The deadly business of addiction.
I received a call from a friends ex-girlfriend letting me know that he had died. He was forty one. The weight of the news didn’t sink in for a few hours. In fact I found myself in disbelief. I couldn’t accept the news third hand since his ex- explained that she had heard it from a family friend. I called the Health and Human Services department to confirm it. Initially they had no record which fed my suspicious and disbelieving mind. My friend had some pending legal troubles and a huge student loan debt and I hoped he had skipped town. I hoped that he crossed the southern boarder fleeing the country to start over. I didn’t share that fantasy, except with a couple of trusted allies, while arranging a memorial service for him. The denial of his death lasted until I called the Vital Records office more than two weeks later when they confirmed his death. That this childlike man, who was so exuberant, was gone hit me full force when I found his pictures on Facebook. I wept.
This guy had been wrestling with addiction on and off for years when he asked for my help. I was glad to try. He shared his story which included family dysfunction, codependent lover relationships and a student loan debt the size of an unfinished medical degree. His ravenous need for connection and attention made me nervous. When he pressed his cold ear against my cheek in a hug I grew uncomfortable. I set limits for myself by limiting our time together to recovery work. I’ve always been suspicious of those who say they love me after one or two meetings. However, over the course of two years my affection and respect for him grew.
He invited me to hear him speak and I was thrilled to hear him carry a spiritual message of hope. He was so light hearted and poetic that I feared his spiritual life lacked grounding. I chose not to be the dream killer by popping his balloon of innocence and love. Around that time he decided to pursue a teaching credential in Yoga. It was there that I believe he found his “calling”. He was able to build a community of friends who loved and admired him. Toward the end, after he had drank again, he always described teaching yoga as a time of pure freedom and joy. He had seemed to be on an upward trajectory, but while traveling abroad, I read a face book post about a car accident and a three day medically induced coma. Upon my return, I tried to reach out to him but his voice mail was full and he didn’t answer my text messages. For those of us working in recovery that behavior generally indicates a worst case scenario. After a week or so, he did get back to me via text message to let me know that my suspicions of his relapse were well founded. I’d imagine that he felt profound shame and guilt for being an imperfect man who struggled with recovery when all he could say was, “I’m sorry.”
Over the next couple of weeks he sporadically stayed in contact with me letting me know that he had started support group meetings and was admitted to a detox facility. He reinforced his love of yoga and the fear of his pending court date. He was looking at two years for his third felony DUI with time with injuries. What we also know about addiction is that no matter how much I might have wanted his stability and success, no matter how much his family and friends wished for the same thing, sometimes our efforts and prayers are insufficient. All anecdotal evidence suggest that he died of a “speed ball” an overdose of heroin and cocaine which is taken intravenously. I’m also guessing that many of the questions I’m wrestling with through my sadness are questions others are asking themselves; did I do everything I could? Did I miss something? Should I have sought him out? Would it have made a difference? I do know that to get to acceptance I want to ask his forgiveness for all that I didn’t know to say, for the actions I didn’t know how to take, for being an imperfect person who didn’t have the power to save him.