I lost my son. He was 39-years-old, fighting mental health and addiction issues. It was an ongoing battle that most people in my small town were aware of.
We were once again on a journey to get things right after a long couple of exhausting years. He had moved home, taking a new bunch of medications for severe bipolar disorder.
It had been a good morning, but by noon something was wrong, and by the time he walked downstairs to go to bed, he was angry, and I was just too exhausted to follow and continue.
I found him dead in his room the next morning.
There was no clear cause of death but assumed overdose.
I do not even know how to describe that first year. But this is what I do know – before my son’s body was barely across the river bridge, the rumors started. Everybody had a story.
All of a sudden, people came out of the woodwork with stories and ideas on what happened.
My son was discussed in the area as if people were speaking of the weather, the score of a ballgame, and they did not care if I was in the room or not.
It turned out to be a death by his prescribed drugs, causing a toxic reaction — not illegal, and not one over the prescribed dosage.
I do not know how I survived. It’s been just over a year, but I do know that my intense desire to defend my son and introduce the real young man who was MY son became an obsession.
I now find myself in deep sadness. I am grieving as if it was yesterday.
All the firsts are over; some wonderful things have come to light, as well as more answers. Everything I was demanding.
But it did not bring him back. I am still missing my son.
The people I called friends seem strangers to me. I feel betrayed.
Small hometown football hero who they all claimed to love was now fodder for the gossip mill.
I guess if there was one thing I wanted more than anything was to hear some good stories. Because by the time the first year was here, I had heard many.
They came from people I knew but had never really gotten to know. There were so many wrong things to say to me.
When your child is an adult and dies in a matter that is a suicide, overdose or killed, in any tragic way that might infer a scandal, my advice is: do not do as I did.
I about lost my mind. My anger was all I could feel.
I didn’t take much time to be gentle with myself or the people around me. I have gotten to a place I don’t care anymore.
I have to find a way to accept no matter how many people I prove wrong; he’s not coming back.
It’s Not Supposed To Be This Way
I have to accept this horrible reality of my son dying at home under my watch.
Now I have people say to me, “You have to forgive yourself and try to move forward.” Who are they to give me that permission? So even though the hoopla has settled, I am stuck in a place of bitterness.
Yes, I have begun to see a counselor, and I no longer talk about him constantly, I don’t flood my social media with his pictures, or quote after quote on losing my son.
I loved him; he was mine. I know how much he loved me. I cannot stop thinking about that morning.
I don’t have a regular sleeping pattern, but I’m working on it. I’m paying more attention to my health and trying to get back out in the world.
When your child dies in a way others can’t seem to wrap their mind around, be prepared.
I think my battle with my home town was more about me than my precious son. It was a way to stay away from this deep sadness.
He didn’t need a hero anymore. His battle was over.
I try to send the love I thought I could no longer give him to him as if he’s just away in a different part of the journey of life.
I know he would not want me to live so bitterly. But I cannot ever see myself having much of my old self back — just pieces.
I don’t know if what I’ve put on here will have a message. But I’m still glad I decided to do this.
He was mine, and he was beautiful. I miss him so very much at this point.
I understand your pain and it is heartbreaking. You can never prepare for the comments to come. I know this. Within two years, we lost my mother, my nephew, 26 to overdose, and my son, 28 in a boating accident. Even the comments said to me, around me, and behind me, somehow find their way to my ears. My son’s accident was traumatic, 3000 miles away, and we were helpless. People find a way to criticize him for choosing to go boating in an organized group. It can be a cruel world. I have learned to rewrite my address book. I now accept that certain people should no longer be in my life, but new ones keep entering. I hope you can do that.
Hi Paula,
I am so very sorry you lost your son. There will never be anything that could so dramatically change who I am. Erase the person I thought I was. Never. I do not look at the people or the place I have lived my whole life as I used to. I really want nothing to do with anyone as I feel so angry. Tragedy in the community used to bring us together and we all cared. Now it’s who has the best stories or the latest scoop. I’m not sure when it started to change so much but I must say that I have to take responsibility for some choices I made which were disappointing to my family and close friends. I’m a recovering addict. It’s been a very long road and I had already distanced myself from my old play ground years ago…it was a battle but when I saw what was happening to my son it was worth the battle. I quit feeling sorry for myself and I focused on Eddie. I could do anything if it meant my kids were happy and well. That includes my family. They are very good people. I decided to do my best to stop the criminal activity that was rapidly taking over our small county. Suddenly when I started standing up and fighting it affected almost every effort I made to keep my son safe and away from the people killing him. We had finally got a doctor to diagnose him as having a severe bipolar mental illness as well as possible multiple personality issues. I was told adding chemicals other than his prescribed medications was the equivalent of having a severe head trauma and he had the cognitive thinking capabilities of a 17 yr old…he was almost 40. This was not something I had prepared for. He was always so happy. Popular. Strong. We had a good family and we were happy. I decided in the late 90s i was going to lose weight and chose a very wrong way to do it. I did not see his struggle. I feel horrible and angry at myself for not knowing or noticing ….when he died the circumstances were sketchy, I kept fighting and am still fighting for the truth. I do not care that people think I need to step down because of anything true or false others have to say about me or my past. Eddie hated the way he was. I know I was the first one to drop the ball…but so many things were done wrong. So many people hid things. I’ll never stop trying to stop the drug traffic in my home town. I have grandchildren here. The pain is unbearable. I wear a mask most times. Pretend I’m doing fine. Inside my heart is crumbling. I miss him so very much. He was so easy to be around and had blue eyes and a smile that could light up the world. I was honored to be his momma…everything reminds me of him. It’s been 15 months. It’s still excruciating. All the emptiness.
I hope people in your situation think about their words more as time passes. Because in any kind of circumstance our loss and pain is greater than anything we have ever had to feel. It’s huge and it’s heavy. Just knowing they are gone, and there’s nothing we can do about it is more painful than their careless words could ever be. If they only knew. Most cannot wrap their minds around what it feels like to bury their child.
God Bless you Paula….
Jackie