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
