Noel
At 35, Noel was on a great path after being clean for a long time. He was in an accelerated nursing program, was a daddy to a beautiful daughter, and had everything to live for. But then COVID-19 hit, and his mom, Kathleen, feels that it had a lot to do with his relapse since he was alone and studying virtually. Isolation is not good for anyone suffering from this disease and so many more people are meeting the same fate at this time, she said. Kathleen remembers her son with the following sentiment she wrote soon after Noel passed away in May 2020: Can’t Imagine by Kathleen When my kids were small I always thought I could never imagine what my life would be like if one of them died. I still can’t imagine it because I didn’t lose him just once. I lose him every day—over and over again. I lost him when I said goodbye and hugged his empty body- my warm tears falling on his cold face. I lose him every morning I wake up And remember he isn’t here. I lose him when I come out of a dream where I meet his eyes. I lose him when I reach for the phone to tell him something funny like his brother isn’t happy with his new tattoo or that I love him. I can’t imagine surviving the loss of a child Because it’s not one big final loss, but a thousand losses every day. I can’t imagine tomorrow, the next day, The next week, month or year, because I haven’t lost him to that time yet. There is no describing the impossible even while you are living it. My glass will never be half full or half empty again. The glass is broken—shattered and scattered in a thousand pieces. Grief is a thousand pieces. It doesn’t come just once for a moment in time- It just keeps coming and coming and coming. A cold, dark tsunami that I am inside of forever. I still can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child Because grief gets in the middle of the fact and I am light years away from believing it. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child even though I have lost one because the cold, hard truth is unimaginable even while you are in it. I lose him over and over again. With every tear that falls, with every breath that’s so hard to take. I lose him every time I see his empty chair at the table. I lose him every time I pass his room and see his empty shoes. I lose him every time I look in the mirror where he once saw himself And see a mother I do not recognize. I will never be able to imagine the loss of a child because it isn’t a place you get to where you say, “I’m surviving without my sweet boy.” Like the same two waves never reach the same shore. It comes and comes and comes and washes over me every day and every day I am different. You lose your child but you never lose the loss. The dark storms of grief never let up so you try to learn to wade through the waters of the rest of your life, not imagining what it’s like to lose a child, but imagining what your life would be like if you didn’t. If you would like to tell your story about an overdose death, please contact Susan Claire at grievingoverdosedeath@gmail.com http://grievingoverdosedeath.libsyn.com/ Music provided by La Atlántida