Our son Jim died five years ago of a heroin overdose at the age of 21. It was a total body blow for us. Although he had messed around with cannabis when he was 16 or 17, we believed he had moved on, and we didn’t know he was involved with drugs of any kind at the time of his death, let alone a drug like heroin.
There is a whole lot I’d like to tell you about Jim; what he was like, what he enjoyed, and there’s so much I could write about the pain of losing him and the years of sorrow that followed. Here, though, I want to discipline myself to think about one particular result of losing him in the way we did; the struggle with feelings of shame, stigma, and subsequent isolation.
William Feigelman wrote about his research into the specific needs of families bereaved by drugs. He highlighted both the social stigma faced by such families and also the paucity of resources available to them to help them through their grief. As I read his article, I found it rang true to my own experience.
When Jim died, though I was surrounded by much kindness, I was unable to find specific support to help me in my loss. Sadly, at that difficult time, I felt unable to contact groups such as The Compassionate Friends UK or Cruse Bereavement because I had a dread that I would not be met with sympathy, and that Jim would be judged. My gut fear was that no one would care about him because he had died of a drug overdose. I was afraid he and his family would be labeled and stereotyped. In my worst imaginings, I could hear voices saying things like, “The world’s better off without people like him,” or “Well, it was his own choice to take drugs.” In other words, I feared the judgment of myself and our family and of Jim.
At that time, it was very hard to walk into social gatherings of any kind, as my bereaved mind and soul struggled with the anxiety that behind the kind and concerned faces were hidden harsh and unloving words and thoughts. I loved Jim so much and knew what a lovely young man he was and how much potential he had, and I couldn’t bear the thought that on top of the wrenching pain of losing him, other people might be thinking badly about him.
Such tangled and painful emotions caused me to feel very alone in those early months. Who could I speak to about such awful feelings; who could possibly understand? I wanted everyone to know how utterly wrong it was that Jim had died, how special and loved he was, and that he mattered just as much as any other young person who had died of any other cause, natural or accidental.
Battling with such pain and not knowing where to turn, I found myself at the end of two years still deep in grief. It’s true that I was getting on with other parts of my life, caring for my family and pursuing a counseling course, but everything I was doing was coming from this deep pot of grief and desperation, and it was exhausting me. They were truly wearying months.
Eventually, in November, two years after Jim died, I was guided to a charity in the UK called DrugFam, set up not long before by another mum who had also lost her son to heroin. DrugFam was different from many other support groups in that they aimed not only to help families facing the nightmare of looking after loved ones with addiction issues in life but also in death. Now, at last, I was able to meet and talk with other people who were experiencing many of the same emotions I was facing. We were able to support one another and talk about our children or siblings in a safe place where we knew no one would judge either them or us. There were lots of tears, of course, but now I was not alone. What a relief it was to know that all these terrible, confused feelings were not unique to me.
It became increasingly clear to me that if the stigma of drug death was going to begin to be lifted, people who had endured it needed to speak out and tell others about their loved ones as a way of challenging commonly held preconceptions about drug users and to help a wider group to understand.
For this reason, I wrote a book telling Jim’s story and my reflection on living with grief and the stigma of loss by drugs. In the UK at least, there was a gap in the market for such a book. I had longed in the earlier days to read about how others in our situation had survived but had found nothing. So this book became my contribution—a small beginning, but one that has now reached out to many others bereaved in this way, as well as those who have suffered other kinds of loss. It is also, of course, my memorial to Jim; my way of sharing him with others and letting it be known how very proud I am of him.
When I get the opportunity, I speak at meetings about Jim, the wider issue of drugs, and the shame and stigma felt by the families of users, both in life and in death. I’ve been privileged to address the North Staffordshire Compassionate Friends and experienced genuine warmth and acceptance there, and not the lack of understanding I had originally feared. Above all, I share a mother’s love and pride in a wonderful son. And that many who hear me speak feel released to come and share their own hurts and pains that they have often held secretly for many years. This is a huge privilege for me and a powerful way of continuing Jim’s contribution to the world he was part of for too short a time.
With others in DrugFam, I am writing a booklet aimed specifically at helping those who have suffered a drug- or alcohol-related loss to give them some pointers in their pain so that they might know more of what to expect and where to turn for help as the days and weeks turn to months and years. I also volunteer for the Bereaved Parent Support team at Care for the Family, another UK charity. There, I offer support and friendship to the parents who make contact who have lost loved ones through drugs. These are just small things one by one, but they are added to many other small acts being done in other places by other people I’ll probably never meet. Together, we can begin to make a difference and share our message that those who die from drugs are just ordinary folk with their own stories, loved by many, and those who are left behind need the same understanding and compassion as any other bereaved person.
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It took 5 months in my case, to receive the toxicology report to determine my son’s cause of death, further complicating my family’s grief. Until that time, I just kept saying “he didn’t wake up”. He had issues with alcohol, did not see a doctor regularly, the cause could have been anything. In my heart, I knew it was probably an overdose. 5 months after his death, to learn definitively that it was indeed an overdose, caused much angst as now what do I do with this information? Most people had moved on and stopped asking. I told our immediate family, and then, when asked, I would disclose that it was an overdose.
Thank you for writing your book and raising awareness on behalf of all of our precious children.
I do not have that same kind of loss but I am sorry you were unable to find the kind of help and acceptance you needed. I applaud you for following your heart, writing this book and helping others where before the help was not there. I wish you peace, courage and hope you now feel acceptance; I am so sorry not only for your loss but also for your lack of help, acceptance and resources. I am sure your Jim is very proud of you; God bless!
Our 38 year old son died after many years of drug abuse, started with prescription drugs for pain, then to street drugs when that was no longer available. He was dropped off at our home 5 times with overdoses so that I could try to detox him and save his life, since there was no facilities willing to handle this. He was supposedly 6 months clean when he died of a fentanyl/heroin overdose. His death is clouded in suspicion as to what really happened that night. He left behind a wife, 3 boys, a sister and brother and a successful auto repair business, in spite of his addiction. We tried repeatedly to get him into treatment, the last time after a 5 day stay in the hospital psych ward, after a friendly, understanding older nurse realized he was really trying to kill himself and his pain. He was supposed to go to in-house treatment, but when he went home with his wife, that all changed, again. They decided he could do this on his own. Six months later he was dead. The story his wife told was he died from an infection, then it was a heart attack, then it was from overworking in the heat. Because of his boys, we went along with it. When we first attended Compassionate Friends we didn’t say his death was drug related, because we too, didn’t want him/us judged. Also, we found there were several of his customers in the group. It was several months before we felt comfortable enough to share the true cause of his loss. We were met with nothing but understanding and love and so glad that this was a place we could finally be honest about his struggles. We’ve never discussed his drug use with his younger boys, but his oldest son was a teenager and knew what was going on. We constantly worry about the boys because his widow has made it very difficult for us to see them. We pray as they get older and are finally free, we will be able to re-establish our relationship with them. Drug addiction is a sickness that has many victims, not just the ones that die from it.
I lost my lovely daughter Debbie aged 40 on 23/12/2018 We are still waiting for post mortem results My daughter was a heavy drinker for years and was told to give it up because of her liver she also got injected by ex partner with used needle and she was diagnosed with hepatitis C Towards the end she was trying not to drink alcohol has she was being sick alot could not keep water down The ambulance men and police told us on morning of death that she had a stroke than a heart attack I just wish she was still here with us She left 3 beautiful children
My heart aches for all of you. I lost my beautiful 21 year old son Eric on March 8th of this year. He struggled with heroin addiction for several years and never stopped trying to be clean. This addiction is a disease caused by an evil drug that is proven to change the brain which is still developing until the age of around 25. I too feel the stigma and am constantly finding myself wanting to tell everyone what a great person and beautiful soul he is. But all who had the blessing of actually knowing him do know it. My sister is starting a foundation in his name that will hopefully help others suffering and also help my 5 other children…something to keep his memory alive and give healing of some sort. Hugs to all
My cousin Natalie died last week from a drug overdose and my auntie can’t seem to cope up with the situation. It was brave of you to get on with your life such as pursuing a counseling course even though you’re exhausted from deep grief and depression. I hope there is an institution that focuses on drug death grief counseling.