know it’s him showing me that he is okay. The bravest, most intentional, and most painful act of love that I have ever expressed was letting him go. With faith and with love, I let go of his physical form, knowing that I would hold him in my heart forever. With faith and with love, I have to go on, knowing that I have a guardian angel that is with me for the rest of my days.

Last night’s full moon and one of the pictures I took of Blake dancing in the moonlight.
Cecelia Rodriguez was the photographer of a photo shoot that I recently did. Notice the orb sitting on the sunflower and my left arm.
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Hey Blaker!

10/23/2019

It’s your mama. I’m writing to tell you that I miss you so much! Today marks 3 months since you officially left this earth. Part of me is still in disbelief, like you’re just away at an extended rehab. The other part of me knows the truth. The brain is funny how it allows just enough of reality to exist so that it can be sorted out. Sure, there are times when I hit a wall and can go no further and even days when I cannot seem to function at all. I have to accept that these are my limitations. I have to listen to the warning signs that tell me to stop and take care of myself.

Dad and I went and picked up a beautiful painting that Ashley did of a picture of a ginormous hen and chick that I took at Cedar Sinai Hospital. They have beautiful gardens there, filled with these succulents that don’t even look real. When dad and I needed a break from sitting in the hospital room with you, we walked with you outside and checked out the gardens. Now, we have this painting hung on the wall with all of these pictures of you and our family.

We have been so touched by the acts of love and support that your friends have offered. Cody is going to blow some glass with some of your ashes for a few people that would like to have you with them. He’s going to do a stone for me that I can get mounted into a ring setting. I’m thinking of doing our birthstone colors, purple and blue, swirled together.

I’m starting to collect your medical records. Can you believe we had two death certificates mailed to us and we’ve misplaced both of them? I guess that just indicates that we don’t want to accept the truth of this. I had to order another one though because I can’t get some of your records without it. I expect that the records will provide some more insight into what you went through, especially for the last 10 years. It might not be any of my business, but I want to write with as much clarity as possible. I think your struggles will help other people. I always felt that you shared pretty openly with me, but I’m sure you kept some things to yourself.

Remember when you told me you were using heroin? You showed up at home in the back seat of a vehicle that was literally falling apart. You and three or four other people nearly fell out of the car. I don’t remember why you came home, but once the car was stopped, it wouldn’t start again. It seemed like everything was in slow motion. There was so much confusion. You went into the bathroom, and you were in there forever. I was knocking on the door, asking you if you were okay and what was taking so long. I had a feeling you were using something, but I had never seen you like this. I was asking the other people what you were on. Of course they knew nothing. When you finally came out, we sat on the step leading into the garage, and I asked you what you were using. You admitted what I suspected but couldn’t imagine – you were using heroin. I was heartbroken.

I begged you not to get back in the car that dad had helped to get back on the road. In retrospect, this wasn’t the greatest ‘help.’ I told you to stay home, that we would figure this out. You didn’t listen to me that afternoon, but you called me much later that night and asked me to please come pick you up. Of course I did. I think that’s the time when you asked me to take you back to the friend’s house where you had been staying either the next day or a couple of days later. When you got out of my vehicle, I remember telling you, “I wish I could just spank you and make you stop this.” I’ll never forget that you looked at me and said, “I wish you could too Mom.” I know you hated what you were doing.

I don’t know how this all got started, but I think it was after you were in that dirt bike accident when you were 18. You called me in the middle of the night, saying, “I can’t find my teef.” I was like, “What did you say?” You repeated yourself. I finally deciphered the babble. You were out at the Reservoir in Prineville. I met you at the hospital, where you were wheeled in in a wheelchair. Your braces and teeth were a tangled mess, and you were drunk.

This started the long process of fixing your mouth, which required multiple surgeries. You had a bovine bone graft to rebuild your jaw, and your body rejected it. Then bone was removed from your hip and used to rebuild your jaw. I’m not sure if that required one or two surgeries. There was another surgery awhile later, but I’m sure by this point, you had become addicted to opioids. At some point, I told the doctor that you were in recovery and not to prescribe you opioids for pain management. I don’t believe my advice was taken. Because you were an adult, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

Even with all of the current lawsuits that have been filed, that have been settled, and that are still pending against giant pharmaceutical companies, there’s nothing safeguarding people in recovery from opioid addiction from being prescribed opioid based pain medication. There are alternative methods of pain management being explored though.

You know what I find ironic? I find it ironic that you, who saw through the systems that prey on vulnerable people, systems fed by greed, became a victim of a corrupt system. In your case, it was the pharmaceutical companies willing to peddle phony science for the benefit of their profit, with no thought about who they would hurt. Your vulnerability was empathy, and it made you hurt so bad for others. Being unable to turn your thoughts off due to your anxiety, depression, and bi-polar disorders, you self-medicated with heroin after the prescriptions ran out and the street pills got too expensive.

I see over and over and over in the addiction and loss Facebook groups that I’m in, posts by moms about the child, or even children, that they’ve lost. (By the way, I cannot fathom the pain of losing more than one child. Losing one is a nightmare. I’m not sure that the bitterness of the world would not just consume me.) So many of the moms describe their child(ren) just the way I describe you: kind, compassionate, full of love, intelligent,… I don’t think it’s just because we choose to remember our lost children that way. I think these traits made the world too hard for so many of you that have been taken by addiction. This is who you were before addiction. Even in active addiction, you did not want to hurt people.

October 27, 2019

I’m finishing this up on Sunday morning. I received your medical records from the psychiatrist you most recently saw in Bend. I really liked him, having first met him at a talk that he gave at St. Charles Medical Center about the adolescent brain. That was the first time I learned that the prefrontal cortex is not fully developed until about age 25. I asked him if he would see you even though he specialized in adolescent psychiatry, and you were 22 at the time, reasoning that you technically still had an adolescent brain. He really cared about you. He sent us a hand-written card after our story was published in The Bulletin. Like many, he expressed that “I only wish I had been better able to help him.” He went on to say, “He was a lovely kid, and we’re all the less for his absence.” (Thank you Dr. O.)

Even in his notes, I can feel a sense of urgency, like he really wanted to help you but couldn’t without your commitment to continual substance abuse treatment. Your final visit to him was on June 22, 2016. In that record, he wrote, “I think it’s likely he has Bipolar II along with his severe and life-threatening substance abuse patterns, but medical treatment at this point (without a greater commitment to safety and recovery) would only increase his risk of suicide and serious self-harm….his prognosis re: mood, suicidality, and rapidly deteriorating substance abuse is very, very poor, and isolated outpatient psychiatric treatment will be futile.”

I also received the list of treatments and prescriptions from your oral surgeon. In total, you had five surgical procedures as a result of your dirt bike accident. And yes, even in 2013, you were prescribed Percocet.

On a cheerier note, Teresa sent me a video that you made for her showing her how to open and close her new hot tub cover. It was so good to hear your voice. You were such an entrepreneur and you had such a way with people. You worked your way right into many people’s hearts. I am going to go hang out with Teresa next weekend when she’s in Sunriver. I’ll never forget that call I got from you telling me that I was getting a friend request from her and that I needed to accept it because we would be good friends. Teresa told me later that while you were talking with her at her home, you grabbed her phone and sent the request yourself. Along with the video she sent Friday night, she sent me this message:

Of course this brought tears, but they were good tears. I think that the relationship that we shared is the only thing that’s keeping me sane right now. You were my hero too.

When you came into my life, I suddenly had a reason to become a better person, to fight for my life, a life that I would be proud to live, and a life I wanted to give you. It wasn’t enough for me to do this for myself – not then. I was in awe of you.

We moved into our own apartment when you were two months old. I would lay you on your tummy on a blanket on the floor with some toys around you. You had this big happy stuffed bear that wore a Hawaiian style shirt and beach hat. You were enchanted with this bear. I was sitting watching you talk to this bear and you were trying so hard to get to it. I half expected that at any second, you would just start crawling. The thought of it brought tears to my eyes. I could never slow you down or keep you still.

I’ve heard that a reason that part of you dies when a loved one dies, is because that person is the only person that knew you the way that they did, that the times shared with that person are now capsules of time stored in the grieving person’s soul. Knowing the tragic ending to your physical life, I’d do it all over again. That you are gone cannot erase who I became with you. I will carry you in my heart forever.

And on March 26th, I will have your profile tattooed in the moon on my bicep. I’m using your drawing to create the tattoo. Your guy Andy is going to do it for me. You kept telling me, “I can’t wait until you have a whole sleeve.” I told you that wasn’t going to happen. You laughed. You somehow knew better.

I love you to infinity and beyond my beautiful boy.

Forever, I Am Your Mama

If you are or a loved one are a victim of the opioid epidemic, there may be a claim for damages. I am providing a link that was given to me by Ryan Hampton, author of “American Fix” and addiction and recovery advocate. The link: https://opioidrights.com/. Looks like you’ll need to copy and paste.

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Fragmented Fragments

Fragments are what I have right now. Fragmented is how I see myself moving through these days. The twitch in my right eye is new and not surprising – a side effect of the stress that my body and soul is experiencing. I am sleeping better, but that’s only thanks to the nasty flying insect that poked its stinger into my leg a little over a week ago and the Benadryl that I’ve been taking nightly since then.

I didn’t write anything here last weekend. I couldn’t and haven’t been able to come up with one topic or story. I think it’s a reflection of my state of mind. So, to heck with one topic or a story. This is the real deal. This is me, ‘handling’ the profound loss of my son – my absorption of my new reality of life without him. I’d love to speak with him about this. I can speak to him, I know, but I can’t speak with him.

I saw an intuitive reader on Sunday morning. I didn’t tell her until well into the appointment that Blake recently passed. When I did, she said that I’m doing remarkably well in my grief journey, and that I have done work to make this possible. I suppose the handful of ODs, the attempted suicide that I know of, and the consistent cycles of suicidal ideation might have contributed to my soul’s knowing or, at least, expecting this too soon ending. She did say that I have a large pain body though. She had me think of different people in my life to find the person with whom this pain is associated. And the winner is….my biological mother. Geesh! I wish I could just get over her. The reader suggested that I need to cut the string that attaches me to her. In response to her asking me if this made sense to me, I nodded. But how to do that??? I am 51 years old, and I haven’t figured this out yet.

Earlier in this blog, I mentioned that my mother abandoned me when I was 18 months old. In response to my text to her about Blake’s passing, she said nothing. I don’t know how that cannot cause pain. Furthermore, I don’t understand the callousness that a mother could have toward a child that she bore, when I could not express such apathy to a stranger. Perhaps if I had not reached out to her, I would not have opened the door for pain. The reader suggested that I talk to her, in my closet, and wish her love, peace, and truth. That’s a mighty overwhelming recommendation – not one I rushed home to fulfill, and not one I feel confident about fulfilling in the immediate future. I know that forgiveness is for the forgiver, but right now, I’m not ready. It wouldn’t be sincere.

I wonder though, and I wondered in the hospital, if this early detachment from my vessel into this world, didn’t contribute to my ability to detach from my son – a recognizable ripping that I could recall and replay under similar circumstances. When I walked into Blake’s room on the night of July 18th, his nurse commented on my calm presence. While most people would typically describe me as calm, I think that in these circumstances, it might be more normal to be a bit frantic. I understood though, that if Blake had any sense of my presence, my energy would affect him. As I write this, I wonder if I felt some of the same sense of impending doom and if I’m now feeling some of the same grief and exhibiting some of the same symptoms that I did as a toddler. Perhaps my memory identifies the loss, and my subconscious, or now conscious, differentiates the blame. She was responsible, while he was not. She was not accountable, while he was. And in both circumstances, I suffered and suffer the loss.

My Vessel, February 1970

On Friday evening, I met with a Substance Abuse Prevention Coordinator from Deschutes County. I’ve volunteered with the prevention team in previous years. Now the county is rolling out some new programs and there is need again for volunteers. We enjoyed a lively conversation – just what I needed after a day of bitter tiredness. We shared philosophy about the need for resilience building within communities and agencies. I told her about a program that I was part of as a pregnant single-mom-to-be. The program was called MOMS, an acronym for I don’t know what, but a brilliant program it was. I was assigned a mentor who met with me at a location of my convenience, which was usually in the waiting room of my doctor’s office. She guided me through a series of questions to determine my career goals. She then put a plan together and encouraged and supported my efforts to meet my goals. She even set up an interview with the principal of a school where I would work as a volunteer in the Kindergarten classroom. From there, she set me on a path to pursue my higher education. I don’t think programs like this exist anymore, and if they do, they are few and far between. This was an excellent example of resilience building though, minimizing the amount of time that I was dependent on public programs, while increasing my self-esteem and self-concept. Programs like this have the capacity to improve mental health and interrupt negative outcomes.

This conversation built on the statement on addiction and overdose that I prepared and delivered to Representative Walden (R-Oregon) on Wednesday of last week at a roundtable luncheon in La Pine. My statement was well received, with Walden engaging in continued conversation after I read my statement. After the meeting, I met with two of his staffers – one whose close friend suffered a fatal overdose during the summer of 2018 and one who heads Walden’s healthcare committee. I am hopeful that my voice and Blake’s story will continue to be used to affect positive change in policy.

One area that I didn’t cover in that statement that needs to be addressed is the stigmatization of those suffering from substance use disorder that are using MAT, or medication assisted therapy. Blake used either Suboxone or Methadone (mostly Suboxone) for about 6 years. These medications act as opioid blockers, in effect, curbing cravings and preventing a person using these medications from getting high or from overdosing on opiods, if opioids are used. Many people within the addiction field and communities, including Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous, do not believe a person is ‘clean’ while using these medications. Since ‘clean’ is the ‘gold standard,’ persons using these medications are often made to feel ‘dirty,’ even though, with these medications, they are able to hold a job and otherwise function in society. For many, MAT can be a stepping stone to the destination of abstinence. Sometimes these medications should be used long term, and perhaps even for a lifetime. Can these medications be abused? Absolutely! But that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be used. It means that more support is needed.

Blake was ‘clean’ from Suboxone for 12 days, 12 DAYS!!! before he suffered a fatal overdose. I was so scared for him to detox from Suboxone. I did not believe he was ready. His mental health was not stable. He did not have the support that he needed. I spoke with his case manager at the detox facility about my concerns, and she understood and tried to make sure Blake’s needs were addressed. The only reason that Blake committed to detoxing from Suboxone was so that he could go back to his sober living house. It says exactly that in his intake. His sober living house, where he had been living for at least a year, required him to detox from Suboxone. As housing was a basic need, and they were providing it, he did what they told him. Yes, in case you’re wondering, I am mad!!!

I am learning more and more about sober living homes, and this is another area, or industry, that needs more regulation. From what I have learned, there is nothing to prevent people managing sober living homes, lay people, from making medical demands such as those that effectively killed my son.

Something else that I’ve thought about is the sentiment about death that I sometimes had when Blake was in active addiction or when he was expressing suicidal ideation. It’s not something that I regret – it’s just something that is and something that I feel I should share to perhaps help other moms who have had similar thoughts. It is excruciatingly exhausting to have a child with the disease of addiction. The sleepless nights, the anxiety over how a relapse was going to end, the deep desire to fix it and being powerless, the unconditional love that couldn’t change anything, the witnessing of trauma being experienced as a result of addiction, the frustration, the tears, the isolation, the this, the that, the everything…

So yeah, thoughts that if he wanted it all to end, maybe it should just be done already, occasionally crossed my mind, thoughts that perhaps I was being selfish because I was forcing him to be here against his will when he was obviously feeling tormented by addiction and mental illness. It’s not something I ever wished for; it’s something that sometimes felt imminent or maybe like the only answer, although hope always won over these thoughts. There was no way I could imagine this ending. Blake just HAD to figure this out. I knew he could do it. This is how the monster is what is called a ‘family disease.’ It torments everyone that is closest to the one directly afflicted.

And that’s why I have to fight back now. The monster still lingers, challenging my will, my vision, my quality of life, my joy,… I cannot let the monster take anything else from me. I will grieve the loss of my son for the remainder of my life, and there are and will be changes to the way that I show up in the world because of this. I accept this. I do not apologize for it. I grant myself space to do and be what I need. I also continue to challenge myself to rise up, just as I have done my entire life. I do not accept that this will ruin me. I will not lay down.

In 2012, when Blake was 21-years-old, I was on the Metro in Washington, DC. I don’t remember where I was going, but Blake called me. He told me he overdosed on heroin and that ‘friends’ had thrown him in a cold shower and called 9-1-1. The police and fire department arrived as he was regaining consciousness. Blake was cited for heroin possession, a felony, for the residue in the needle, and the first responders went on their way. I asked Blake if the overdose was intentional, and he told me that he knew that an overdose was possible, but he did it anyway – a vague answer that might have been interpreted as a possible suicide attempt or an insight into the hold that addiction had on him.

I had just a couple of weeks remaining in my internship in DC when I received this call from Blake. The Executive Director of the non-profit where I was interning asked me if I needed to leave the internship and return home. While I was upset and worried about Blake, I also realized that there was nothing I could do. Walking away from my internship, an opportunity that I earned, would have only hurt me. I’ve wondered about this decision many times, but I know that if I had returned, Blake would have felt terrible. In my blog about that internship experience, I wrote, “As you may be able to imagine, a family cannot go eight weeks without having some kind of drama, with or without their mother. Needless to say, I have spent some time on the telephone wearing my mediation, mentor, and psychologist hats.”

My point in bringing this up is to further illustrate how addiction creates confusion and potential chaos, how it can destroy plans, and otherwise interfere with day-to-day decision making. There is often no right or wrong answer. Some people advise one thing and other people advise another. What I learned is that I had to make decisions based on what I believed, and that no one else could make these decisions for me. I had to trust myself and stand by and live with the many decisions I made, large and small, in the presence of the monster.

That the monster once lived in plain view and took one of my most precious gifts will never be forgotten. I will continue to fight back – just as I have my entire life. I guess I have my mother to thank for my fighting spirit. Weird how I can draw so many parallels between these two seemingly unrelated parts of my life. Brene Brown said, “When we deny the story, it defines us. When we own the story, we can write a brave new ending.” Perhaps I’m taking ownership of both of these stories now. They’ve both been kept secret for far too long.

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Where’s the Outrage?

I’ve been invited to speak about addiction to a state politician this week. This is what I’ve prepared. This is a combination of the work that I’ve done throughout my career, my journey of education, and my lived experience:

First, I’m going to read my poem. I’m including the link because I’m having trouble figuring out how to enlarge the photo so that the text is large enough to read. https://terrifiednomore.com/monmster-madness/

My name is Tonya Karlowicz. I am forever the mother of ‘a certain kind of child’ – one that society labels an addict, and one that society labeled many other things before he acquired that label….disrespectful, defiant, hyperactive, intolerant, etc., etc., etc.

The truth is, all mothers are mothers of certain kinds of children. So then, let me rephrase that. All mothers are mothers of children, human beings, complete with gifts and flaws, DNA that includes genes that hold the possibility or inevitability of disease, DNA that holds the memory of ancestral trauma, and DNA that holds the capacity for strength and for weakness. While each person’s DNA is different, making each human being different, each human being has wonderful gifts that will lie stagnant and go to waste if they are ignored and overshadowed by the labels that come to identify them.

We have a crisis in this nation. Using 2017 data from the National Institute on Drug Abuse, approximately 192 mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, and friends will die today as a direct result of drug overdose. Using the same numbers, this means that, over the course of 2019, we will lose the gifts of 70,200 human beings. These people are not the product of any particular class, race, or ethnicity. Addiction knows no such boundaries. Our human-ness makes us fair game to the monster of addiction.

Sure, some people are more susceptible. The Adverse Childhood Experiences study confirms that trauma plays a key factor in predicting that a person will develop certain diseases, including addiction. A person’s mental health also plays a crucial role, along with genetics.

So what can we do? How can we stop the epidemic of addiction? Beyond the immediate and obvious remedies like more access to better treatment, increasing access to and training people on how to administer Naloxone, etc., the answer to this question and to questions of similar magnitude is the same. The Reclaiming Youth Network’s Circle of Courage model, a reflection of Native American principles of child development, prescribes a way to build healthy communities, communities where every human being belongs, has independence, is recognized as a master of multiple competencies, and can exercise authentic generosity.

https://dlb.sa.edu.au/mentmoodle/file.php/20/Understanding_the_Circle_of_Courage.pdf

The deluge of our society’s afflictions are largely of our own doing. Education philosopher Nel Noddings said it best, “Although no individual can escape responsibility for his own actions, neither can the community that produced him escape its part in making him what he has become.” In my master’s thesis, I wrote, “…the well-being of each contributes to the well-being of the whole and to future generations.” Both of these sentiments underscore that ‘No man is an island.’ There is no such thing as ‘self-made’.

The labels that we so freely bestow upon each other, and especially our youth, are damaging. The second we allow judgment or deserved-ness to enter the equation, is the same second we’ve allowed ourselves to treat that person as ‘less than.’ A person does not need to hear these labels and judgments. They are felt. As a result, the recipients come to believe that they are flawed beyond repair, that they are unwanted, and that they do not belong. And so they bond to others who have been similarly pitched. About these youth, author Michael Meade wrote, “If the fires that innately burn inside youths are not intentionally and lovingly added to the hearth of community, they will burn down the structures of culture, just to feel warmth.”

In Chasing the Scream, Johann Hari wrote, “the opposite of addiction isn’t sobriety. It’s connection.” Hari describes the ‘Rat Park Study’ that was conducted by Bruce Alexander in the 1970s. In the study, Alexander separated some rats into cages of isolation with nothing to keep them busy. The only choice the rats had was to drink plain water or water that had been drugged with morphine. The rats, in these circumstances, drank mostly the drugged water. After a period of time, some of the rats were removed and placed into the Rat Park Community cage. This environment included other rats, toys, plenty of gourmet rat food, and the choice of drugged or plain water. The study revealed that the rats in this environment did not prefer the drugged water. They drank it rarely, and they did not overdose on it. They belonged to a healthy engaging community, and they did the things that healthy rats do.

Our society cannot simply disown certain humans. We are all connected, and we are all impacted by the lives that each of us live. Likewise, we are all impacted by the lives that we are losing to addiction.

Our society lost my son, Blake Matthew Karlowicz. He is forever 28. Let me tell you a little bit about who we lost. We lost a bright and intelligent human being, a visionary, an entrepreneur. We lost a person that loved others, who in elementary school shared his lunch with a classmate whose family could not always provide one, who befriended the outcast throughout his school and adult years, who sat with those feeling down and out until he was sure they would not be lost, a self-proclaimed mama’s boy, and a protective big brother. He was a fisherman and loved snowboarding and mushroom hunting. The outdoors was his sanctuary. He was also a lover of music, playing the guitar and even the piano by ear. Blake thrived at anything he set his mind to – except overcoming addiction that was compounded by mental illness. He hated addiction and the control it had over his life. We all lost Blake on July 23, 2019. Since then, we’ve lost approximately 14,976 more beautiful souls. We must look at ourselves – hard. This is costing every single one of us, individually and collectively.