Addiction – Page 2 – Terrified No More: A Look at Addiction and Loss

May 10, 2020May 11, 2020

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 29^th 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

December 30, 2019December 30, 2019

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.

Image may contain: tree, car, sky and outdoor

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.’

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.

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.

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!

December 4, 2019

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.

November 24, 2019November 26, 2019

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.”

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.

November 12, 2019November 12, 2019

“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.

August 25, 2019August 25, 2019

Blake’s Sibling

To be the sibling of someone who struggles with addiction comes with unique challenges. I’d like to introduce you to Lucas. Blake was five years and two months old when Lucas came into this world on April 15, 1996. (An interesting side note that Blake brought to our attention: Blake shared the month and day of birth with Abraham Lincoln, while Lucas was born on the anniversary date of Lincoln’s passing.)

Blake was pretty excited to be a big brother, and we were excited that our family was complete. Lucas was a great baby. You could set your watch by what he was doing. For instance, when he would wake from his afternoon nap, he would sit up in his crib and quietly occupy himself until someone came to get him.

Blake’s pride in being Lucas’s big brother extended beyond sibling rivalry or any perceived unfairness in how the two of them were parented. The bottom line was that Blake would protect Lucas, taking a stand against any of his friends that would pick on his little brother – reserving that right only for himself.

Those early years seem so long ago now, but I remember camping trips, Disneyland, Tahoe, trips to the wine country, Marine World, birthdays, holidays, meal time, stories, and weekend morning cereal and cartoons. Life was pretty good. Blake had some struggles with school, but all in all, these were simple times.

Things began changing when Blake was thirteen and Lucas was eight, although Blake’s trouble in/with school had become near constant by this time. Alcohol and marijuana entered the scene sometime during Blake’s 8th grade year. It was at this time that he was also diagnosed with chronic severe depression. Shortly after his 14th birthday, we knew we were dealing with something bigger than teenage ‘rebellion’ or risk taking. Things escalated so quickly that I feared, for the first time, that we were going to lose him.

Lucas quietly witnessed the chaos. He wasn’t one to create a fuss. His only reaction was shutting down. One Friday before the end of the school day, with Lucas in tow, I quietly withdrew Blake from school, checked him out, and escorted him to our packed car, where I told him we were taking a road trip to his Grandpa’s house. While that was the plan, I left out the part about going from his Grandpa’s house to a wilderness therapy program, where he would stay for at least 30 days. When Monday morning rolled around, I told him about the plan. He eventually got in the car, but not before running into the Umpqua River, prompting me to call the police for assistance.

I tried to spend special time with Lucas. Every child needs and deserves special time with their parents. I knew though, that Lucas needed it more. So much attention, out of worry, fear, anger, and frustration, was being paid to Blake, that there was little time or energy left for Lucas. I imagine our home was not a place where Lucas felt safe or seen. I know this because I had the experience of being the sibling of an addicted younger brother, and I remember a constant fearing of and resentment toward him and my dad and step-mom. I was also the quiet one in my family, careful to not cause problems, but feeling unseen, unappreciated, and even unloved at the same time.

One of my favorite memories of time spent with Lucas while Blake was away at wilderness therapy is when I took Lucas to San Francisco, just him and me. We walked all over seeing the sights, visiting the zoo, eating yummy food, and on our way home we stopped for a tour of the Jelly Belly Factory.

When Blake was released, 60 days later, Thom, Lucas, and I all went to pick him up. At that time, we began looking into moving from Reno to Central Oregon. We were encouraged to move Blake away from the people and places he had become associated with, as a move would give him a better chance at continued recovery.

At the end of the summer of 2005, we packed up our lives and moved to our new home. The same people, with the same problems, perspectives, and histories arrived in their new beautiful surroundings. Everything was new: new jobs, new schools, new neighbors – but we were the same. It wasn’t long before the turmoil would return.

There were arguments, periods of family members ignoring each other, and disagreements over how to discipline Blake. At times, the tension was impenetrable. All the while, Lucas navigated silently.

Things weren’t all bad. Blake loved working, and before his 15th birthday, he got a job doing prep and even cooking at an Italian restaurant. Like most teens, he didn’t spend much time with his family, as work, friends, and school (not by his own choice) were his priorities.

During Blake’s senior year, he got a job at a bakery and moved in with a friend and his friend’s mom to be closer to his job. This had to be confusing for Lucas. Heck, it was confusing for me! There was no negotiating this or making a plan. It was just done without warning or time to prepare for transition.

The real troubles began in June 2011 with an arrest and then another one within months. Thom and I had to go remove everything from Blake’s apartment while he sat in jail. He didn’t move back into the house then, but I spent a considerable amount of time driving Blake to court dates and doctor appointments. In October 2012, Blake attempted suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning in our garage. The only person home was Lucas. He was sixteen. Thom and I had just finished shopping when we noticed that we had missed calls from Lucas. Before I could return his call, I got a call from Blake. He said, “I just tried to kill myself.” At the same time, Lucas had gotten through to Thom and he had left the house to go to a friend’s home. We got Blake to the hospital, where we witnessed Blake code on the table. He spent the night in the ICU before he was released to Sage View Psychiatric Hospital for four days and then to Best Care for inpatient treatment. After an afternoon visit home, where he found and drank alcohol that he had hidden, he was kicked out of treatment. Again, all of my energies were poured into finding a new treatment facility.

Sometime during this chaos, Lucas tried his version of helping his brother. He started spending more time with him, and unbeknownst to us, he was putting himself a t risk in his effort to help Blake. Somehow, he realized that his efforts were ineffective and were going to be detrimental to him.

The chaos continued for Blake, with periods of content and seeming happiness. I refer to these periods as ‘glimpses of Blake.’ With each chaotic event, there was always some kind of reaction or response within the family. Even after Blake’s move to Los Angeles for treatment in November of 2017, there were relapses and overdoses, each one progressively worse. And then he was gone. And we are still reacting and responding.

Lucas and I had a number of conversations, in the months before Blake’s final overdose, about the possibility that this disease could take his brother’s life. He was fully aware and told me he had been preparing himself. But then it happened, and I’ll never forget Lucas telling me on the phone, “He was my first best friend.”Through it all, Lucas loved his brother, and every time I spoke to Blake on the phone, he said, “Tell Lucas I love him.”

In life, as in death, we all have a different story about the same events. While Thom and I, as the parents of an addicted child, fought, in our own ways, and with each other, to save our child’s life, the sibling of that child, our younger son, looked on, likely with anger and resentment that so much attention was being focused on his brother, and he was paying the price. He and I have talked about this. He knows that I can at least empathize due to my own experience. I’m not sure if it makes it easier. I hope with everything I have that he doesn’t come to understand it through his own parenting experience.

Lucas is a master wood worker. For Blake’s ashes, he selflessly designed and crafted an exquisite heart walnut and hard rock maple box, complete with a picture frame on the front of the box to display Blake’s bright smile posing with his catch of the day. Lucas told me it was the hardest thing he’s ever made. I cannot even imagine. It’s surely not the way I would have written the story, but it’s a beautiful act of love for which I am grateful.

May we all continue to heal ourselves, each other, and those with whom we come in contact.