My Friend, Sherry

My Friend, Sherry

Sherry and I have never met in person and yet, we are good friends. We met on a website that no longer exists – Mothers of Addicts. Only a few months had passed since Jim died and I needed to connect with moms who were also on the journey of loving their kids in the face of addiction. That was 2003. At first I merely read entries, each of which tore at my heart. No distance yet existed between the twenty-two years of the daily ups and downs of Jim’s disease and the sobering fact that my son, the addict, was now dead.

Maybe I needed some way of transitioning. Over the long years I had often gone to a dark place in my mind where Jim’s life might end. Out of frustration, rage and terror, I wrote three eulogies and read them to Jim. Each time he balked. Ultimately we came to see this was one way to convey the depth of love we had for each other. He realized how terrified I was of his possible death; this resulted in some important touching moments for us. The fourth eulogy was the one I wrote and delivered at his funeral. I choose to believe he heard this one as well… but from a far better place.

The posts on this website were familiar territory for me. Loss and absence of hope were not. Finally I felt compelled to say something. I recall a discussion thread about how hard it is to love your adult child in the midst of their addictive behaviors. Somewhat timidly I posted an offering that said something like “hate the disease, love the person.” In those early days I hated that Jim had died while another part of me was grateful he was no longer suffering. It was a difficult place to hang out.

From cyberspace, Sherry responded saying how sorry she was to learn about Jim’s death. She, too, feared this possibility for her son. And so it began. Today hundreds of emails and hours on the phone have been shared. We talk about all kinds of things, send pictures of family events, cartoons and bits of inspiration we think will help the other. We’ve talked through health issues – some we share such as fibromyalgia.

When I’m really down, Sherry is usually up. Alternately when she’s down, I’m usually up. It’s a give and take relationship. If we are both down, it helps us both just to talk or email the pain. Both up? We laugh a lot!

In the dark hours of her son’s disease, Sherry tells me she knows she is not alone. She trusts that I am also praying for her son. She can tell me anything and know I’ll understand and not judge her choices. Does it upset me as she shares the latest incidence? Does it bring back bad memories?

Unlike the early days of reading posts, it does not upset me. Today my experiences feel complete and well integrated into my history. Sometimes I see can a particular incident with Jim more broadly and I get new insights. But it never causes me to turn away from Sherry. In fact, sometimes I’m actually surprised by moments of my creativity during those difficult years.

When Sherry’s son was in a local jail on some minor infraction, I told her of sending Jim a book to read. It’s title? America’s 10 Top Jails. It was a physically large book, filled with pictures and wasn’t cheap. But I could not resist. I knew Jim would laugh about it and it eased my pain by sharing this silliness in the midst of all that was going on. In deed, he called laughing, saying his buddies (which included those who worked in the jail) all thought it was funny and great that we had this kind of relationship. Remembering this brings sunshine into my heart.

In the dark hours of my early grief journey, I knew that Sherry was there for me. This hasn’t changed. She doesn’t shy away from my pain despite it coming from a place she does not want to travel. Does our relationship make her journey easier? Does speaking to someone who is walking this grief journey help her deal with the fear of her son’s possible death? Does my speaking with her ease my process? Now, eight years down the road, I can readily say we have a mutually supportive friendship.

This has helped me forge friendships with other parents – many have lost their children to this disease, others have adult children active in the disease. If their child is alive, these relationships help me stay connected to the issue of addiction, to the bias and stigma which is alive and well.

At a recent presentation, a father asked me why I was still involved with addiction. Not having any other children, why wasn’t I traveling or living on an island in the Caribbean? Great question! “It’s simple,” I said. “I don’t want your child to end up with their face on my display board. I want to make a difference in some way, to be a cheerleader for parents still fighting to keep their children alive.”

Since I began giving workshops and presentations on the disease of addiction, I have maintained a large display board in my home office. Covered with the pictures of those who have died, it inspires me. Each morning in my prayers for those alive and those gone, I see the faces and know there are millions of others. When possible I travel with my display board along. Now it is posted on my website www.shatterthestigma.com/faces.php for all to see.

Through The Compassionate Friends, Grief.net, referrals and serendipity I am now connected to many parents who have lost their children to this disease. Each friendship is important to me. It is a place of belonging; once feared, I see the gift in being in this community. And I see no contradiction of being in community with parents striving to keep their children alive. My relationship with Sherry and so many other moms and dads has taught me the gift of connection.

I keep in touch with the issues of “now” – the lack of resources for rehab – short and long term; the unscrupulous directors of some methadone clinics – the idiocy of doctors freely writing scripts for deadly legal drugs ignoring someone’s history of abuse and on it goes. Alternately I can observe the progress of the grief journey of others and better reflect on my own.

Many families are dealing with other key life issues – unemployment, a declining parent, other children or grandchildren dealing with addiction, personal health problems. Life is complicated these days and seems to be trending towards even more complexity over time. Relationships help us maintain our sanity and humanity.

Sherry and I have a great relationship forged by shared fears and hopes. Separately we reach out to others in similar circumstances. Most importantly we know we aren’t alone on our journeys. The end points may be vastly different but along the way, life is simply better, easier, less terrifying knowing there are warm, loving hearts out in the greater world who we can call “true friend”.

Friendship matters……always and forever.

Namaste, Barbara

If Not Now, When?

                                                            September 8, 2011

When is an idea a creative spark with life force within it or just a passing thought?

Heading into the holidays in 2010, I was being dogged by a nagging inner voice to DO SOMETHING about the bias and prejudice about addiction.  Me?  Ridicules – I’m no expert on addiction.  True – I’m a mom, a sister, an aunt that has been witness to the disease of addiction and its power to destroy life and hope.  Still, it has also taught resilience, courage, curiosity and compassion.  In the face of it all, this disease should never be taken lightly.

And, yet I hear,  “Oh, it’s just a phase.  We all did it in the 60’s… how bad can it be for this generation?” Back then, were the newspapers full of articles on drugs?  Did it make the nightly news regularly?  Did we hear as often about the deaths of the famous from substance abuse?  Did we know the long term impact on the lives of millions of Americans?  Certainly “polite society” doesn’t talk about addiction other than to scoff the fool who didn’t just “get sober and stay that way.”

Sherry’s mom asks, “why didn’t I take it more seriously when she told me she was using heroin?  She was in graduate school. I didn’t like the idea but I just assumed she knew what she was doing.”  Danny’s mom says it never, ever occurred to her that he could die. She knew he was abusing drugs but die?  She was the one who found his lifeless body lying in bed in their home.  The wife of a well known, wealthy surgeon keeps repeating to herself, “this doesn’t happen in our family; we’re doctors and lawyers.  We are rich and educated; this sort of thing just doesn’t happen to us.”  Her middle son lost his battle with addiction three years before.

The quiet, the gregarious, the daring, the timid, the motivated, the complacent, the smart, the academic struggler, the depressed, the bubbly…the stories from the moms, dads, siblings and grandparents begin to have a familiar ring.  Our children are/were sensitive, caring, curious, hard working, compassionate, funny, quiet, loud and always in our hearts.

How can all these teenagers, young adults as well as older adults be all “bad”, defective, or immoral? How can their struggles with addiction be put in a tidy box labeled “warning: to not touch for fear of contamination!”  Addiction is not a communicable disease.

Today we know addiction has plagued mankind for hundreds of years.  Ignorance, snobbery, fear and perhaps not a little religious fire and brimstone has made it easy to shunt this disease aside.  Those suffering have been judged weak, foolish, lazy, and or crazy.  And so we don’t invest time in considering any deeper truth.  Stigma and ignorance prevail in all levels of government, law enforcement, research and rehab programs, in spiritual/religious communities and in our neighborhoods.

World organizations are presenting policy and positioning papers in all ways possible in this age of electronic communication. The Internet, Facebook, blogs, newspaper, websites – in print and online – are filled with articles on drugs, the impact on our borders and quality of life.

News outlets are rife with articles about the failure of Nixon’s 40 year war on drugs.  Areas of California are financially dependent on the growth and distribution of medical grade marijuana.  Clinics of questionable repute in South Florida and Houston are dispensing powerful prescription medications daily in staggering volumes.  The “street” drug industry consists of average men and women desperate to feed their families, drug lords with vast networks of distributors. In rural areas seemingly normal neighborhood houses are nothing more than illegal indoor grow farms for marijuana.  The insatiable appetite of Americans for legal and illegal drugs feeds and fuels this industry where a vast amount of money is being made.

The infrastructure of law enforcement, judicial systems, and prisons is another part of the “drug machine”.  Decades of funded research programs, rehab programs and ancillary services make up another huge investment in dealing with substance abuse.  These systems have been in place for, in many cases, decades. Yet the disease continues to spread unabated – deaths from expanding forms of substances spike up regularly.  One of the latest is the so called “bath salts”.  Sold with a wink and a nod for $80 or so, none will see anything resembling bath water.  Instead these manufactured powders are one of the fastest growing causes of death at this time.

What does this all mean for Shatter the Stigma?  If we continue thinking about the disease of addiction in the same old ways, we will never make headway in saving lives.  When I first began giving presentations about my story, parents were hungry to learn they were not alone, they were not crazy, and there is a common ground we walk upon.

When our children are alive, we share common space of hope, despair, fear, anger, embarrassment, denial. Inwardly we pray that our children will not fall victim to substances.  Asking for support is risky; we must expose our truth to a world that might judge us and our children unworthy of their prayers. We can lose jobs along with hope. We might be estranged from family and friends who judge our parenting harshly.

When our children die, we are crushed.  Some hide cause of death, others are more open.  Death is a formidable foe in this disease. The threat of death from addiction drives us to seek “the answer”; it can cause us to implode out of hopelessness.   And, then THAT phone call comes.  The call we’ve dreaded and prayed we would never get.

When Amy Winehouse died recently, Russell Brand wrote about the dreaded phone call – the one that informs us that the battle is over for a loved one.  All the calls before, the requests for money, for things, for forgiveness… from a phone booth, from jail, from the scene of a car accident…all those practice calls before “the one” we all dread.  This time it is our son or daughter or grandchild whose life has come to an end.

Finally we know…we failed to save our children. Maybe we failed to notice they needed help… the stories are varied and seemingly endless.  And so I talk and listen and listen and talk over and over – wherever I’m invited.

Over time I found myself reading anything and everything related to this disease – medical literature, the history of drug laws, and history of addiction research.  I began putting some new connections together which I then began sharing with others.  Watching parents move from despair to hope, from isolation and victimhood to proactive leaders, I realized others might be interested in what I am learning.

In yoga we have a Sanskrit word:  kula which means community. With children living or passed on – in community we can reweave our sanity into a new whole.  Together we can share resources – pools of information not yet discovered by all. We can share hope; we can offer morale support and prayers. And so it is – from nagging inner voice to a website for information to spark new ideas for hope, to broaden understanding, to invite learning opportunities – the blog for topical focus and discussion.

Please take a look around www.shatterthestigma.com – share your favorite websites, perhaps a poem or story, submit prayer requests, pictures for posting if a child has passed from this disease.  Collaborating with many others working to make a difference with the disease of addiction, I am honored to be a part of this effort.

Namaste,  Barbara

Jim and Jessie’s mom, Bill and John Roger’s sister and Amanda’s aunt.

Aprigraha – Nongreediness

All I want to do is write today; that was the plan.  It was delicious in my planning. Instead Tom waited patiently while I saw the eye doctor this morning.  Once again, winter has impacted our lives.  For me, a corneal abrasion – again.  Merely laying in bed last night, dropping into sleep when I felt the “twang” of the eruption.  Hoping it was a flake of mascara I put the icky ointment in my eye and managed to sleep.  But no, now I sport a temporary contact lens, the numbing medication is wearing off and I have added new eye medication to the cabinet.

The yoga practice this session is Aprigraha or non greediness.  When is enough… enough?  When do we choose to be with whatever shows up and let go our own expectations or need to control?

Seeing is blurry at best and I have a yoga workshop to lead tonight and class to teach in the morning.  Best laid plans and all that.  Waiting for a washer load to finish spinning, I look out at the snow and am reminded of the unexpected gift from the recent blizzard.  Ten days ago Tom and I prepared to go out once again to shovel snow.  Our schedules were completely disrupted but we had power, heat and good neighbors.  Walking out into the cul-de-sac, I suddenly was struck with the view.  This is how the roads looked when Jim and I lived in New Hampshire.

The scene before me shifted to a snowy afternoon when I decided to indulge in the tradition of knocking off work to go home instead of toughing it out.  I called Jim to say we were going cross country skiing!  He was game and the adventure was on.  Would I have remembered that wonderful, silly, fun and highly memorable afternoon without this particular storm?  Coming in the midst of my writing our story, was it a gift to have stopped to open up memories stored by once again dealing with deep snow?  Yes, in deed.

From there other thoughts tumbled out.  There was such hope then.  Jim had come through a rough patch with cocaine.  There were no needles, no herion, no “lost” times of disappearance.  Like the deep, quiet , white snow, there was hope.   I treasure this memory and love having its images flashing before my eyes even now.

So perhaps this process of writing and then  being distracted by weather and  my left cornea are part of the process.  I don’t recall reading any books on writing that talk about life interfering with the process.  Perhaps this is my version of “writers block” – so far I’ve never lacked for words to place on a page.  An inflamed cornea won’t be served with agitation or anxiety or deadlines.  Instead I’ll go practice what I teach – restorative yoga.

After all, I have a room full of students showing up later needing their own restoration from various winter ailments – stress, pain, etc. Perhaps as I lie in a supported pose, floating in bliss, a new series of memories will arise or new connections will be made to emphasis a point that is important to include.  Let’s go see what aprigraha might offer me today….

Resting pose - savasana - on a warm, sunny day in Maryland.

Time Slips Away…Writing Still!

February 2010 and I’ve dropped the ball on my blog!  With renewed intent, I invested a lot of energy in the Fall to completing several projects, to clear the path for focusing on the book.  I have learned I can not delve into this writing project while spinning away to other projects.  The writing consumes me.  Finally in late December 2009, I dove deep.  Pressing outside requests aside, I was blessed to find Kiersten.  She’s helped me organize, make sense of the order of the book.  Finally the chapters are identified, the mass of writings now organized by chapter – all this taking until the end of January, 2010.

Oh, my – I’ve written a lot; sometimes I’ve written about the same incident from different points of view.  I didn’t know how much I would be learning about perspective.  Ready to dive into cleaning up each chapter, we’ve been blessed with record breaking snows instead! Here’s our home under four feet of snow:

Should be cozy to watch it snow and write?  The reality is different – fear of losing power, periodically shoveling snow to keep accumulations manageable, recovering from shoveling and watching weather reports – all distractions.  Finally with sidewalk and drive way as clear as possible removing dangerous icicles as needed, now I can write… right?  Whoops – another snow is coming. 

Errands to run while the roads are open again but I’m anxious to write – NOW!  All that shoveling brings up new memories each captured in spurts between shoveling sessions.  Clarity… time away from the writing brings new clarity, new perspectives.  So today and tomorrow I’ll write and then see what this new snow storm brings.  That’s all I could do when Jim was alive.. take each day as it came, each circumstance as it arose. And, that’s how I write this book.

With a dedicated purpose, an open heart and with constant prayers for the highest outcome for all – that’s how I lived with Jim and his disease. This is how I am writing our story.  All in good time.

And now to feed the birds…. warm hugs to all.  Barbara

If you live it, they will find you!

Recently I did my annual trek to the wonderful little town of Yellow Springs, Ohio.  Just outside Dayton the main street looks like Sheriff Taylor and his son Opie live there.  Sheriff Taylor would no doubt be proud of the municipal building that houses the police and water departments along with a large community gym.  Every year my favorite yoga teacher, Judith Lasater, comes to infuse us with new wisdom.  Judith practices what I call “big yoga” on and off the mat – it isn’t merely about the poses but how we are in the world.

So it is a love fest of sorts as we gather, many returning over and over integrating with first-timers who come to see what she is all about.  We bring our own props.  If you know anything about yoga, this is a major deal.  Bolsters, wool blankets, blocks, straps, eye pillows, mats… the list grows every year.  As we were making sense out of 80 students jockeying “stuff” and filling every inch of the huge gym, a familiar face popped up.  Not 3 feet away was Valerie!  She had moved to Ohio a few years back and dropped off my radar.  We were quickly introduced to her traveling companions and agreed to meet for that night for dinner.

For a small town Yellow Springs has great food options!  Gathered over Peruvian appetizers and entrees, we yakked away about yoga getting to know each other and just having a great time.  Preparing to head back to our respective nooks for the night, Val asked me what was new.  I briefly mentioned I was writing a book for parents whose children have died from the disease of addiction.  Every one settled back down in their chairs.  I didn’t understand what was happening.  The silence was loud – as it can be at such times.

Tears sprang up in the eyes of the sweet woman across from me.  MariBeth has this soulful face with a beautiful smile that seems to live perpetually on her lips.  Without apology, she was just staring at me as tears dropped from her face.  The woman to my left, ultra slender with life weary eyes, was looking down, jaw clenched, hands twisting her napkin.  Yikes – did I step into a rattlers’ nest?

“Well,” I thought, “that was a show stopper!” Judi had traveled with me from home and knows my story.  Then MariBeth began to tell about the recent death of her manager’s son.  Struggling with the disease of addiction, the 24 year old died in a car accident. The whole office was distressed. They held this woman tenderly and were not sure how to help her.  She began asking questions.

Never one to hesitate giving an opinion, I answered them as quickly as they came.  This turned into a quiet and powerful conversation amongst the five of us – how to be present to someone in deep emotional turmoil.  Tired yet feeling bonded, we stood once again to leave.  As the others turned away from the table, Beverly pulled me aside.  “Thank you.”   She had tears in her eyes.  Outside away from the others she told me that her son has this disease.  She has been fearful of telling anyone – shame, guilt, rage, fear – all the things we feel when we can’t help or seem to “control” this disease.  She was surprised to hear me speak so openly about my son and the wonderful group of parents I’m connected with.  Asking for my card, she told me, “You’ve given me hope.”

Since returning from Yellow Springs, I’ve heard from both mothers; sent wristbands for their respective families.  What are the odds that I travel to a town whose population visibly swells when 80 yogis show up and just happen to meet two people with such stories?  Sadly it is far too easy. Take a chance… share a window of your reality.  There is nothing to lose… you’ve already experienced the worst.  Give someone hope and a little love.

Hugs of gratitude, Barbara

Writing Your Own Book?

How hard can it be to write about your own life?  Do you have this idea?  I’ve journaled most of my life – handwritten scribbles and neatly typed logs.  When Carla Moore innocently asked me if I had written a book at the Oklahoma conference for TCF, I was stunned.  My husband, Tom, had been urging me to do so for some time.  Writing privately for my own memories was one thing.  As I looked around the room at the tear stained faces nodding encouragement, I began to think maybe I could do this.  Maybe I should do this.

Sitting on the floor of Barnes & Noble books piled around me I realized that I was not just doing something autobiographical but specifically a memoir.  Wow, that sounded pretty fancy!  I came home with:

• Writing About Your Life: A Journey into the Past, by William Zinsser

• The Autobiographer’s Handbook: The 826 National guide to Writing Your Memoir, edited by Jennifer Traig
• The Memoir Book by Patti Miller

Nearby also sits my thesaurus and dictionary.  The more I read the more daunting the task seemed.  Meantime I knew others were writing to be published and I started feeling like I was in a race.  I flip flopped like a fish newly landed in the bottom of Jim’s canoe.  Mentally slapping myself into sanity, I realized there is no race.  When it gets done, it gets done.  There is no competition.  Very few books written by parents whose children have died of this disease have been published.

Most recently we have Pamela Palmer Mutino’s Swish:  Maria in the Mourning.  Based on her play, the book gives readers a sense of the emotionality described by those who’ve seen the play or clips on uTube.

Helen Dement is nearing completion of her book about her beautiful daughter Melanie’s battle with alcoholism. Mel’s struggle lasted 20 years.   Currently in Africa on a mission to aid children, stay tuned for an update from Helen.

Another bereaved parent and dear friend, Chuck Collins, recently completed and published his book, “Holding Onto Love:  Searching for Hope When a Child Dies”. This is an “everything you might want to consider when a child dies” kind of book.  Chuck’s daughter died from a rapid onset of disease unrelated to substances.  His experience as a TCF Chapter Leader/Regional Coordinator, former police chief and attorney makes this an excellent book to gift any parent struggling with the loss of a child. And, all proceeds after expenses go directly to The Compassionate Friends.  Chuck is a blessing in many ways.

There are many books written by recovered/recovering addicts.  My favorite is John Carr’s, The Night of the Gun. The next “recovering addict” book for me to read is High:  Confessions of an International Drug Smuggler, by Brian O’Dea.  Also on my reading pile is The Fix by Michael Massing.  The book is about the state of dealing with the problem of drugs in the US…  Not a flattering profile.

Okay, friends. There are some suggested readings.  Read, read and keep reading; it helps the writing process.  Now I must go teach a yoga class.  Thank goodness for my sanity fix of yoga!

Be well!  Barbara

Hi, I’m Barbara Allen, Author?

On March 19, 2003 my son Jim lost his battle with the disease of addiction.  He died from an overdose of heroin and alcohol.  At 35, he struggled with this disease for 21 years. Our life together is the joyous and abrasive material that grew me up in many ways.  He continues to be my greatest teacher and inspiration.  I’ve been writing “stuff” for as long as I can remember; but writing a whole book?  Perhaps a touch of insanity but here I am… another new beginning.  I’m learning a lot about the dynamics of writing such a deeply personal memoir. For the longest time I didn’t realize this is a memoir – naive?  Sure! Beginner’s Mind is a state of naïveté, a new blank slate.

Speaking at a conference a few years back, I wasn’t sure anyone would want to come together to talk about these kinds of death, much less the struggles that lead to them.  Since then I’ve met so many wonderful parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents and siblings – all in pain from the death of a beloved one to this disease.  Many have expressed a desire to write their own stories.

Ours is an experience that is hidden from the general public by shame, fear and deep pain.  I’m writing this book to get our untold stories out there – what we went through, what our children went through, what we learned.  Most of all I’m writing to celebrate the kind, amazing people our children were before and throughout their years of life with this disease.  Many parents have written to tell me their stories and I believe that through sharing, we can get our kids back.

Whether our journey with addiction was brief or unfolded over several decades, there are lessons learned that may help others.  Perhaps the parent now deal with this disease in their own child… perhaps the person struggling with recovery… are there ways to help each other?

Through this blog I will share progress on the book and tips I’m learning about writing a book that might help others with their own book.  Please write in with your feedback and stories.   I’m also doing brief questionnaires for parents and recovering addicts in order to show the common experiences we’ve all had.  Look for a post in the coming days for the links to these.  Thanks to all who have sent pictures and stories. Keep them coming! Every one inspires me and reminds me of the toll this disease takes on heart, body and soul.  Please take good care of your hearts – you matter to the world!

Hugs of gratitude,  Barbara Allen