My Life Turned Upside-Down

Grief has changed me. I grieve my son Alex, who would be 27-years-old. On April 3, 2020, he died from an accidental Fentanyl poisoning, a new tragic source of death for many people, who buy drugs or substances from the street or on-line. Drug cartels in China and Mexico find ways to channel that deadly substance into our country. 

Alex was going through a medically supervised detox program for his addiction to Xanax. He wanted nothing more than to have his life back. And, of course, he had a long and challenging journey ahead of him. But then unbearably stressful events happened, one time too many, and he needed relief.  Alex relapsed and bought substances that were unknowingly laced with Fentanyl.

Being confronted with the sudden, cold, and incomprehensible reality of having lost my son, my only child, is impossible to fathom. I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom when the coroner’s office called me. The moment I heard the officer’s voice identifying herself, I knew. “Is Alex dead?”, I asked before she told me the news. The next moments felt like a vacuum of time, a void, as if everything were standing still. My brain could not translate the extent of what was happening. 

I sat four more hours on the same spot of the floor, making phone calls to all those I wanted to share this devastating news with. I was in shock, and I needed to know that I was not alone. 

In the weeks after Alex’s passing, I found myself moving slow and heavy. My typical walking pace is rather fast, but I was unable to go faster, even when I tried. I walked almost daily to move the unbearable energy and keep it from eating me up alive. At some point, I realized I was walking as if I carried a ton of weight with me. Everything around me felt different than it had before: the sky, the trees, the beautiful landscape. I saw the beauty, but I felt betrayed by it. How is it possible that all of it seemed unchanged while my inner landscape was torn apart? How come, I wondered, that others are able to walk around as if nothing happened? The world has lost an amazing young man, my son, and nothing had changed on the outside. That experience felt disturbing, and it was unbearable to witness the continuation of life, when my life, indeed, seemed to have stopped. People were driving, going to stores, and shopping for the weekend, all coming and going, getting up in the morning to start a new day. My mornings were clouded by an intense sadness, confusion, and the numbness to it all. 

Why did the world not stop with Alex’s passing? 

While I felt as if thrown out of a boat in the middle of a vast and wild ocean, I needed to find ways to stay afloat and not drown. A few days after Alex’s passing, I looked up grief counselors, grief groups and books. I was used to being resourceful, but now I was desperate and needed real help and guidance. What I wanted was someone to hold my hand and guide me through this gut-wrenching and soul-stirring journey, and at times I still do.  I felt alone. Looking back, I am surprised by how fast I established a support system. I was eagerly awaiting the weekly sessions with my therapist; they felt like a buoy to hold on to for the time being. Those meetings became my outlet for crying, sharing my total desperation, and sense of aloneness as well as being heard and reassured.  Sometimes it was more crying than talking. And over time, I began to join various grief support groups, some for parents who lost a child and others for any kind of loss. Meeting other parents was especially important because it is only they who understand and “know “this pain that others cannot. This deeply shared experience bonds and connects people who might never have met otherwise; a tribe that no one ever wants to belong to, but one which becomes a life saver. Meeting with others, who are living through the same nightmare of child loss, seems to make the unbearable more bearable. Listening to everyone’s stories, reflecting, and simply holding each other’s pain, knowing we are not alone, has provided me with a weekly anchor, one that allows for sharing my fears and vulnerabilities while echoing a sense of safety.

In the first year I would not go to bed without reading one of various grief books. One other grieving mom generously shared her long list of over 30 grief books she read. I ordered a handful all at once. Before going to sleep, I needed to find out how others managed the unbearable. Renowned grief expert and author, David Kessler, speaks from his own lived experience of losing his son in Finding meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief, one of a few excellent books I continue to use as a resource. “All of us get broken in some way. What matters is how we get up and put the pieces back together again”, he writes. David understands grief from the inside out and wants to help others to not stay stuck in it. After all, grief is extremely powerful and complex, and it can become a spring- board for change.

I was looking for soothing words that not only reassured me, but also gave me hope. Hope for something I did not know what it was, maybe less pain, and maybe meaning. I continue to be on this path of finding meaning and whatever it is that supports my healing from here on.

My son’s passing has changed me. It has changed different facets of my human-being-ness, and I may not yet know to what extent this change will show up. As a mother, who loves unconditionally with an open heart, it is now my life’s work to allow my never-ending and expanding love for Alex to guide me to new shores. My therapist shared with me during one session that she can see Alex’s light vibrate through me. This was reassuring, as I indeed feel the love between the two of us guiding me. 

I have tapped deeper into the “don’t sweat the small stuff” approach to life. For the last year, I have had the need to spend time alone and allow silence, solitude and reflections, including time for journaling, sleeping, meditating, nature walks and dialogues with my son, or just doing nothing productive. Rilke’s so beautifully written words in his book Letters to a Young Poet, resonated with me. “During our vigil in the depths, we are being prepared for the great work of loving again”. 

While I wish nothing more than for Alex to be here among us, I feel a deep calling to find a new path, a new direction. And I know that the time in this vigil of grief, my soul sanctuary, is necessary in order to move forward. 

I have begun to see some light. The light of hope, even some joy. Writing has become very meaningful for me. It is a way to process, reflect, express and learn from my own words. Hopefully, in sharing my journey’s progression, I will reach others, ignite their desire to share, or help them find some peace or reassurance.

I know I am not alone in my experience, even when it sometimes feels like I am. My wish for all who have experienced devastating loss, is that each will find some wisdom, insights and, maybe some meaning, which will make life worthwhile, despite, through and with the loss.  

Grief has changed me. 

And, unexpectedly, it has given me a new sense of hope. 

Hope for new possibilities.

Hope for making a difference.

Written on: 07/28/2021