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Getting Through Corona

There is a possibility that I was wrong. Mark down the date because I am never wrong. But this Coronavirus, well, it got me. No, not as in I have it, but that initially I wasn’t worried. Oh, btw, I still want addiction to get attention like this, but for now, I bow down. Coronavirus, you have humbled me. Still…

First, I’m fortunate to be able to work from home. It is a huge pain in the ass video conferencing all day, writing reports that get presented remotely, and then dealing with my other responsibilities. 

I miss my friends, my work friends, my home friends, my friends who have found their way into my life through different means. I love our Facetime drink fests and my friend who showed up to hang out six feet apart, in respect to social distancing. I love my friends who have texted and emailed, well, just have found ways to be a presence. They remind me of how blessed I am to have a circle, a sort of large circle, of people who are my people, who love and accept me no matter what. I wish for everyone what I have because I have it good.

Since I’ve been a shut-in I have paid attention on social media. I have watched on different platforms as moms apologize for who they are, what they are. As if any apology is necessary. This is new to all of us. We’ve never done this before. Yet moms are apologizing as if there is some handbook that gave us all the rules. That blows my mind.

Moms, stop apologizing. Dads too. As parents there is no quintessential guide. It doesn’t exist. We all know parents who did everything right and had little Johnny turn out to be the biggest fucker on the face of the planet. (Um, not me, but, um). We all know parents who did everything wrong and their little Johnny is now a Rhodes scholar or some shit like that. And, btw, what was right and what was wrong? Do any of us really know? If you say you do, you’re an idiot and a liar.

We’re all on lockdown. At least, we all should be. My kids are older so thankfully I’m not homeschooling my own kids. What a nightmare. None of us chose that. If we had, our kids wouldn’t be off from school right now. But we need to give ourselves a break. This is new to all of us. All of us. 

So your kid wakes up and confuses the fact that he’s not in school with the fact that he’s not in school. HE’S NOT! I’m not saying don’t get down to business, but take the blessing in this. Make some pancakes. Lie in bed together and watch some stupid show or a bunch of stupid shows. You’re never getting this time back, whether you have Corona or not.

There has been a movement to change things in schools, to get away from some of the testing. Now is the time to do all of the things that are important. Love your kids, even when you hate them. Lie in bed, bake brownies, burn the eggs, whatever it is that means you are spending quality time with your kids, do it. And then Facetime your friends and drink, because you deserve that too. But stop beating yourself up.

This is new to all of us. We’ll get through it. And when we do, let’s give the attention we gave Coronavirus to some of the other things that affect our kids, like addiction. First though, let’s get through this, without beating ourselves up.

 

Coronavirus and Addiction

Addiction was in my rearview. At least I thought so. Everyone is talking about Coronavirus right now. No disrespect to anyone, but that will be sorted out, and our kids will still be addicted. And yeah, people will make money from Coronavirus, but not like they will off of the opioid crisis. Sackler family, I mean you. And a lot of others.

I’ll never forget the denial. Yeah, so much denial, because if you haven’t lived it, you cannot possibly imagine. Denial is your best friend. Nobody wants to believe that someone they love, their kid, kids who were like their kids would steal from you. I mean, you give them everything, and then things disappear. Little things at first. Little things like spare change, dollar bills, change jars. Then it becomes bigger things. I’m aging myself, but, VCR’s, video game consoles, I don’t know, things that are now outdated. Of course, there’s also jewelry, money, etc.

So the denial was big, like, oh maybe I didn’t just take $100 out of the cash machine. Or, maybe I threw out that game console. Even while the reality is that you didn’t, and you know it.

So recently a kid from my neighborhood posted something on social media. He’s in recovery. He wishes that people talked about it. He wishes that people talked about it back when he was in high school, and an addict. He wishes he hadn’t lost so many friends to it. Oh, his high school was denying that there were drugs in the school even while many of the students were in some form of treatment service. 

Then there’s the kids that I have loved since they were way high, as in height, not feeling groovy, kids who are no longer a part of my life, not because that’s how I want it, but because that’s the nature of addiction. There has been loss, too much loss. But there has been a different type of loss, like the kids who grew up in my home, kids I loved, loved like they were a part of my family, because they were, always will be.

I don’t know where all of them are now. I often wonder when I go to a funeral, when I hear of an arrest. I do know some were recently in jail. Some have relapsed. And I’d give anything to go back to when they were sitting in my living room laughing about stupid stuff and eating pizza and teasing each other and, well, back to a time when my living room was filled with love.

I’ve seen some at funerals and hugged them, and hugged them again and told them I love them, because I do. But love is not a cure. If it was, there’d be no crisis. 

The Coronavirus doesn’t scare me, maybe because nothing is scarier than watching a kid you love go from blue to pasty white as he is overdosing, praying that the ambulance gets there with a Narcan shot and he doesn’t die. Nothing is scarier than going to bed at night and not being able to sleep because you’re getting up every ten minutes to check breath. Nothing is scarier than what becomes a daily routine of, well, just being grateful that there are no funerals to attend to this week. And nothing is scarier than the denial from all of the people who don’t live it who think it is just a matter of you saying no to your kid. Or the people who supposedly love you and your kid who have lots of helpful advice like, “just tell him no,” or, “Did you take away his Playstation?” Those people are assholes, by the way.

Addiction was in my rearview, so I thought. It’s never really there. I wish addiction and overdoses got the same attention and response as the Coronavirus. It deserves it. Screw anyone who says one is voluntary and the other is not. Kids are dying. Kids I loved have died. 

So find a cure or vaccine for Coronavirus. But let’s not forget those others, the kids, our kids. They’re dying too, at greater rates. Yeah, that last line isn’t scientific, but it’s true. For the kid from my neighborhood who wishes people would talk about it, here I am. I talk about it. I write about it. I scream about it. Addiction is not a choice. Our kids are dying. 

Worry about Coronavirus. But when that’s taken care of, which we know will happen, let’s get back to worrying about all of our kids who are addicted and dying. They are my kids,  your kids, all of our kids.

Oh, and it shouldn’t have to be a choice, but we live in a world where attention matters, perception matters. I’ll leave it at that and say, please cure Coronavirus, and please, find a cure for addiction. In the end, the bottom line will be money. Who is making it.

 

Addiction Kills-Even the Good Ones

Death is hard, really really hard. Death in the addiction world is even harder because where people don’t always know what to say, well, a loss due to addiction makes it even worse. People say dumb things. People say hurtful things, even while not meaning to be hurtful. It goes back to the whole they don’t know what to say thing, so they say stupid things.

Some decide it is a good time to talk about “good” kids versus “bad” kids. Nope. It’s not the time. In fact, there is never a time for that talk. Good kids get addicted. Well, I’ll leave it at that because despite the belief that addiction is a choice or something that only bad kids do, nobody deserves to die, not even the so-called “bad” kids.

I’ve been open about how addiction has hit my family. I have pretty much shouted from the rooftops, not because I’m thrilled about it, but because I know so many families who have been touched, families who keep it quiet because of the stigma, a sense of shame, and to protect their loved ones. But, keeping quiet, hiding, worrying about stigmas, well, that’s not my thing. I respect those who go that route, but I go a different way because I want answers, solutions, cures. Not that those others don’t, but I’m a little more in your face about it. Pretty much I have a former CEO that told me he felt battered in my quest, and while I didn’t batter him, I demanded results, action. I still demand results, even if I’m not getting them, just yet.

But, I digress. So if you know someone lost their child to addiction, please check yourself. Are you judging? Are you lecturing? Are you blaming? Are you sure you’re doing none of those things? Because you may be, even if you don’t think you are. And if you think you are because, well, you think you have all the answers, think again. No parent needs your “good” kid versus “bad” kid speech. In fact, if I was that mother, I’d stab you in the face if you started that discussion. Oh yeah, with whatever dull object was handy.

The rehab industry is a billion dollar industry. Billion. Read that again. And again. Let it sink in. BILLION. There is money in addiction. In creating it. In treating it. In every aspect of it. BILLION! I won’t even get into that rich AF family that hid the evidence that the drugs they were profiting from would create the addiction industry or how some are trying to recreate it in another country. I believe there is a special place in Hell for those who created this situation for their own financial gain.

The rehabs have a 90% fail rate yet continue to get government funding, insurance money, parents mortgaging homes money, and God knows what else kind of money. They have a proven fail rate. Where are the watchdogs?! Where are the f*&@ing watchdogs!! But that’s a different conversation, an important one, but different.

For now, I ask you to be kind. If your kid escaped addiction, it doesn’t make you a better parent. It just makes you lucky. No matter what you think. You are just lucky. We can disagree on this, but the bottom line is there are parents not as lucky as you. Be kind. Don’t give them the speech about how you loved your kid more, better, or did better things as a parent. You didn’t. You were lucky. And you don’t want to get stabbed in the face.

Addiction sucks. It’s a family disease, a community disease, a disease that kills. It is killing our kids. They are ALL our kids.

Someone said to me recently that I must be afraid every single day. Yes. I am. Especially when we lose someone we love, someone who was our family. I am afraid when I know all of the “kids” the amazing kids who share their recovery stories, the ones who are in jail as I write this, the ones who are struggling, and the ones who appear to be success stories. I worry every single day, but especially when we lose one that we love, that they love. I still struggle with putting that in the past tense.

Loved. We loved. Nope. Can’t do it. We love, totally, completely, forever.

My family lost someone this week. There are no words to describe just how awful it was, for us, for that family. A parent hugged me and told me that he was there for me. Imagine that. He is there for me. I loved his kid. God, how I loved his kid, and I’d kill anyone that called him the “bad” kid or talked about his choices.

He was beautiful. He was respectful. He was loving. He was loyal. He was amazing in ways he hadn’t even figured out yet. And people loved him, really really loved him. So please, be kind. Change the conversation. Stop talking about bad and good and start demanding cures, action, and the end of lives lost to addiction. It is the difference between life and death, and that life could be the one of someone you love one day, even if you don’t believe it could happen to yours or one you love. They are worth it, even if you think they are the “bad” kids. Forget that. They are not the “bad” kids. And no kid deserves to die, not even the “bad” ones.

Finally, a thank you, to those who get it. Thank you for the love, the support, the understanding, and for not shaming or blaming. Thank you! If you’re not there yet, message me. I’ll try to help you get there.

 

Stop the World

Right now I want the world to stop. I want to go back and do something different because in some messed up way, I think that maybe if I did something differently, that maybe something else could be different. Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way, no matter how badly we want it to.

A kid that I love is gone. I should say another kid. Another funeral is being planned for someone lost way too young. As broken up as I am, I cannot imagine his poor mother. Sure, he called me mom, he practically lived in my house, but his mom. Jesus! I don’t even know what to say. There are no words for her. No matter how much we all collectively loved him, she is still the one planning his funeral. She is burying her child. No mother should ever have to do that. Ever. Yet, here we are. Again.

And what about the kids that will be going to another funeral for someone they loved. I say kids, but they are all adults now, even if at 51 I still look at them as babies with whole futures in front of them, well some of them. Another is gone. The future that was in front of him has been stripped. Stripped. He was robbed. We were robbed.

How do you recover from something like this? How do I tell my children, who have been to way too many funerals for people their age, that life goes on, that the future is limitless? How do I tell them that when it has had limits for so many people that they went to high school with, graduated with, loved, considered family? How do you ever recover from that? How do I tell them that they will recover? When I’m not sure how I will.

I got the news and went through pictures and wished I had more. I wished it hadn’t been so long. I wished I had picked him up the last time we were going to breakfast. I hadn’t because the time was so short. Little did I know how short it actually was.  Realistically I know that not picking him up didn’t seal his fate, but had I picked him up I would be remembering a hug that was more recent. Him calling me, “Mom,” would have been fresher. But I didn’t because, well, life got in the way. And now I would give anything to go back.

I want the world to stop, but it won’t. I want to go back, but I can’t. All I can do is try to figure out a way to honor him, to be there for my kids, for the rest of the kids that I love who aren’t mine, even if they feel like they are. I can stop and feel my emotions, all 8 hundred million of them, even the ones that hurt like hell. And I can remember this young man being in my home and how much we loved him and how he was a part of my family. Even if he is gone too soon!

   

 

 

 

Twitter, Our New Justice System

I’m a little concerned about our justice system. Or should I call it justice by Twitter? The Constitution no longer seems to be the law of the land. We’re becoming a society that gets news through sound bites, or even worse,  posts on social media. And when we demand action, it’s no longer in a court of law. We ban. We boycott. And we convict.

 

On social media.

 

The media, depending on which outlet, follows along.

 

I believe in the rights we are granted in this country, in the United States of America. I believe a person is innocent until proven guilty, even when in my heart of hearts I believe that someone is guilty.

 

The beauty of our justice system is that it’s not up to me. It’s not up to you. It’s not up to an angry mob on social media. It is up to a jury of their peers. Even when that’s bullshit.

 

Bill Cosby was locked up. Finally. But he was convicted after a trial. I always knew he was guilty, but, thankfully, it wasn’t my belief that is sending him to prison. As much as I wish I had that power, I am equally glad that I don’t.

 

I’m thankful I don’t because I’m grateful to live in a country where we have rights, where we are protected, even if it doesn’t always work the way that it should.

 

Brett Kavanaugh has been accused of sexually assaulting several women. Yes. I want to believe all women who come forward. I want the archaic way we treat victims of sexual assault to change.

 

Still, I cling to innocent until proven guilty. Maybe it protects the Harvey Weinsteins of the world, the Bill Cosbys, and maybe even the Brett Kavanaughs.

 

But it doesn’t just protect them. It protects all of us. From that angry mob on Twitter that can take the smallest thing and make it trend.

 

By the way, trending is not probable cause. Going viral is not proof beyond a reasonable doubt just as social media is not a court of law. Hopefully it will never be, although it seems as if we’re heading that way.

 

As someone with a story, I want to see victims feel safe in coming forward. I want victims to be believed, to not have to wait 30 something years to come forward.

 

I love social media. I love the voice it has provided for those who once had none. I love the way it connects people, especially people who once believed they were alone.

 

Still, I’m afraid. I’m afraid because I have sons and brothers. I have male friends, male students, a lot of males that I love. And I’m seeing a lot of posts, especially on Twitter, that blame all men for the actions of some. It seems to be a new narrative. If you’re male, you’re a pig.

 

I don’t believe that to be true.

 

We are creating another divide. That seems to be what we do. We’ve gotten very good at the whole us vs them thing, and depending on who us and who them is, it can be scary. Scary because social media can wreck you.

 

Social media is not our justice system. No matter how much we want to believe victims, how much we want change, we cannot let an angry mob on social media become our justice system.

 

We are better than that. I hope.
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Before September 11

My kids will never understand life before September 11, yeah, that September 11. They will never know the freedom that came with running through sprinklers and across lawns, and neighbors not being suspicious. They will never understand that there was a time that people didn’t call the cops first and ask questions later.

They will never know that calling the cops is something new. People once believed that kids will be kids, and laughed over it, because they remembered their own stories. And they weren’t afraid.

My kids will never know the beauty of buying a plane ticket and arriving moments before take off or not having to go through some radioactive machine that their government does not give enough information about, or that we once lived in a country where nobody would ever imagine that we’d accept having to endure someone with no law enforcement credentials having the authority to molest us, because the government has tried to sell the narrative that it somehow has made us safer.

My kids live in a world where buying an airline ticket is considered probable cause, a world where cameras will catch their every move, even when knocking on doors  to Trick or Treat,  a world where there is no such thing as anonymity.

It no longer exists, for anyone.

For all the posts that people share about drinking from hoses and the streetlights being their curfew, we now have parents driving their kids everywhere because of the fear that danger is lurking. Everywhere.

Fear is the silent partner in parenting now.

My kids will never remember a day that had the crispest blue sky. They will never remember their father, a first responder, being gone for weeks on end, as he dug through rubble. Or their aunt waiting at a triage area for victims, only to realize that the devastation was so horrific that there were not even bodies to go in the body bags.

Those were things they were too young to know, things they could never comprehend.

They won’t remember me taking them down to the site as soon as we were able to get back into Manhattan, if anything, to show them that we were not going to live in fear, that we were going to move forward as New Yorkers do, or that going there and being with strangers was the beginning of some sort of healing.

Strangers hugged other strangers. Stores offered water, their bathrooms, simple human kindness, something that has long been replaced by fear and suspicion.

I’m not sure that my kids will ever understand the loss. They didn’t attend the funerals or know that families were unable to have them because they waited for remains that might never be found. 

They grew up with a mass card on our refrigerator, a mass card mixed in with the magnets from family vacations and pictures of milestones. They knew his name, even if they had never met him. But his name became just that, a name. They didn’t have the memories, the history. They saw a picture on their fridge.

I don’t think they could ever know what they lost that day, what we all lost.

They suffered another loss a few years later in a war that didn’t seem to solve anything or give us answers.

I don’t have the worst September 11 story, but I’m not competing.

I just wish my kids could know the world I grew up in. Even with the Cold War, I felt safe. I don’t remember a time I didn’t feel safe. Until September 11.

Many many years ago, I lived in a world where kids ran through yards playing a game called Manhunt. We ran in the streets playing Kick the Can. Sometimes our ball even hit a neighbor’s car. We said sorry and went on with our game. 

We caught frogs and went swimming and snuck kisses never imagining how our world was going to change.

Every year on September 11, as I think of those lost, of those I lost, I think about the world that was lost and what my kids will never know.

The world has changed. Maybe we can’t go back to a pre-9/11, but I’ll even take the world that was New York right after, where strangers cared for one another, where we all swore we were in this together.

 

Failure Happens

The F word. No, not the one you’re all thinking about. I’m talking about failure. I get shivers just writing it. Many of you get the shakes just reading it. Except maybe those of you who think you got it beat. Maybe you do. I hope that you do.

 

I don’t. I was just ahead of it, and then I found out, not so much. It found me. Again.

 

At this point in my life, it should be in my rearview, like my rearview times 100. But its not.

So what does one do? I mean, one, not me. Ok, me.

You find a way to keep moving. You discover who your friends are, your real friends. You make a plan, a new plan, times two.

Times a million.

And then you get going.

Sure, you can lick wounds, scream at God, the gods, make a lot of excuses, but then none of those things really pay the bills, and the bottom line is that there are bills, there are always bills.

If you have kids, there are a ton of bills.

Today I took stock of my failure. I decided to go to the movies with a friend. Yeah, because what else do you do when you fail, you’re broke, and you don’t know what the f*&k to do.

I found inspiration. I laughed. I cried. I argued with a friend who wasn’t as moved as I was. Doesn’t matter.

There was a song that reached me. I can’t write music. I can’t sing. Heck, I can’t dance. But music has always found its way into my heart.

I cried watching this movie, because of a song. And I knew that I was going to be ok. Because what choice is there.

None.

Failure happens. I have always been a firm believer that we only grow through failure. Ok, so I sort of feel like enough is enough. But the universe thinks differently.

Failure has found me once again.

But its ok. Its an opportunity to take stock, to discover things about myself, about those who love me.

I got this.

 

 

Commenting on a Celebrity Overdose

There was another celebrity overdose in the news. The young woman is alive, thanks to Narcan, a nasal spray used to treat an opioid overdose. Someone is probably getting rich off of Narcan. I don’t care. God bless whoever it is, because lives are being saved, celebrity lives, non-celebrity lives.

Demi Lovato has been open about her struggle with addiction. There were recent hints, by her, that she relapsed. Unfortunately, she will not be able to recover in private. She will be the subject of mean-spirited comments that will be blistering in comparison to the support being offered by fans and others who love her.

So what part of commenting on a celebrity’s overdose can advance prevention, treatment, and recovery?

The part where others who are struggling, addicts, families, friends, know that they are not alone. They are not alone in the struggle. They are not alone in the desperation. They are not alone in the search for answers.

They are also not alone in the grief.

One out of three of my kids is an addict, in recovery, but still an addict.

All three of my kids know classmates, friends, loved ones who have gone through the revolving doors of rehabs, a billion dollar industry that keeps growing.

They all know too many lost to an overdose.

If you have never been to a wake of a kid who has practically lived in your home, be grateful. Unfortunately, I have been to multiple wakes. I’m not sure there is anything more awful than sitting in a room and looking at the kids who have grown up in  your home as they sob for their lost friend, kids that you love, knowing that one of them could be next. Except maybe loving the kid who wasn’t saved, the kid who is being waked.

Or maybe worse is knowing that your local police and social service agencies have partnered up and claimed that their partnership is in the name of combatting this crisis. Money is always involved, but they say things about how the partnership will save lives.

They announce that they cannot arrest their way out of this problem, but then follow that with some very well-publicized arrests. Arrests that don’t seem to reverse the opiod crisis.

Of course it gets even worse when caught up in the publicity blitz is a kid who has struggled, a kid who has relapsed, a kid who is being made a scapegoat for a problem that the police and the social service agencies can’t seem to solve, despite all of the eloquent soundbites in the news.

When a mother who has been financially devastated by a divorce, illness, her child’s addiction, has to come up with thousands of dollars in legal fees because her kid is being made a scapegoat, well, tell me how that helps anyone.

My heart breaks for Demi Lovato, for her family, for all of the celebrities lost to addiction. I don’t have to be famous to know their pain is real.

I am not just a blogger, despite what some have said. I am a mother who has lived this. I know families who have gone bankrupt seeking treatment, help for legal fees. I am a mother who watched as a kid went from blue to colorless before the miracle that is Narcan save that precious life.

I watched as that lifeless kid walked out of my house. I hugged that kid a year later, and hugged him again and again, and a few more times because he’s beautiful and I am incredibly grateful that he walked out of my house and back into  his life.

I am a mother who demands answers from those who have access. I want the Police Commissioner, the County Executive, the local politicians, the CEO’s, the social service agencies, the local community counseling agencies, and the people who claim to be advocates to all step up. I want those people to stop passing the buck, stop giving clever soundbites, and get down to the business of saving our kids, our families.

Stop arresting our kids. Stop treating addiction as a crime. If you’re not part of the solution, well, you know what you are.

If the news reports are true, Demi Lovato’s life was saved today. Let’s not stop there. Let’s save more lives. Let’s find a cure. Let’s demand treatment that has a proven success rate. Let’s stop criminalizing an issue that affects rich and poor, celebrities and non-celebrities.

We deserve more. Our kids deserve more.

 

**Author’s plea- Please get a Narcan kit. Free training is available. Go to LICADD.org.

 

 

 

The Heroin Diaries

Heroin has a grip on my town, a town that pretends it happens in other places. A town where we have an activist who talks about being drug free, but not much else. An activist who ran for office with someone who declared us drug free, despite being a heroin hotbed.

Heroin has permeated my town, a town in which members of our Board of Education have claimed our schools are drug free. A town in which the school district ignores the crisis. A town that believes it happens to bad kids, broken families.

A town where kids are dying.

A town where kids have been in rehab. Multiple times.

A town where kids have been arrested over and over again.

The school district has it right in some ways.

My family is broken. Not because I’m a single mother.

No. My family is broken because one out of three of my children is an addict. Thankfully in recovery, but still an addict.

My family is broken because I have kids who have a sibling that will never be able to live with them again.

My kids have a sibling that will always live far away. As in from them, from their future partners, from the kids they will one day have.

It is a permanent separation.

Their sibling coming back could be life or death.

What does that look like for my family? It looks like a lot of birthdays, Christmas, Easters, holidays where there is an empty seat at the table, a seat we desperately wish was filled, a seat that is a constant reminder of a loss that so many don’t understand yet so many experience.

Heroin has broken my family. In a way that would break your heart.

Heroin has a hold on my town, even if my town pretends that it is a problem happening somewhere else.

I don’t know the answers. If I did, I’d tell you. What I do know is that the recent arrests are not the solution. I do know that we cannot arrest ourselves out of this problem, even if our police department forgets that, even if our local social service agencies pretend that the arrests are part of a partnership.

All I can do is speak to you as a mother who desperately longs for all of my kids to be under the same roof, a mother who has driven my kid to rehab in the midst of withdrawals, a mother who would gladly take the blame if you could tell me what I did to cause this.

I’ve been to too many funerals of kids I have loved.

I have seen too many kids I love in jail.

Heroin has a grip on my town. I don’t believe the answers are easy, but I believe the first step is to stop pretending this is happening somewhere else.

I call on the local activist, the school district, the BOE, the parents in my town, all of us.

Heroin is holding our town hostage. We can’t take it back until we realize that we are all in this together.

 

 

The Addiction Peeing Contests (not grammatically correct, but ok)

I’ve spent the better part of a week trying to figure out a “nice” way of saying what I’m about to say. I know. Typically I just say it. I don’t worry about how it sounds. So I’m doing it a bit differently this time.

People aren’t always as nice as they should be. No, silly. Not me. Some other people.

What do I mean? Hmm. Well. There are still people who believe that addiction is a choice. Yeah. I know. I wanted to call them names too.

I stupidly engaged in an argument on social media last week with someone who called the victim of an overdose terrible names.

Imagine. A young life is lost and someone is name calling. I mean if death isn’t enough of a punishment, pile it on.

Not.

I took issue because I knew the life that was lost, although, I have taken issue when I have not known the life lost. I mean at some point most of us will know a life. If you think that’s not true, ask yourself how you’re breathing with your head buried so deep in the sand.

This was not my first one, death, I mean.

I knew a few lives lost. And I know a few lives that I still worry about, as in I go to bed at night and say a million prayers that I’m not going to wake up to a FB post about them or a news article about them, or any news about them, which means that they are still breathing, that their mothers can still hug them or even be annoyed at them for not taking out the garbage or whatever it is that they are doing that gets on their mother’s last nerve.

Because the bottom line is that despite the love, we all get on one another’s nerves. Even addicts. Especially addicts. Even the ones we love. Especially the ones we love.

People don’t understand addiction. I don’t understand addiction. And it is something that has hit home for me. I don’t believe I need to explain that.

What I do know is that its not a choice. Who would choose that? Who would choose something that comes with a lot of annoying stuff, including the potential of death?

For those of you who love an addict, whether he/she is using, in recovery, whatever stage, I get it. I support you. I will never blame you, even when blame feels easy.

For those of you who love an addict, no matter what stage, I will fight for you, fight for the one you love. Because that’s what we should all do. Even those who think they don’t know an addict, even if those who are deep in it know that’s impossible.

Especially those who have access. ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO HAVE ACCESS. As in those who know Police Commissioners, Heads of Agencies, politicians, people. Don’t make me define people.

Yeah, I’m not going to explain that either.

I’m just a blogger, not someone some may consider important. But, I am important. Know why? Because I have lived it. Because I don’t care who I make hate me. I’m going to keep demanding answers. I’m going to keep pushing. I’m going to scream until the people I know who have the access will scream as loud as me and insist that those with access will make a difference. I expect them to do just that.

I demand that they do that.

I had an argument with someone this week, someone who should know better, someone who tried to pull rank, even when there really is no rank.

I expected more. I demanded more. Lives are at stake, lives of people that I love, lives of people I don’t know, but still lives, a lot of lives.

They are worth saving. They are all worth saving. Make that your worthwhile thing for the day, the week, or whatever period of time. They are worth saving. Every single one.

We are all in this together. Even if we don’t all know it. I mean I know it, but not everyone does, not even some who should.

When it comes to addiction, there is no rank. We all just want to survive. We all just want those we love to survive, especially us mothers. God, how we want those we love to survive.

You should too. And if you can do something about it. Do it. Now.

 

Disclaimer: I am just a blogger. This piece is my personal feelings. Some don’t believe this is fact-based,  but they too are short on the facts, short on the evidence that scapegoating our kids is evidence-based. Demand evidence. If there is a financial benefit, be more adamant that you want evidence-based answers. Because these are our kids. Your kids.