What if My Addicted Daughter Were to Die Tomorrow?

Hi Everyone!

All five people who read this! Haha - I'm kidding. Well, not really, but I'm okay if even just one person reads this. In a way, it's like a journal I guess. Or, like getting together with friends... I can't tell too many people about it, like on Facebook right now, because I am trying to protect my daughter. Maybe not her feelings so much, but yes, in a way. Also, her reputation. Because I am a mother who believes that someday her child will shed the ugly mask of her addiction and live the beautiful life that she so badly deserves. And, of course, there is the cya of life. Cover.Your.Ass. It's reality.

So this brings me to today's topic. I'm going to get right to it because it's a very heavy thing I've been carrying around with me for all this time: what if my addicted daughter were to die tomorrow. Or, today for that matter? What happens when somebody calls an ambulance and the EMT says something about a junkie who overdosed? What happens when she overdoses and someone leaves her there - dying - because they are too scared to get busted themselves?

It happens. Every single day. Multiple times a day. And this is what I live with. This is what breaks my heart in the dark of night. This and this alone is what keeps me praying for my child, what keeps my hot tears landing on my pillowcase when I should be sleeping. It is what makes this post so hard to write. 


I've written about how my daughter's addiction affects me, and yesterday, I wrote about How I've lost me. But, what I'm writing about today I think hits me closer to home than anything else I've written. Because these are the things I think at night when I'm feeling grateful for all else, I'm also praying that my daughter's addiction hasn't taken away her potential to be grateful for beautiful things in her life.

I'm not going to use subheadings in this post. In fact, I might not make sense, but this morning I saw a post by someone who has no idea about heroin addiction. She wanted to know what was causing so many overdoses. That's fine, but when she went on in her comment about an acquaintance who had overdosed and left three children behind. Tragic, to be sure. She said she was sick of it. Uh - yeah - let's talk baby. You don't know sick of it.

What really got me, though, was all the accusations. It was the dehumanization of heroin addiction. People who have no idea about the reality of a heroin addiction tossing their opinions around like they actually matter. To who? To me? It's all bs to me and my daughter. The reality is something far more complex, and more heartbreaking. 

This got me thinking of what people would say of my beautiful daughter if she were to lose her life to an overdose. In the comments of this one person's post, there were accusations that people who are addicted to heroin don't care what it's cut with. I can tell you that this is not true. For a real addict, the idea of dying isn't appealing. The idea of maintaining is. Keeping from getting sick, being able to function... That's what a real addict is thinking. Sometimes, they are looking for the next big high, but often it's just about getting their hands on something inexpensive and helpful.

So, what would people say about my addicted daughter if we were at her funeral? More to the point, would I even have a funeral? Why humiliate her in death when she's been plagued by something so demoralizing in life? Where is the kindness or love in that?

See, here's the thing - we are all looking for someone to blame for our loved one's addictions. When it's your kid, you want to blame everyone from the dealer to the pharmaceutical companies to - my personal favorite - the parents.

Here's a newsflash: I'm not addicted to drugs. I mean, I don't even take antibiotics. Yes, I drink occasionally, but most of the time I'm thinking about having to write - and I don't write well when I've had a couple beers. I like to go out and have fun in a healthy, responsible way. I wouldn't even buy my daughter or her friends cigarettes when they weren't 18. I don't do drugs. I have only smoked pot about three times - each time resulted in puking my poor guts out. So, suffice it to say, I'm not interested.

When someone would offer any kind of drug, my response was always, "Will it make me puke?" I hate throwing up. One time, at a concert, somebody put something in my beer. Now, I can promise you, nothing crosses my lips that I have not personally seen delivered to my hand from the bartender. Except when it comes from a few select people who I trust. 

I am not trash, I am not poor. I work my butt off. I am one of the few people I know who still has a marriage, and is happy for it. We are not perfect, we are not rich, but we are solidly middle class. Yes, I was young when my oldest daughter was born, but I did not neglect her. I did not withhold love or my time from her. In fact, she was my sunshine when nobody else was.

Here's a true story: when I was pregnant with my youngest daughter, I cried for her because I believed that there was no way I could love her as much as I love my oldest. I remember one of my friends laughing gently because it seemed like such an off the wall worry.

My husband is not my oldest daughter's biological father, but he has been more of a dad, and a better dad then her dad could ever be. Before my husband, it was my dad. So, when people say, "what kind of parents does she have," I invite them to spend some time with me. Then you'll see.

I know that people think my daughter comes from some despair laden, depressing, dark and dirty home. I know that people believe that her family is dirty and poor. Maybe our house smells like grease and smoke and dog feces. Maybe I'm missing my teeth and uneducated. Yep. For sure.

This is what I mean when I tell people that addiction is so misunderstood. We think it's only for"trash," and when people become addicted, it's like we forget that they are human. They are people. My daughter is a precious person that I made from scratch. She's not perfect, but none of us are. She pisses me off like no other, but she's mine. Mine.

If my addicted daughter were to die tomorrow, I would be absolutely devastated. That's the truth of it. While others are speculating about why there are so many heroin addiction deaths, I'm praying that my child not be one of them. So are lots and lots of others, and we aren't bad parents. We are a group of hidden people who you wouldn't know if we didn't' tell you. 

I guess what I'm saying is that we all need to be a little more aware. Maybe it wasn't your child, but it could have been. Before you hand out a Lortab to my child to help her with cramps, think about the possible effects - we'll talk about this later, though. When you see someone starting - even starting behaviors that look shady - tell their family if you know them. If not, feel free to do what you can. I'll tell you, I wish someone would have kicked the hell out of my daughter when they saw what she was starting instead of walking away and considering her a lost cause. 

Anyway. This might be considered a rant. I'm hoping, though, that someone who reads this gets that I'm here with you. I'm hanging onto this cliff of doubt and worry with you. But I'm also trying to take each day for what it is. I'm thankful for each time I see my addicted daughter functioning because that's another chance for her to make a good decision. I'm grateful that God watches over her enough to keep her from dying, or getting sick.

I'm also working to find acceptance with the situation. For me, knowing that I am always ready and dropping hints, and loving her, and feeding her when she needs, as well as offering non-judgmental emotional support has to be good enough. Maybe it's not the route that others would take, but for me, it works. I couldn't have something happen to my child and know that I had cut her out of my life. I never want her to worry that I wasn't there.

It hurts me, for sure, but in some ways, maybe it saves her from herself. I hope it does.

Thanks for reading everyone!