Out of the Ashes
In Greek mythology the phoenix is a bird that is reborn out of the ashes. I feel a lot like the phoenix. When my son died of a drug overdose in 2011, I went through so many emotions. The first was shock. I absolutely could not grasp what had happened. There was no way it could be real. I went through the motions of laying my son to rest in a fog. I was a robot doing as told by others and watching as an outsider. If you ask me who was at the funeral or who came to my house afterward, I can’t tell you because I don’t remember. What I can remember are flowers, lots of flowers, and my dearest friends and family guiding me through the days. I remember sitting on my back patio and looking up at the stars in the sky. I picked out a star that would be mine and Andy’s. I needed to be alone with the thoughts running through my head, thoughts like, “Please come back! Don’t leave me!” My life after that can be divided into chapters.
“The Walking Dead”
In this chapter my existence (I can’t call it a life) was one of devastation, hopelessness and despair. I described myself as the walking dead. I looked alive, I moved about in the world, but I was actually dead and just going through the motions. I was a shell of the person I once was. I kept a journal during those early days. Here is an excerpt that gives you a glimpse into my state of mind: “I could barely drag myself out of bed this morning because I was so depressed. My eyes were all swollen from crying last night. My throat hurts from crying so hard. I just want to be with you. I cross the street without looking. Who cares? Hope I get hit by a truck so I can be with you again. This isn’t living. This is Hell.”
“Who Am I?”
In this chapter of my life, I wondered, “Who am I now? I have always been Andy’s mom. He was my life. I have no purpose. I don’t understand why I am still here because I have no purpose.” I was lost and lonely. Walking down the cereal aisle at the grocery store was unbearable. I would just stand there and cry, and I didn’t care who saw me. Eventually I just avoided that aisle altogether. I don’t eat cereal anymore. When you lose a child, you lose your sense of self. You feel useless and unneeded. Life becomes meaningless. I also felt terribly cheated, especially since he was my only child. I wouldn’t get to have grandchildren or see him marry the love of his life, find a great career and so on. This was a low point for me.
“As If”
I tried to pull myself together. I had to go to work and be productive. I had to find something to live for. I decided to act “as if” I was happy. At first I pretended because I felt like I needed to be professional at my job. I smiled at work. When people asked how I was, I said, “Fine.” I was not fine, I was devastated, but I didn’t feel that I could show it anymore. I felt guilty for actually feeling joy. What right did I have to be happy when my son didn’t get to enjoy life? However I promised myself that I would try to take care of myself, try to feel normal and try to find any glimpse of joy I could in the sun on my face, a flower or my dog. I asked myself, if it had been me that died, would I want Andy to grieve the rest of his life away? Of course I wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t want that for me either. It would probably hurt him to see me sad and lifeless. I didn’t want to hurt him so I looked for joy in small moments, and eventually I found them. Over time I found them more and more often. I still carried my grief like a load of bricks, but the load became lighter over time.
“I Find Heroes in Recovery”
This is a really great chapter. I was ready to find meaning and purpose in my life again, and I wanted to make Andy proud and make his beautiful spirit live on beyond his time here on earth. He suffered from the stigma of addiction. The stigma kept him from joining a support group and finding strength in others who have walked the same road and found happiness. He just couldn’t admit that he was an addict, and he believed going to meetings would confirm he was an addict. Stigma and its shame helped kill my boy. I went on the Internet and researched stigma and addiction. What I found was Heroes in Recovery, a wonderful movement that works to remove the stigma of addiction and show people how great life can be sober. I submitted my own story. It felt good to know that I could possibly help someone else by telling my story. I also noticed that they were looking for lead advocates to help spread the word. I applied, and they accepted!
“Joy Returns”
In this chapter my new purpose came to be. I got to work with a fantastic group of people helping those like Andy seek help and find joy again. Being with them and working toward this common goal brought my joy and purpose roaring back. I rose out of the ashes. If I can save one parent from the devastation I suffered, Andy’s life will not be in vain. If I can convince one person to seek help, Andy’s life will not be in vain. I became an activist without even knowing it. I constantly strive to change the way addiction is viewed. Addiction is a disease, proven through science, and needs to be treated as such. I feel true joy again, and I know I have an important job to do. I owe it to Andy.
“Epilogue”
The final chapter is really important. I look forward to the day when people with addictions can shamelessly seek help and easily find it. I will dedicate the rest of my life to this purpose. Slowly but surely things are beginning to change. People are beginning to talk about addiction. It is my belief that people like my son and Philip Seymour Hoffman help bring about change through their deaths. I have a profound responsibility to continue the work that they started by losing the gift of life. If you have found sobriety, you have a profound responsibility too. Please help us in this important mission by sharing your story in one of two ways:
- Go to Heroes in Recovery and enter your story. Say Pam sent you.
- Message me on Facebook – Pamela Katchuk and we can talk in person or you can text me your story.
In love and light,
Pam