- Drugs
My son Anthony died from heroin on May 31, 2014. He was 24 years old. Almost immediately and almost without discussing it, my wife and I both decided we wanted to “go public” with the cause of his death. His obituary began:
Anthony F died Saturday May 31, 2014 at his home. He had lost his battle with addiction.
In the days immediately following Anthony’s death, when friends and neighbors called or visited, the phrase I heard most frequently after the obligatory, “Sorry for your loss” was, “I have a (child, cousin, nephew, friend) struggling with heroin addiction.” It was a real eye-opener as to how prevalent heroin was in my white, suburban, middle-class neighborhood.
Knowing that many young people, both friends of Anthony and of his younger brother, would be in attendance at his funeral, I felt led to address what I called the mantra of the young: “It’s my life, and I’ll do what I want. I’m only hurting myself.” This is part of what I said in Anthony’s eulogy:
Every time another young person says, “It’s my life,” Satan smiles.
“It’s my life, and I’ll do what I want.” Yes of course you will, but your actions have consequences and sometimes your mistakes are irreversible.
“I’m only hurting myself.” Really? I wish I had words strong enough and true enough to convince you of the staggering selfishness of that remark and how wrong it is.
Almost exactly one week ago, my lips were pressed against Anthony’s cold, pale lips, trying desperately to breathe air into lungs too full of fluid to receive it. For the last week, his mother has carried one of Anthony’s unwashed shirts around with her, holding it to her face so she can smell him. She sleeps in his bed with his shirt and a framed photograph of Anthony. Everywhere she turns something else reminds her of Anthony. The leftovers from the last food he bought, food that was a very big thing with Anthony. The stale remnants of the last soda he ever drank. She wants to die so she can see her firstborn again.
But hey, it’s your life. Do what you want, but before you ever again dare say, “I’m only hurting myself,” look at your mother, look up the word “inconsolable” and remember Anthony’s mother.
On June 8, 2014, the day after Anthony’s funeral, I posted the eulogy I delivered on my Facebook wall along with a picture of Anthony taken just a few weeks before he died, hoping it might strike a chord that hadn’t yet been struck with some addict somewhere. Since then I have posted it I everywhere I can think of, on dozens of private and public Facebook pages.
Many people shared it. Some of their friends shared it, and some of their friends. The last time I checked, it had been shared over 8,000 times. I’ll spare you the math discussion, but the power of social media means that it has probably been seen by well over one million people and counting.
Somehow it reached “Abby.” On June 12, 2014, I received the following private message:
Your son died on my birthday. I just turned 23, and I have been addicted to heroin since I was 17. I don’t want to ruin my mother’s life by dying. But I can’t stop.
We messaged back and forth. She gave me her phone number, and we talked. Eventually she agreed to join a private Facebook group I created for addicts and their families. She has shared her story and become a strong leader. Abby has been clean for over four months now. Detoxing was rough. Because of some previous bad experiences, she refused to go to a clinic, choosing instead to detox on her own with the help of her best friend. She relapsed a number of times, but each time she got back up and went right back to the hard work of regaining her sobriety. She knows she is not “cured.” She knows she has to work to stay clean every single day, but she is determined to do it, and I believe she will. Recently Abby told me that reading Anthony’s eulogy was her “breaking point.”
Then there is “Catherine,” a single mom with a young daughter, a recovering pill addict, who told me my eulogy saved her life. Catherine said she has read and watched my eulogy and looked at Anthony’s picture so many times that Anthony is, “in her head” and that his presence there has helped to keep her clean.
Anthony struggled with addiction for more than six years before he died. He overdosed and almost died. His friend overdosed and almost died in front of his eyes. Both were hospitalized in the local ER. He was arrested. He overdosed again. He was arrested again. He spent a week on the street and a month in prison. He was in rehab three times, three unsuccessful short-term treatment programs that lasted less than 30 days which was all our insurance would pay for. Research tells us that effective inpatient treatment leads to long term sobriety and fewer relapses. Ninety-day residential drug rehab is suggested as the minimum length of time for effective treatment.
In Anthony’s honor I recently started a petition seeking support for an amendment to the Affordable Care Act (ACA) to provide for a minimum of ninety days of inpatient drug or alcohol treatment.