- Drugs
- Faith
On February 18, 2011 at approximately 6:00pm, a Tecumseh city officer arrived at my door. He asked me if I was Elizabeth and if I had a daughter named Raven. My first response was to think, “What has she done now?” He started saying, “At approximately 4:19pm, we were notified of a deceased white female.” I interrupted before he could finish, “No, she is in drug rehab. Maybe someone took her wallet. Was it a car accident? Are you sure?” He told me that they were sure and that they had positively identified her.
Earlier that afternoon, an overwhelming sense of weariness and a need to pray came over me. My six-year-old son and I prayed together briefly for health and a hedge of protection for our entire family, especially Raven. I told G-d that I would pray more intensely for Raven later. It was then that the power went out for two hours as a horrific ice storm began. Phone lines and power went out all over our area. My husband had left that Friday to go ice fishing. What I did not realize until much later was how long that kind police officer stayed with me. I screamed for at least a half hour, pounded the floor and screamed some more. Initially, I could not contact anyone. It was Friday night after all. My husband’s cell phone wasn’t working as far north as he was on a frozen lake. We both thought we had a reprieve with Raven staying in rehab, but the nightmare only continued and amplified in the days that followed. The tears flow as I write.
In the county I live in, it is a rule that parents are not allowed to see their children who have passed. Apparently, some selfish parent once sued the county for allowing such a thing because he or she was too traumatized. I had to make some serious threats to be able to see my daughter before she was embalmed. G-d bless the person who made that possible. When I saw her, I began to realize how many lies I was told. The shock began to course through every part of my body, but I was determined to behave like a lady, no matter what. I wanted them to see the potential that was stolen from this world with the loss of a beautiful, gifted and blossoming young woman who had already begun to change. Raven was making significant changes. She was my little girl, my precious Raven. I felt like a piece of my heart was ripped from my body. I still feel a void in that place, and it can’t be replaced. I still cry every day. Since then, my life has caused a ripple effect and a domino effect. My life is now divided into two parts: before Raven died and after Raven died. No matter what anyone says, I know there was foul play involved. I am not the only one who thinks it or believes it, but that is another story.
The trauma continues today. I actually heard the siren that went off for my beloved daughter. Every time I hear a siren now, I jump and I am re-traumatized. It takes me right back to that day when I unknowingly heard the siren that was for my daughter. In addition to that, all roads that lead away from my house are filled with ever-present reminders of my daughter such as the mausoleum, the church, the high school and the place where that b****d who hooked my daughter lives. Those crooked, lying people think no one knows who they are, but we know, and not all of us are asleep. They are dragons who need to be slain and consumed by the fire of hell. If there is a G-d, that is exactly where they will be damned forever. On many days, my faith has been so shaken and tested that I feel nothing but emptiness and despair. Some people are so lucky. They may run to faith after their trauma because they really didn’t know G-d before they lost their children. However, I always had faith. So rather than feeling tested, I often feel betrayed. I have changed my prayers. I now beg Him, “Dear G-d, tell me what it is that You want me to do so that I can do it. Please have mercy on me and give me the desire of my heart, which is justice.” I also know that my Raven would have given her life to save others, which is probably the reason I made three significant promises to her when she died.
Some days, I am stronger. I have made friends online who have saved my life. I did attempt suicide at one point. I was maliciously and falsely accused of something. At that time, I was so pissed at G-d. I thought, “No f*****g way! Is this your idea of a cosmic joke?” After that, I had my manic phase. I consider that to be the best phase of coping with grief. I still get lucky and have those phases from time to time. I stayed busy, thinking that it would keep me from thinking about Raven. I was also trying to be a super mom and started a foundation in Raven’s memory: the Raising H.E.L.L. (heroin’s evil lies and liaisons) for R.A.V.E.N. (radicals avenging victims entrenched by narcotics/opiates) Foundation. I apologize for the self-promotion, but it’s the truth and it’s a part of the journey. That’s one of the three promises I made to her, so I had to mention it.
This tale of misery and despair doesn’t end there. Maybe it doesn’t ever really end. Heroin is an evil drug, straight from the devil himself. It works against a mother’s every natural instinct. Until recently, there weren’t many resources out there for treatment or awareness, especially in my area. People often view this as a dirty and shameful drug. I know now that one of the biggest mistakes that any parent can make is to be ashamed of a child’s heroin use. That is this drug’s best trick. Do whatever you can to put yourself between your child and this drug. The earlier you catch it, the better chance your child has of living a healthy life. My philosophy is that knowing is half the battle. That’s why I preach in favor of “aggressive awareness.” My style may offend some, but my feeling is that I am more offended by others’ ignorance and judgment and by the fact that our children are dying! If you are one of the Bible-thumping Christians who have yelled and thrown things at me and my volunteers, you haven’t read your Bible very well. I intend to send this demon straight back to hell where it came from and where it belongs!
From the onset, I knew there was no way I could bury my daughter. I briefly considered cremation, but then that gnawing feeling of foul play just would not go away. I didn’t give a flying f**k how much it would cost. The only solution was to choose a mausoleum, and maintain the thought that her body may possibly need to be exhumed. This is raw, but it’s the real me. Death is as real as it gets. I am a member of a club that I don’t want to belong to and I want to revoke my membership. You don’t have a clue unless it has happened to you. There still are some people who say and do some of the most cold-hearted, malicious and stupid things. These things have taken a toll on my grief and my marriage. My son has suffered. Was losing my daughter not enough? There is so much resentment. It took until Mother’s Day weekend of last year for me to get the faceplate finished for the mausoleum. I was a neurotic b***h about it. Some people didn’t understand how hard that was for me. It made it too real for me to see her name on it.
The funeral director was a very kind man. I remember that he very politely asked, “What do you want to tell people?” My response was, “I want to tell the truth. I am not ashamed of my daughter. I have never been ashamed of her and I’m not going to start now.” He smiled. There were many difficult and poignant moments before and during the funeral. My husband asked for a lock of Raven’s hair and insisted his name be put down on the death certificate. The day of the funeral, my cousin’s little grandson asked, “When is the princess going to wake up?” My knees nearly buckled when I heard that. I would have blown my head off as soon as the officer left had it not been for my son. No parent should ever have to pick out a casket for his or her child. A woman who works at the funeral home said, “She knew I would pick out that casket.” Ironically, I also said that, “Raven is saying, ‘No mom, go with this one.” At the meal after the funeral, the casket was too tall to fit in the slot at the mausoleum. My response to the funeral director told to me by him was the same as my father’s, “Typical, Raven always has to be a pain in the a**.” I dropped my head and began to cry because I just couldn’t watch that lid close again, but we all had to get back up and watch it be blessed again.
There is so much more I could say. Raven’s voice, along with my voice and the voices of others who have been touched by addiction, is why I have established the foundation. Every time I see butterflies, I think of her. A dear friend, who also lost her son to this evil drug, told me that butterflies are the international symbol of grieving mothers. This was unknown to me so it brought me another change in perspective. I insisted on white roses at Raven’s funeral because they mean “worthy.” Not too long ago, I was awoken from a dream in which Raven’s hands were giving me a white rose. This year for Christmas, I intend to buy my son an American Girl doll in Raven’s image that uses a part of the lock of her hair my husband requested.
My best to you all,
Elizabeth