A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: August 2022

Our Part In The Overdose Crisis

One of the many events that the grief community participate in is International Overdose Awareness Day, held August 31st.  This day remembers, with love, those who have died and acknowledges the pain felt by family and friends left behind.  It is a day that reminds us that drug overdose is the world’s worst public health crisis. And what are we doing about it?

I had a colleague say if you want to solve the problem, don’t stand on the shore, and wonder why the fish are dying. Travel up the river and see where the problem begins.

What would we find up the river of a drug overdose? Would we see a health care system that has failed? Would we see a community that is judgemental and non-accepting of diversity? Would we see fear and loneliness of those seeking refuge?

No child says, “when I grow up, I want to have a drug overdose”. And yet the Centre for Disease Control & Prevention reports in 2020 over 93,000 people lost their life to overdose. How can we, as a society, continue to sit quietly?

I don’t know of one person whose life has not been touched by drug overdose. A neighbor, a school chum, a co-worker, a family member. And God help us when it is your child. The stories all have a common thread; there was a physical or mental incident, once or many times, the person sought relief in a drug. It does not matter if that drug was alcohol, or pain killers, or heroin. When an overdose occurs, it could be a moment of grace and salvation, but often, it is a permanent injury or sudden death.

The stigma a parent has with the death of a child by overdose is one of shame. Society whispers ‘oh that is the one whose child was a drug addict’ as if somehow their life could not be touched by such tragedy. And not all drug overdoses are by addicts. Not the point. The point is we have a crisis that affects us all.

My belief is this is the first step. We must agree that we are all a part of this crisis, and we need to work together to fix it. There is no shame or blame around the loss of a child by overdose. A loss is a loss. Every death is a tragedy.  

We must pull our head out from the sand and acknowledge we are all vulnerable to this crisis. We must open our heart to others and embrace our differences.

We must hold our health care system accountable for what is dispensed and how. We must demand a stronger focus on the resources needed for alternative treatments, pre-assessments, and support.

Most importantly we must hold tight to each other. Keep talking, listen to one another, be there for one another.  We must remember that we are all connected. Only then will the needed attention to this crisis be delivered.

“On Life After Death”

Our beloved Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, through her books, has supported our mourning by talking about death, identifying the stages of grief, and offering us strategies to cope. My recent read, “On Life After Death” she deepens possible healing by reassuring us there is no death.

Her book reads like a conversation.  I can imagine myself in her living room. A cup of tea is poured. There are cookies set on a plate. She sits down and in a soothing voice she begins to talk, “…the death of the human body is identical to what happens when the butterfly emerges from its cocoon.”

This book is about the three stages of what happens to us when we die. It is based on the vast experience and the commonalities across the globe, she has had with patients who have had near-death experiences. Her examples cannot be explained by science. A little girl tells her father she liked when she ‘had died’ because the place was so full of light and the feeling of love and that her brother was there.  She says to her dad, “the problem is I don’t have a brother.” And her dad confesses that she indeed had a brother who passed months before she was born, and they had not told her.  A female patient, blinded in an explosion, when out of her physical body, could see the whole accident and describe the people who dashed in to save her, but when brought back to life, she was totally blind. Example after example the good doctor discovers at the time of death, each patient was acutely aware of what was happening as they watched from above in perfect physical condition. And each patient then saw a path, a bright light and felt a love that was pure bliss.

Her words are comforting.  She insists that our loved ones do not die alone. Those we love that have gone before are waiting to greet us. There is no pain as they transition from cocoon to butterfly. She tells us, “…it is no longer a matter of belief, but rather a matter of knowing.”

I relished in this suggestion. There is no death. There is this life, in this cocoon, that we must make the most of. At the end of this stage, the next life we maintain our identity and our personal energy pattern, taking up no space and able to be many places. Our loved ones are here, connecting with us, guiding us. They are the butterfly.

Celebrating You for 31 Years

Yesterday we gathered in our daughter’s back yard with family and friends to celebrate Zane’s 31st birthday. I found it hard to smile and celebrate a ‘happy’ birthday to a situation that is anything but happy. Then I read somewhere that birthdays are a way to celebrate the number of years that this person has been. Period.  Their birth brought their soul here in a physical form. Death removes only the body. Their soul is still alive and well. It is the soul we celebrate. I liked this advice. Zane was killed at 26 but his soul has been with us now for 31 years. 

So, every year I create something that celebrates Zane, a simple activity that his friends can do to help honor his spirit. The first year we handed out pay-it-forward cards, asking his friends to buy a stranger a drink and give the card to the recipient so they knew why they had received a free drink.  The second year we wrote wishes on ribbons and tied them to the tree that Zane had planted when he was in grade three. The third year was Zane’s 30th birthday and we had a bingo game made, each square listing an activity that Zane enjoyed, challenging his friends to complete the 30 squares over the year for Zane. This year with many of his friends now traveling for a holiday or a destination wedding, we bought luggage tags with a picture of Zane, asking them to take “Zane along on their adventures” and send us back a picture, postcard, or sticker. I plan to make a collage of all the places Zane travels in spirit with his family and friends.

In the grief community, honoring is essential to good mourning. It is the way we continue a relationship with our loved ones. It is how we pay respect to their life here on earth. It is how we remember. Sharing these celebratory acts with friends, asking them to be a part of how you honor your loved one, enables us all to feel linked together.

Birthdays are supposed to be personal.  We are celebrating a specific person on that day, thus finding ways to honor them that reflects their personality, their hobbies, or desires before they departed is an important way to commemorate them.

Birthdays are difficult, but every day is difficult, so I encourage you to take your loved one’s birthday as a day to smile through the tears and bring what they enjoyed in this life into your life. And to share it. Celebrate who they were, are, and will always be.

To Zane, on the Fourth Anniversary

Dear Zane,

It has been four years today,

an indescribable hell

trying to live in this realm

knowing you live in the other

It has been four years of ugly rituals

like crying every morning

and screaming every day in the car

It has been four years of not believing, believing

And then not believing again

It has been four years of mockery

watching my friends’ kids do, be, experience

what was to be for you

It has been four years of anger

Not able to comfort your sister

Or any of us from this pain…

It has also been four years of honoring you,

asserting you are still here,

friends and family include you

in our daily lives

which brings some peace

as a mother’s greatest fear is 

there will come a time

when life goes on without you.

It has been four years learning

that the diminutive conciliation

of holding your hand

are unexpected symbols,

enigmatic Instagram posts

feathers on our path

dragonfly on the window

bubbles and balloons

signs that I cling to

as oxygen, for my own survival

There is also the Universe’s gift,

the subconscious reality through nighttime slumber

where I can feel your hug, hear your laugh 

our moonlight conversations,

when morning arrives,

my broken heart holds tight to

giving the energy I need to walk another day

It has been four years today, my sweet boy

and if I have understood only one thing

It is that my love for you is endless

as are the tears I cry.

© 2024 Good Mourning Grief

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑